“Hurry sickness” is a thing.
Trust me, I know.
I rush to make green lights.
I snag aisle seats so I can get out fast.
I scrutinize grocery store lines, placing bets on the fastest one.
Evelyn Underhill said, “On every level of life, from housework to heights of prayer, in all judgment and efforts to get things done, hurry and impatience are sure marks of the amateur.”
Ah. It’s the opposite of my instinct. Counter-intuitive. If I want to mature my soul, I must resist the urge to hurry.
Do my kids notice if I’m listening to their stories with half a heart because I’m so efficiently multi-tasking?
Do I put off a date with my husband because the calendar is brimming, and my to-do list is dizzying?
Do I feel a pang when my son wonders, “Mom, do you have time for me to tell you about the book I’m reading?”
Love is slow.
I can’t dive into conversation with humans or God and hit those deep, sacred moments if I’m nervously monitoring the clock.
It’s hard to pull out of habitual hurry. It’s so engraved in my soul I hardly notice it.
“But I have calmed and quieted my soul, like a weaned child with its mother; like a weaned child is my soul within me.” Psalm 131:2
John Ortberg challenges you and me to earnestly combat life-sucking hurry.
His suggestion: choose the long line at the store and the stop light.
Maybe I should plant myself in the center of the row and snake out of the building like an ordinary person .
Sounds. Like. Torture.
Not to mention a reckless waste of time.
It seems like the Kingdom of God is best measured intangibly. I’m not able to chart the effects of time spent worshiping God.
Impossible to count what happens when I meditate on His Word. Or when I join His heart in prayer for the humans that He loves.
When I spend precious minutes playing games with my kids or hanging on the couch with my husband.
It feels like faith to practice the discipline of slowing.
I long to pass the slow lane and get to work three minutes faster. Resisting that urge is a little way of proclaiming that I’m not the most important thing. The world can thrive without me.
May my soul be as a weaned child within me. May I cease the clamor and striving. Lord, help me to grow up.
May I trust You enough to go slow.
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