At six I’m all revved up to go out shopping — but no one else is. By eight I’m not revved to shop or to do anything. What applies at six doesn’t apply at eight.
We get to the supermarket late. The lines are building. Ten per register two to three carts a person. Erev Pesach madness at midnight in Jerusalem. People are leaving carts in lines and going home. “I really don’t think I’m going to make it” I say feeling like our turn just won’t ever happen. Yet I know that in three days there won’t even be a line and no one’s going to argue over the last box of fifty-shekel shmurah matzoh meal let alone look at one.
What I see with my own eyes is that if a person waits long enough everything passes.
This is the beauty of time.
I have a friend who always says “If I leave a shirt that just needs a button long enough in the sewing box the person will eventually grow out of it and I won’t need to sew buttons any more.
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