We are filling this weekend up quickly. I wish it were not so, as I am a big fan of sofas and pajamas and a second cup of coffee. But my unable to drive status means that about one weekend a month is busy with the thither and yon of stocking our small household of boys with bottomless tummies, refilling the wine rack from Trader Joes, and taking a certain ten year old and his saved-up money to Target in quest for Legos.
In preparation for hitching up the wagon for this expedition, I have lists and menus and a plan of action, the whole goal of which is a return to the sofa and pajamas and brewing another cup of coffee. AKA, my natural habitat.
We do not hasten, yea, but we do not rest.
I shared in the last post how the world online feels so fast to me, too fast for my sensibilities, and believe me, the real world beyond my bifocals seems no more leisurely and sane. As we steadily progress through these errands today, I’ll have to remind myself to breathe. I’ll have to try to tune out the cell phone conversations happening all around as we jostle with our shopping carts and kids and lit displays and price increases. I’ll breathe again. I’ll do one thing at a time, and at the end of the list, I’ll be back home with my cat, who will have found a sunny spot.
I’ll remind myself that I really don’t believe that we can hurry and multi-task our way to a fuller life. And I don’t just believe that because I can’t personally do it.
These tulips remind. They’re pushing up steadily too, each day the stems a little taller, the petals unfurling a bit more. But other than the light they crave, and just enough water, which makes their pot an early springtime, they will still appear in their own time. Sweet.
The good things can’t be hurried. A relationship can be founded in a moment of soul-to-soul recognition or a searing and sealing event, but it is grows taller and thrusts roots deeper in years of time and tending. A child cannot be programmed and shuffled and rushed through childhood, for just as years of patient training with gracious words produces a miraculously un-prompted thank you, men and women are made with the patient addition of months and years.
At my first greedy read, I gulped down Ann’s One Thousand Gifts and wiped my mouth with my sleeve. But it will be in rereading slowly, over time and with others, that her ideas will both take root in me, and bloom in grace.
Time is the most precious of gifts and sacrifices, for no matter how we stack many claims on our attention, many gadgets and sights and sounds and words, into the same moment, we cannot make more of it.
So this weekend, I wish you good things, unhurried.