I’m In a Hurry and Don’t Know Why
Loren Hardin
The Ashland Beacon
Ruth enrolled in outpatient Hospice services at age sixty-seven with end-stage lung disease. I’d known Ruth as a fellow hospital employee for over thirty years. If I remember correctly, Ruth started her healthcare career as an “on the job” trained respiratory therapy assistant. Ruth later earned her Licensed Practical Nurse certificate, worked as a diabetic educator for a season and finished out her career as an inpatient physical rehabilitation nurse. Ruth was tough and outspoken. She admitted, “I have a reputation as a ‘big mouth’, not really; I just say what I think.” With Ruth, what you saw was what you got, no matter who or what you were. That’s one of the things I respected and appreciated about her.
Mitch Albom, award winning sports columnist and journalist wrote a book titled, “Tuesdays with Morrie.” Sixteen years after his college graduation Mitch was informed that his college professor and mentor, was diagnosed with Lou Gehrig’s disease. So, Mitch spent the last fourteen Tuesdays of Morrie’s life by his side, engaging in heart-to-heart conversations about living and dying. For the next few weeks, I’m writing about my “Tuesdays with Ruth”. Ruth and I met almost every Tuesday for a year and a half. I provided the French vanilla cappuccinos, but we both provided the food for thought.
One Tuesday morning Ruth reflected upon her illness. A few years earlier Ruth had completed the outpatient pulmonary rehabilitation program to learn to cope with her chronic lung disease. I asked Ruth “Is there anything they taught you back then that you still use now? She replied, “They would always say ‘slow down’. For example, when you are climbing a set of stairs, just climb three steps and rest for a while, and then go another three steps. I have to tell myself to slow down now. Slowing down is one of the most difficult things in life to do. We aren’t programed that way. Our culture programs us to hurry, to rush and when we do, we don’t enjoy life. You have to interrupt your thought patterns, be reprogramed.”
I told Ruth that her observations remind me of the lyrics of a song by Alabama: “I’m in a hurry to get things done, Oh I rush and rush until life’s no fun. All I really got to do is live and die; but I’m in a hurry and don’t why,” (YouTube, “I’m in a Hurry”). I confessed to Ruth that I frequently “get in a hurry and don’t know why”, especially when driving. When my family and I are headed to a vacation destination, I feel like it’s my obligation to beat my best time, and everyone else’s. I told Ruth, “My wife, Susie, and I are taking our daughter, Elizabeth, back to college in Philadelphia next week. This time I’m going to slow myself down and enjoy the trip.” When I returned the following Tuesday Ruth asked me, “Well, how did you do?” I replied, “I was doing alright until I got to Dover, Delaware; I got pulled over there for doing sixty-five in a forty-five.”
Why do we “rush and rush until life’s no fun”? Morrie suggested to Mitch, “So many people…are so self-absorbed their eyes glaze over if you speak for more than thirty seconds…. Part of the problem…is that everyone is in such a hurry…People haven’t found meaning in their lives, so they’re running all the time looking for it…the next car, the next house, the next job… Then they find those things are empty, too, and they keep running…you have to be strong enough to say if the culture doesn’t work, don’t buy it, create your own...”
I think I’ll leave you to ponder the lyrics of another song, a song by Casting Crowns, one of my favorite contemporary Christian groups: “Spend all my time dreaming what the future’s going to bring, when all of this time there’s a world passing by right in front of me, set my sights on tomorrow while I’m tripping over today. Who says big things are somewhere off in the distance. I don’t want to look back just to see all the times that I missed it. I want to be here and now, starting right here right now, with the very next words of love to be spoken to the very next heart shattered and broken, to the very next way You’re going to use me, show me the next thing…Lord, wherever You’re leading me, that’s where I want to be.” (“The Very Next Thing”, by Casting Crowns).
Loren Hardin worked as a social worker at Southern Ohio Medical Center Hospice for twenty-nine years. He can be reached at Lorenhardin53@gmail.com., or at 740-357-6091.
You can order a copy of Loren’s book, “Straight Paths: Insights for living from those who have finished the course”, at Amazon.
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