Today on campus I fill my mug at a water fountain and splash the floor underneath as it overflows. I gaze at the puddle and consider how it would evaporate on its own. Must I clean it? Must I? Maybe I will clean it up.
I waste at least 20 seconds on this dilemma until I imagine someone slipping and injuring themselves because of this spill.
I decide to find a paper towel and mop it up with my shoe; this makes more of a mess than the original puddle. And this consumes another 40 seconds at least. It's starting to dry anyway.
I abandon my cleaning effort after, in total (if you count my thinking about it) a minute.
I continue about my day, and it's like a portal has opened into a new reality: I encounter former students; I find people in the hallway; I have new conversations because I deviated a minute off course of my day.
In this new behind-by-one-minute day, my path intersects people who, a minute before or a minute after, would not be there.
Considering the impact of our little one-minute delays or advances into the day made me wonder about all the permutations available in any given morning. I think about the sovereignty of God and divine appointments. I think of time differently. I think about listening to God to be where I'm supposed to be, when I'm supposed to be there.
It's almost too much to think about.