Slow Down Ahead
The robot-like navigator’s voice coming from the GPS device announces a slowdown ahead. This specific warning become a persistent refrain, as my husband navigated us through Labor Day traffic in Chicago one Labor Day. Whether due to an accident or the unavoidable traffic jams around the city, giving way to fits of stopping and going is the only option without causing collateral damage. No matter your intended destination or expected time of arrival, you will get there when you get there and the sooner you accept that the better. I can feel agitation rising each time the vehicle crawls to a stop. I am embarrassed at how much I work myself up into a frenzy about possible delays. In my case, sitting in the car an extra 30 minutes or an hour isn’t going to substantially alter my life because I don’t have anywhere to be at a designated time.
Even though I have experienced some victory in slowing down the last few years, this frustrated front seat passenger example shows how I am prone to quickly abandon contemplation and revert to old patterns of the hurry up variety that scream, “Let’s go!” If not shouting this for my everyone to hear, on the inside I am repeating it over and over. In a culture that idolizes and even made a business out of busyness, slowing down is an uncomfortable irritant to the productivity that many crave. Sure, we applaud ourselves for a weekend of self-care, the occasional disconnect from technology for a brief while, or a one-time retreat embarked on to prevent total burnout—but we absolutely do not value or make time to move at a slower pace. Unfortunately, most of life’s slow downs or abrupt changes do not give warning, but instead stop us in our tracks like a viral contagion, cancer diagnosis, spouse walking out on the marriage, or the tragic death of a child.
Like the GPS voice, I can hear God whispering, telling me to embrace what is coming or is in-front of me. Not only is his message clear about what I should be attentive to, he has a way of sending the most unlikely people to confirm what he has been speaking to me privately, just so I am not confused about who sent them. In all honesty, I have been quite stiff-necked, expending all sorts of time and energy trying to find alternate routes around obeying God in one area of my life or another. As I have learned to be more vulnerable these last few years, I confess to still searching for a loophole to justify my resistance because I feel too inadequate, insecure, incapable to even attempt what he is asking of me. My previous attempts have been short-lived with mediocre follow-up. But I can't go over it. I can't go under it. So, guess what? I have to go through it.
Psalm 34:8 instructs: “Taste and see that the Lord is good; blessed is the one who takes refuge in him.” With this verse in mind, I have over emphasized the first part without making appropriate connection to the second. I have neglected to appreciate that whoever goes to the Lord safety remains in the Almighty’s protection. God’s care and provision never leave those who remain in the secret hiding place of God, despite whatever undesirable circumstances life brings. Safety in Christ is not only reserved for moments when violent winds and waves come crashing against me. God wants to shield me from the distractions that beckon me to choose what appears good, but that isn’t his best. He wants me to be still and not run ahead, thinking that I can protect the frightened little girl inside. He wants me to relinquish my shattered dreams and the pieces of a broken heart at his feet for restoration.
He is asking me to cherish regular rhythms for sacred renewal. He wants me to enjoy extended sessions of prayer, studying the Bible, and writing each day, again and again—resisting the return to instant gratification, which for me typically looks like me incessantly serving others in the name of justice. He wants me to stop pouring into the lives of others as much and seek him in the barrenness of my daily experience, accepting that on my own I am impoverished. He wants me to reimagine worshiping him while sipping my morning coffee or making a smoothie, not limiting hearing his voice to a certain spot on a pew or a specific day of the week. God is offering refuge in the plain obscurity of my right now, so as I enter the roundabout of slowing down, I am determined to appreciate this unpaid sabbatical I am in. I am learning that Henri Nouwen’s words are true: “It is in solitude that we discover that being is more important than having and that we are worth more than the results of our efforts.”