the clock

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clock

The clock in our office is five minutes slow.

As a result, or maybe for reasons having nothing to do with the clock, we start late and end late.

Each morning we sit around the round table in the middle of the room, talking about the weekend or the sunshine or a recent trip or traffic or childhood memories or previous jobs or whatever. It’s morning prayer time that always starts with conversation. We can’t help ourselves. We like being together and sharing life.

Each afternoon, we sit at keyboards clicking frantically.

“Go home!” our boss calls at us as he packs up his bag.

“No!” we yell back and give him one reason or another that we need to stay.

One afternoon it dawned on me how ironic this exchange was. I’m sure few employees argue with their boss to let them stay later.

The clock shifts methodically beside us, it’s hands stiffly ushering in each new minute. Under its watch, we send out teams and we travel with them and we pray for teams and their funds and their unity and their impact, most of all. We process paperwork and make calls and write  and set budgets and book flights and problem solve.

Time doesn’t seem to follow the methodical measured nature of this clock It wanes and waxes, speeds and slows. Draws in breaths and exhales.

The nature of travel,  our livelihood, is strung to this clock, yet how arbitrary it sounds, in its constant ticking.

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