"Even now, you are free to look for invitations into slowness. You are free to say these kinds of things to yourself:
'I'm going to spend a few weeks thinking about this.'
'I think I'll take some time away from that until next year.'
'I'm not sure how I feel about this yet…I'm going to give it some time.'
'Let's try this, and if it works, great! And if it doesn't, we will try something else.'
For all of the changes that come with the slower seasons of life, perhaps we can look for the lessons slowness can teach us. For all of the waiting and learning to sit with unanswered questions, we can practice making room for slowness…to live one step at a time.
Of course, slowness is not always easy, and there are many reasons why you may want the waiting to hurry right along. And at the same time, I hope you can find comfort in the way you are learning to find your way through the slowness of it all. I hope that you can learn that it matters to travel through this landscape called Life, focusing on one step at a time. I hope you can have a sense of accomplishment and gratitude as you practice navigating through this season with mindful, careful steps."
–Morgan Harper Nichols (MHN)
Today, and perhaps always, these words mean everything. Patience has never been my strong point. Actually, if I were to be more honest, it's one of my weakest. Waiting for an egg to boil, rice to cook completely, or a bucket to finish filling up with water are some of my hardest things.
And they only take minutes.
So, when this year, God told me I'd have to lay off some things for the duration of the year, my first reaction was dismay. Not just because it's been ages since I had to do without them, but because knowing what I thought was myself, I was already assured I'd fail from the get-go.
Surprisingly, here I am, in the sixth month of the year, still waiting. Still learning the art of silent patience. And it's one of the hardest things I've ever had to experience.
With me, the words "Busy as a Bee" always found expression. I was their safe house—an unchangeable, unshakeable space where they were always sure to be welcomed. I took pleasure in the activity, consciously and unconsciously. My mind constantly whirling with ideas, and being overburdened with thoughts is something I've been used to for so long. So, in this season where I'm told to embrace the quiet, it is, for lack of a stronger word, unnerving.
Having to sit on my hands and ask the Lord, "Are we there yet?" even when I know we're not, or "Am I sure you're the one who really spoke to me?" even though a part of me confirms strongly that He did, and the signs around me only strengthen that claim, have been the hardest things this year.
To not rush things forward. To let them be, and watch them develop on their own. To allow the caterpillar become a butterfly, trusting only in the process and God's watchful eye, have become the lessons in my current season.
And on days when I just can't take it, to channel all the pent up emotions into prayer, praise, worship, and heartfelt scribbles, have been the most treasured of experiences.
So, when I saw Morgan's post, my heart leaped for joy and my soul was soothed, because I knew that God had placed in her words, a reminder for me and a balm to heal the still-aching sores on my heart. He wanted me to know that He was still aware, hadn't forgotten but was working, and was concerned enough to put reassurances everywhere and in everything, just like He had done in times past with our Patriarch Abraham.
So, for the aching soul, who has been in the quiet for so long they now wonder if they've been forgotten—the one who wonders if they aren't being foolish watching life pass them by—today's post is for you. No matter how long, dear friend, every season has an end. But there is nothing sadder than looking so much towards the end that we miss out on the joys of the process.
This month, I've made up my mind to give all that I am to the process—aching heart, quietly smouldering dreams and all. My heart's desire is to soak deeply into the Lord's winnowing;
till the turbulence within becomes as still as can be,
the confusing grays become as bright as day,
and the smouldering coals burn brighter than the largest pyre.
And today, I pray for you, just like I do myself, that you do not rush out of the process now that you've come this far. I pray that each day gives you a new source of strength and that each moment of disappointment solidifies your convictions either for or against. I pray that at the end of it all, you'll see just why this period was worth it, and you'll have nothing but gratitude in store.
So, do not worry, dear one. You are loved and greatly cared for.
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