There's Not Time to Be Busy

There's not time to be busy,
While eyes watch and arms reach,
While hands touch and I teach . . .

There's not time to be busy,
While legs grow and arms stretch,
The only thing on their bodies that
Doesn't change . . . is their finger prints.

There's not time to be too busy.
Let the grass grow
And the weeds flourish.
How else will they know?

There's not time to be busy.
While hours pass and days bend.
Moments do last . . .
Memories don't end.

There's not time to be too busy
To hear what they say
Over and over in a thousand
Different ways.

I don't have time to be busy.
I don't have enough of that blessed, rich stuff
They call time
To fill every minute with that thing
They call . . . productivity . . .

. . . Longevity . . . if I were promised this,
I wouldn't feel half as bad
To be busy.

But such as life is at the moment,
No, from where I stand,
There's not time to be busy.

There's not time to be busy
While eyes look and they wait . . .
They stand with their hands knocking.

I'm too tired to be busy.
Thank you, God, for that weariness
. . . they watch for it, they
Snatch it up and hold it closely
When it comes . . .

That rest that comes and
promises relief, stories to be told,
Songs to be hummed . . . laughter to be let.

There's not time to be too busy.
There must be time to be slow . . .
To find a pace that is altogether
Coherent with the only language they understand

TIME

I wrote this sometime last year at a time when I was just thinking about carving out more time for the kids. Some days will be busy. And there is nothing wrong with having those seasons of life. But like most moms, I just find myself in constant check of myself. They are growing so fast. And there is so much I don't want to miss.