I'll Think About it Tomorrow

It is mid-November and warm. Sunny, with the mercury hovering near 60 degrees, any sensible person would be outside, taking advantage of this meteorological bonus day by stringing lights outside for the holidays. Who knows, after all, how many more opportunities we might have for such things, unencumbered by fleece and hoods and boots? Only a fool would pass up such an opportunity. But here this fool sits: inside, feeling no particular pressure. Meanwhile, it's Friday afternoon and I have only now finished the first draft of Sunday's sermon. I suppose that's too early to describe as "last minute," but it is still tardier than I prefer. Still, I've already closed the file for the day, putting off any refinements for tomorrow. Or early Sunday morning.

It reminds me of the old fable of a Grasshopper, hopping about one summer's day in a field, chirping and singing to its heart's content. An ant passed by, struggling in the transport of an ear of corn he was taking to its nest.

"Why not come and chat with me," said the Grasshopper, "instead of toiling and moiling in that way?"

 "I am helping to lay up food for the winter," said the Ant,
"and recommend you to do the same."

 "Why bother about winter?" said the Grasshopper; we have got
plenty of food at present."  But the Ant went on its way and
continued its toil.  When the winter came the Grasshopper had no
food and found itself dying of hunger, while it saw the ants
distributing every day corn and grain from the stores they had
collected in the summer.  Then the Grasshopper knew:
 It is best to prepare for the days of necessity.

I know that, of course. I know that I will regret it -- when the time comes to hang the Christmas lights and it is snowing outside; or when the time comes to do a hundred and one other things like revise the sermon draft and I would prefer to hit, once more, the snooze alarm. But it's Friday afternoon, and I am tired. I want to relax...or simply close my eyes for a moment or more. I have felt all the pressure to produce I want to feel today. And if it snows tonight...

...I'll put on my boots and gloves, tug on my coat, and give thanks that I'm alive enough to shiver.