One Minute

I am in the balcony of Fulton Chapel, tape recorder at my side, pen poised over paper waiting for the forum to begin. In a few moments, eight education experts from across the country will take their seats in the leather armchairs on the brightly-lit stage to discuss education policy. Below the balcony, the house is packed with teachers, students, media and others in the education field anxious to hear what these people will say. I am more anxious for the three-hour forum to be over so I can go home.

Someone takes the stage and utters a welcome to the university guests. Following the applause, a woman silently takes the stage. She doesn't introduce herself. She doesn't welcome the guests. Instead, she begins to speak in a ringing voice, full of conviction:

"'I have only just a minute, only 60 seconds in it,
forced upon me, can’t refuse it, didn’t seek it,
didn’t choose it, but it’s up to me to use it,
give account if I abuse it, suffer if I lose it.
Just a tiny little minute, but eternity is in it.'

Let me say that again. 

'We have only just a minute, only 60 seconds in it,
forced upon us, can’t refuse it, didn’t seek it,
didn’t choose it, but it’s up to us to use it,
give account if we abuse it, suffer if we lose it.
Just a tiny little minute, but eternity is in it.'"

No one came to this forum to hear poetry, but that is what we heard. Simple lines read in a brisk, confident voice by a woman who never mentioned her own name. The three-hour forum is merely a blur in my memory, but that poem has never left my mind.