In Praise of Slow

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been in a hurry. The windshield displayed a forecast of urgency toward the immanent horizon, future endeavors and mountains to climb. For those who have ever spent time in my company, collective testimonies confirm my restlessness: I pick at my fingers, chew on the interior of my cheek, grind my teeth, tap my foot… unsettled. I am forever a pilgrim wanderer, excited to see what’s over the next ridge.

What if this season of my life is God’s invitation to  s t o p ?

Shhhhh. Listen, not to the gossip and speculation and voices.
Shhhh, listen. Hear the whispers of the July wind, and the distant growl of afternoon thunder.
Listen to the infinite chorus of songbirds, and crickets and bullfrogs and wildflowers groaning for redemption. Listen to the laughter of three little girls doing cartwheels in the front yard, and listen to the silence of the heavenly amen.

Oh God, I need to hear from you! Please be near to me in this season of still, and let me warm my thoughts beside the aching, eternal flame of a bush unconsumed. May I become like this desert bush in the Midian heat: available and burnable. And may I also be like this Exodus Bush — undestroyed in the eternal flame of your revelation.

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