The hour with nothing in it

Empty time is where the urge does its best work. The gate before boarding. A waiting room with a TV nobody's watching. A parked car, waiting on someone who's late. No task, nobody who knows you, nothing to do but sit. It walks into that silence like it owns the place.

Out here, the urge has no rivals. Most days it has to shout over a to do list, the dishes, the noise of a normal afternoon. In this chair it gets the whole floor and all the time it wants. The cigarette used to fill these gaps and call itself company.

Take the floor back right now. Look up and name five things you can see. The clock. A stranger's red sneakers. A coffee cup someone left behind. Say them slowly in your head. Then find five things you can hear. By the time you're done, the room has other voices in it.

Next time, pack for the gap like you pack a charger. A book you want to read. A person to call. Something good queued up to listen to. Today you're doing it with nothing but your eyes and ears. God's in this waiting room too. Whisper it right where you're sitting. Lord, be my company in this wait. When the wait's over, you'll stand up free.