Procrastination Should Be a Sin

             It's approxiametly 12 days before my birthday. Each hour that passes makes me realize that I'm getting old and with age is supposed to come wisdom. I fear that there's one great thing that sometimes withholds wisdom from enticing me with it's sentiments: procrastination.
              Time and time again it's been said, "Make sure you do this on time" or "Don't forget to (you fill in the blank). We are people subject to time and as the days grow by, I try to analyze my reaction each time and what I do, does not coincide with how I feel. I'm a youth leader at my church so I'm aware of what it means to prioritze. "Why can't I compel myself to do it in school work? It was easier in high school", I tell myself but of course, as always. I, like anyone else, would want to use an excuse to justify myself than believe and change who I am. It takes structure. It takes discipline. It takes active listening skills to keep away from the idea of procrastination becoming a sin in my life.

"Sometimes Silence Can Speak so Loud"

              I took the name of the post from a song by R. Kelly, a familiar song at that: "I believe I can fly". I didn't understand what he meant until I had an encounter with my mother.
               Last Saturday, I woke up seeing my mother standing in my bedroom around 11 a.m. She wasn't hovered over me but she chose the closet to be the place where she stood. Thinking about it, it seems funny that she would want to spend time dwelling in the depths of the crap I call my clothing as opposed to attending to her own needs. As opposed to the regularly scheduled scolding that would take place, she just stood there. It was as though the Statue of Liberty were her role model, and likewise she stood silent. I think it's safe to stay that she tried to be a metaphor, an emblem perhaps but I did not know how to deconstruct this symbol's meaning. Her hands were seemingly upon her waist (perhaps her hips), her eyes simple, direct and strong, and her stance, firm. The only meaning I could derive was hope.
            It's a desire that is concentrated towards something yet simple enough to have a distinct meaning for many to understand and listen to. Its something people know  but disregard, but sometimes it takes silence to generate an audience. Her feet were planted, I presumed, to show that hope is something that we can both be firm in. For her, it was the hope that I would listen, for me it was to hope that the task would be accomplished in a timely fashion. When I understood, I got up and told her " Lady Liberty would be proud". She looked confused and with that I gave her a hug and a kiss and begin to organize the heaps of clothing. Sometimes listening begins where the talking stops.