Dear friends,
As summer comes to a close, I grieve the end of unhurried days, of slow mornings. There have been many lovely moments this week when the stillness of an early morning or late evening has calmed my body, my mind. Moments when I can rest in the beauty of slowness, of quietude, paralyzed in the presence of God. Yet, the ease with which I can rest will soon change as I prepare to enter college.
I identify in many ways with the tortoise from the fable The Tortoise & The Hare. I tend to think slowly (though deeply) about things, delight in intentionality in relationships and actions, and advocate for a measured and careful examination of the world. A slow pace. And yet, I feel the temptation to speed up, to throw myself into my routine to feel “productive” and accomplished. To enter the brisk cycle of school and work to feel alive, to feel that I have purpose and am offering value.
Even now, I hear the looming hum of busyness. The chaotic energy of adjusting, socializing, studying, home-missing, and identity-forming palpable in the first semester of college. There is a tendency, a pull to rush in, to befriend quickly, to settle into the new rhythms of college life as fast as you can, or else… you might get left behind. But I foresee the burnout, the exhaustion, the loneliness that swiftly follows on the heels of a fast pace, and I desire a different approach.
I want to choose slow.
I have been reading from John Mark Comer’s masterfully woven book The Ruthless Elimination of Hurry. It has clarified for me the power of slowing down, of pausing to rest, of keeping the Sabbath. It has also shown me how counter-cultural this philosophy is in our frenetic world. Amidst the brisk movement, I want to walk slowly. Amidst the noise, I want to pursue quiet. I want to carry the gentle pace of these summer days into the coming semester. To win the proverbial race for the title “Healthy Soul.”
Part of slowing down manifests in slowing the pace of relationships. To paraphrase my former English teacher’s advice for college students, “Be patient with yourself as you form relationships. Do not be discouraged if it takes time or if it seems like everyone else already has friends.” There is value in building friendships slowly, in offering grace to ourselves and others, and being open to the diversity of people who cross our paths. To do this, we must take the pressure off ourselves to find people immediately and surrender to the gradual rhythms of meeting people, day by day, one at a time. We need not fear missing out. God will bring the right people at the right time.
Another aspect of inserting a slow pace into my day-to-day life is taking time to be quiet in God’s presence. It is fairly easy to rush into a day unintentionally, moving from task to task, powered by a desire to perform, to please, to produce. In this endless bustle, we become deaf to God’s whisper. I want to be intentional, in this next season, to slow down, to listen. To attend to God’s presence in the middle of a lecture, to look up from a laptop and out the window during a study session, or rest in the tranquility of early mornings when the world hums in expectation of an awakening and the squirrels scamper in the grass. I want to tread the race path slowly, led by God’s voice.
A week or so ago, I read from Zephaniah 3 and verse 17, which relates to quietude, struck me:
The Lord your God is in your midst,
a mighty one who will save;
he will rejoice over you with gladness;
he will quiet you by his love;
he will exult over you with loud singing.
~ Zephaniah 3:17 ~
God promises to quiet me by his love. Slowing down means surrendering to his quieting. This verse captures both the quieting that comes from the hushing of a child, the calming of anxieties, and the call to rest in his stillness. God’s voice, his “singing,” becomes “loud” when I become quiet.
I experienced this the other evening when I was walking home from an event. As my phone was not fully working, I felt an initial discomfort as I had wanted to listen to a podcast, to drown out my thoughts. Still, I strolled home, taking the time of silence to pray aloud, to commune with God in the serenity of the falling sun. And I came to be grateful that I was not digitally distracted in that moment for I experienced God’s love envelop me, quiet me. The image of Jesus sleeping in the stern amidst the chaos of the storm (Mark 4:35-41) appeared in my mind. And I imagined myself sleeping in the stern too, tranquil despite the chaos shuddering around me. With deep longing, I asked God for his presence to be my stern in the new and turbulent season ahead.
I pray this for you too, friend. Whatever season you are entering, I pray that you may find the space to walk slowly, to seek silence, and to rest in Christ’s stern.
