The little things often derail us, preventing us from reaching our desired destination.
In his book, A Walk Across America, Peter Jenkins tells the story of his pedestrian journey across the continent. After he had completed it, someone asked if any of the obstacles prompted him to consider quitting. Was it the wind in his face, the heat that sapped his strength, or the automobile drivers that buzzed too close?
According to Jenkins, it was none of those things. “The only thing that almost made me give up, was the sand in my shoes.”
The sand in his shoes.
It’s the little things that prove most annoying.
The other day, I reached for one of my favorite coffee mugs. Lori and I have entirely too many favorite mugs, but each has a story, so we try to make more space for them.
This one slipped out of my hand, crashing on the cabinet as I stretched for it on my tippy toes. Lori had given it to me after one of her Oklahoma trips. I immediately reached for the broken mug as if my quick retrieval would restore it. But when I picked it up, the jagged edge cut the tips of two fingers.
Tiny cuts, requiring two small band-aids, mainly to keep the bleeding from staining everything I touched. I was far from needing any assistance.
But those little cuts annoyed me for two or three days. Every time I typed, turned the page of a book, or opened a jar of peanut butter, they reminded me of my little mishap.
Little things arrive on a larger scale, too. They can derail a day, a week, or even a year. Minor annoyances can even destroy a job, a marriage, or a family.
Just talk to the unrecovered alcoholic or addict, still “out there in the madness,” whose one little slip led to another relapse until one drink was too many and a hundred not enough.
Listen to the remorse of the serial adulterer whose one innocent online chat led to a clandestine meeting, and another, and another, and another.
Or observe the gambler drowning under the debt brought by the illusive charm of opportunity just beyond one more bet.
That’s not you?
What about the driver who cuts you off on the way to work, setting you in a “mood” for the entire day? The visual of that errant driver follows you to work and sits next to you in your office. And maybe it’s happened on more days than you care to recount.
Or what about those early morning interruptions that throw your day into a tailspin, causing anxiety that builds and builds until, like a radiator overheating, it boils over in another emotional outburst, poisoning your relationships at work or with those you love the most at home?
Solomon, known for his wisdom and his many loves, has a line in the Song of Solomon that captures the danger: “Catch all the foxes/ those little foxes/before they ruin the vineyard of love/for the grapevines are blossoming!”
The “little foxes” could refer to the seemingly innocent things that can grow into obstacles, minuscule issues barely worth addressing, preventing the consummation of romance.
How many relationships have been stalled by arguments over what to watch on TV, where to eat, or how to arrange the furniture?
Eventually, the partners rehearse their ennui ad nauseum in stale drama, the repetitive conversations saturated with boring details that neither partner cares to listen to anymore, the romance having flattened into an endless desert, burned dry of any sense and sensibility.
My little cuts healed, and so did my broken coffee mug—thanks to Lori’s skill at repairing it with glue.
And so can the days—sometimes derailed but potentially back on track, like the love for life, once clamped cold by the little foxes but reignited by hope, hope in the Hope-Giver, the One who can bring peace transcending our understanding, the One who guards our hearts and minds in Christ Jesus, the Healer who births life from death.
So, I’m reaching for a coffee mug on the top shelf, that special cup just beyond my reach. I’ll be careful to clutch it tightly, avoiding any sand in my shoes that could trip me, preventing me from tasting the memory it holds.