I used to be the kind of person who, no matter how busy, no matter deadlines looming, no matter a house full of guests, no matter the books burying me within their loving covers, no matter the place, I would take the time to say ‘Hi’ or ‘Happy Birthday’ or ‘Me misses you’ or ‘Here’s the recipe you asked for’ or ‘Congratulations on the birth of your baby boy’ or ‘I’m doing great thanks how are you..’ I was derisive of people who claimed not to have the time to call back or reply to a message. Surely there were two minutes free in a day of twenty four hours for one to make that call or thumb out a message of less than 140 characters. Of course there is. But lately I find myself paddling the very excuses, previously the object of my derision. I’m just so busy. I don’t have the time. It’s as I though I’ve suddenly developed a shield against everything I mean to do. I appear to have landed myself a distorted hierarchy of priorities. I haven’t congratulated a school mate on the birth of her baby boy even though her number has been decorating my desk these past three weeks. At this rate it’ll be quite an achievement to congratulate her before her next child is born. I haven’t been to wish a former colleague luck at her new post. Another friend and I have been meaning to do lunch since January this year. There’s no time. We are too busy. And yet I’m not.
Just another three days and then it’s September. A French mate always ridicules the South African habit of celebrating Spring on the first of September each year. In France it’s celebrated on March 20 so a French kind of know-how would rather we celebrate our southern hemispheric Spring on September 20. Bleh! Just another three days and then it’s Spring. Just another three days and it’s Ramadan.
‘When my heart was hardened and my courses constrained, I made my hope a stairway to Your forgiveness, my sin burdened me heavily, but when I measured it by Your forgiveness, Lord, Your forgiveness was greater.’ Al Shafii