Slowly, I'm Learning

I love her.  I cannot recall ever another woman writer impacting my life the way that Ann Voskamp is.  A friend recommended I read her blog a few years back. I was captivated by her writing style and struck by how she was writing exactly what I wanted to–about the holy experience, the sacred mundane, the beauty of Christ revealed in the details of life–except she was writing about it well!  She was living it, breathing it, beautifully by grace.

I came back upon her blog recently as she is a contributing writer at (in)courage, where I had the joy of guest posting a few weeks ago.  I now go to her blog daily–where I ask her to give me another beautiful glimpse of Jesus.  I know I can see Him too, but she has a way of describing His daily whispers in such a way that I’m drawn to Him more and more. I love this woman I’ve never met. She makes me love the Savior.

I’m now reading her book One Thousand Gifts, and am undone.  Buy it. Today.

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All that to say that I recently read her 10 point manifesto for joyful parenting. While certainly not the most profound statement on her list, I was struck by these simple three words:

Only amateurs hurry.

She expands on this point in her book. Her point was that there are no emergencies.  God has no emergencies and as a parent our job is to create an environment of joy, confidence, and grace so that there are no emergencies.  But those words again struck me: Only amateurs hurry.

So, that moment I decided.

Today, resolved, we will not hurry. I will be joyful, confident, and in control.

Strange things began to happen.

We arrived at Bible study 20 minutes early.  We had so much time we stopped by the fountain on the way up the stairs (the one I usually hurry past), and we watched the bubbles and splashes while sister squealed delightedly and kicked her legs as I held her up, “Wa wa!”

I got the kids into the car after Bible study and, strangely, Dutch asked if I would read Heidi and him his Bob the Builder book. Right there. In the car. In the parking lot.  Before going home.  I looked at the 6-volume Bob book on the floor with near 125 pages.  Well, I thought, I’m in no hurry.

I slipped off my jacket, crawled into the backseat and nestled myself between their carseats.  I opened up to the very first page and–with my best Bob and Wendy voices–read that whole book.  The kids’ little love tanks were so full by the time I was done you’d have thought I took them to Disneyland.  We meandered home and made our Tuesday pancake lunch.

I mentioned last week On Stillness about letting Dutch fill the bag of flour at the store. I’ve always been apprehensive about taking both kids to Winco. Not exactly conducive to kids (no car carts!) and colorful characters and germs abound.  This week I took them, and again resolved–no hurry.

Would you believe it? We actually had fun. We walked slow. Talked. Dutch read every single bin number to me from the bulk items. We learned and laughed and Dutch amazed me at his shopping saavy: “Mommy, we might not need to get that because it’s expensive.  I don’t think it’s worth it.”

It took forever, but the kids were good as gold.  I am convinced, girls.

There’s something to slowness.

Samuel Chadwick said hurry is the death of prayer.  I’d add:

Hurry is the death of joy.

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Not promising perfect children here, but this resolved slowness is changing me–and my precious kids.  Slowness, stillness–room to breathe.  I’ll take one finished load of laundry done with laughing children hidden beneath fresh warm sheets and faces plunged in fluffy towels and tiny t-shirts smoothed and folded straight, over four done with my ragged soul snagging every stocking and resenting the weight of every load.

I’m learning…

slowly, but I’m learning.