With the Grace of a Sloth

She almost crept into the church after services had begun. People were still murmuring and finding a place to sit. Of course, most church goers go to “their” seats. Isn’t that funny how we all gravitate to “the” seat that suits us best? Even in school, meetings, and other gatherings. We guess we are indeed creatures of habit.

She walked with the grace of a sloth; very slow, very deliberate and very, very carefully. Her haircut was blunt but thick, like her glasses that she was fishing around for in her coat pocket. The dull gray coat was subdued in color and seemed to be bigger than she was. I couldn’t help but wonder how her tiny frame was able to carry it.

No jewelry, except for a large clip on the left side of her head holding back her straight, dull gray hair. She found glasses! Holding them as if they were the most fragile of objects, she elevated her arthritic hand to bring them to her face with a slow motion movement. She moved as if every bone in her body hurt and the slower the movements the less pain she was inflicting on herself.

As her nose began to drip, I wondered if she could make it in time to reach for a tissue, raise it up and catch the wayward drop. Surprisingly, she made it; but just barely.

Sitting down was a graceful exercise. Slowly she reached for the bench in front of her and placed both hands there as a much-needed prop. It worked. Her petite frame pushed out the coat which reached the bench behind her before she could. She lowered herself and I had to wonder if her birdlike legs were going to be able to stay up long enough to complete the sitting action. That, too, worked.

She seemed to have a routine and performed it precisely every time it became necessary; stand up, sit down, stand up, sit down. Push up the glasses with her sloth like moving hand, carefully placing her hand back in the coat pocket. Did the heat of the pocket next to her body help her aching arthritic hands?

Time does not march to YOUR drummer.

The lady who sat next to her offered her a hymnal that was turned to the right page. She smiles as she hands over the book. The older woman looked down at the offering with eyes that move just as slow and deliberately…as if she were calculating how far the book was from her hand. Very slowly she took the offered gift and never acknowledged the person or the gesture. She turned back to face the front of the church. She never sang.

However, after the choir sang an especially angelic hymn, she started to clap. Her twisted fingers were already permanently shaped into an almost cup-like frozen state, but she clapped anyway. No one else clapped but she didn’t seem to notice or care. She clapped and clapped until the rest of the congregation followed her lead. Then her hands were quiet again as she gently laid them back into her lap.

At the end of the services, she sat looking straight ahead. No movement, no emotions showing, nothing.

She went through the sloth like exercise of getting herself out of the pew. She waited until the aisles were clear and she left. Slowly, very, very slowly.

Slow down. Take everything in as it comes. What can you accomplish in two minutes faster that makes that big of a deal?