Be prepared to stop, often and suddenly.
Interruptions are merely an interlude.
These intentional pauses make us see.

Sudden cry, traffic slowed, forced humility.
The unexpected is misunderstood.
Be prepared to stop, often and suddenly.

Cancer, undetected heartbeat, agony…
Breathless and aching, is this somehow good?
These intentional pauses make us see.

A casket lowered, freezes in clarity.
We sit up straighter and wonder if we could
be prepared to stop, often and suddenly.

Interruptions may be a discrepancy,
a misnomer. Instead think: livelihood.
These intentional pauses make us see.

These uncertainties, even the tragedy,
can be like manna from heaven. So we should
be prepared to stop, often and suddenly,
these intentional pauses make us see.

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The inception for this poem came from Jane Kenyon’s Reflections on a Roadside Warning, she wrote:

“Be Prepared To Stop. Sometimes as I wait my turn to cross, my mind waxes philosophical over these words. They describe this family’s state of mind a year after my husband’s second operation for cancer, six months after my mother’s rib-cracking fall in the tub, a month after my mother-in-law’s third ambulance trip to Yale New Haven Hospital within the year, and my own trip to New London Hospital with leg elevated, bath towel sopping up blood from a shrapnel-like wound after a freak accident with the lawn mower.
Be Prepared To Stop. Did we ever feel in charge of our lives? It was a delusion.”

I read her essay just as my own father was diagnosed with cancer. It was a year, almost exactly, following my grandmother’s unexpected death. Within another year my father had passed into glory, and I was attending his memorial on crutches because I had given myself a stress fracture. In many ways last year was a year full of painful interruptions. Yet, in the midst of these agonies, I found some of the sweetest friendship with Christ I’ve ever known. Thrown as I was into his arms for daily strength, comfort, and wisdom, I found these interruptions cast my eyes heavenward as never before.

The so-called interruptions in life can be as brutal as death and loss. But sometimes they are as simple as a baby waking before she was “supposed to”, a traffic jam on our way home from a long day at work, or the impromptu conversation that keeps us from doing the next thing on our list. But given how frequent such things are, I wonder if we should even think of them as interruptions, particularly if we believe in the providence of God, who holds our moments in his holy hands, like a masterful conductor.

It’s possible that what we call interruptions are closer to interludes. An interlude occurs within a musical composition, often abruptly, and by it’s sudden silence it draws the listeners ear in, entreating them to pay attention to what comes next. Perhaps, if we were prepared to stop, to contemplate these sudden, and unexpected moments, we would see more grace and less inconvenience, and more comfort in our grief.