(Press play before reading to listen to my special accompanying song, with me playing all parts: djembe, egg shaker, guitar, and whistling.)

Not only can procrastination hurt your grades or the emotions of the those around you or even your own emotions, but procrastination can also hurt your body. (That sounds like something Dr. Phil would say). "Procrastination" may come from the Latin procrastinare meaning "to put off until tomorrow" but you better believe you might feel the effects of such putting off immediately when you put your feet on the pavement and your off running to class with less than 10 minutes to get there–it takes 15-20 and its quite literally an uphill battle.

 

This particular day last week I exited the shower at 15 after 11 (11:15am) to hurriedly clothe myself and try to get out the door in approximately 30 seconds to attempt to arrive on time for my 11:30 class, New Testament II. I failed. It was 11:20 when I left and my procrastination left me with few options, best of which seemed to run. So, I took off running and I had gotten all the way to the bottom of the hill (picture the walk/run from our apartment to the seminary as v-shaped: down a hill and back up another) when this baby blue van rolls up, demanding that I get in.

 

"Are you headed up the hill to the seminary?" I ask.

 

"Nope, but I can be."

 

"Are you sure? You don't have to."

 

"You look like you're running late."

 

"I am." With that exchange, I hopped in to find our neighbor's wife driving the van.

 

"I saw you running and thought you were probably really late and since I know you guys only have one car, I thought I'd give you a ride." I don't even know your name, m'am; but it seems like you sure know us! "No, this is great. Thanks for the ride. It's very kind of you."

 

She dropped me off (a 2 minute ride by car) in front of the seminary and I was grateful I only had to run half the way. Even with the ride, however, I still didn't have much time to walk across campus and sneak into class. I made it just in time to find posted on the door: "Dr. Beck ill. No class today. Please pray for him." What kind of "sick" joke was this? I was just glad I hadn't run all the way up here to find this note–I would rather have run up a down-escalator (well, probably not).

 

Well, feeling dejected and out of breath (I still ran across campus), I did what I do most days: walk to the Tea Room. While walking, a plan of repayment for the kind gesture formulated in my mind. I would make them a pavlova. (Does bold type make it more dramatic?) And whom do I have to thank for this genial idea except Sir Nigel D? Pavlova it will be: merengue with a soft marshmallow center, topped with fresh whipping cream, and kiwi and strawberry. Bingo. (Though it's not the best time of year for strawberries. I should have just gone with kiwi alone. 2 for $1. Can't beat that. Only need four.) So, the very next day between classes I made a pavlova and delivered it that evening round about dinner time, and there was much rejoicing at the Mack household.

 

As much as you wish the story ended there, it doesn't. The following day after 'lova delivery, the same baby blue van came to a screeching halt just behind where the Taurus was parked (I was acting like I was inspecting the Taurus' radiator). "Drew! That was great! If you make those, I'll give you a ride to class every day. You didn't have to do that!" Well, as much as I did enjoy making it, and as much as we both knew she wouldn't let me borrow their blue mini-van everyday, I said, "They're great aren't they. [Talking up the kiwi.] Well, just like you didn't have to give me a ride the other day, I didn't have to make y'all a pavlova."

 

And that was that.