On moving slowly

(The following is the article I wrote for my churches' October newsletter.)

Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances;

 for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.

(1 Thessalonians 5:16-18)

            When I was called to Bethlehem and St. Martin, now two years ago, I was rearing to go, eager to get into the fulfilling and challenging work of ministry among God’s people. With two churches to learn about and lead, I hit the ground running – sometimes quite literally, as I tried to figure out how to be in two places as once! People often joked to me about how quickly I walked from place to place, even when there really was no hurry. That was just the mode I was in – with so much going on and so much I wanted to do and be involved in, there was no time to walk slowly!

            Given the various events of the past year of my life, I’m getting the impression that this rushed mode of operation was not what God had in mind for me, at least not all the time. Cancer knocked me down for a while, and just as things started to calm down after that, cancer struck again. Just as I was finishing healing from that big surgery, there was a house to buy and two weddings to plan and have, and I was going a million miles an hour with no break. Finally, on the first day in months when Michael and I didn’t have anywhere we needed to be and could just take a breath and enjoy married life, a minor injury gave me the loudest message of all: I sprained my ankle on the soccer field. (First soccer injury in 25 years of playing – that ain’t bad!)

            There was plenty of reason to be frustrated about this, and believe me, I was. But when the doctor told me it would be about four weeks to recover, I realized that this was actually both message and gift from God: I would have to slow down. My ankle simply will not allow me to move at the pace at which I’m used to moving. And this will be the case for just about as long as I have before my next mastectomy. Our God is hilarious. But I got the message.

            I have noticed a few things as I have been forced to move more slowly. I feel calmer. I feel like I breathe more. I notice things around me more. I am more present with people. I’m more aware of the state of my heart, especially around my upcoming surgery, and I’ve been able to process that in a healthy way. And even though I see piles of things around me that need to be done (laundry, unpacking, organizing…), the fact that I simply can’t do anything about it right now brings me some serenity and peace.

            All of this, I see as a sort of prayer. Paul urges us to “pray without ceasing” – language that gives a sense of urgency and relentlessness. But God has shown me that prayers of thanksgiving can happen just by walking more slowly and noticing what’s around me; prayers of intercession can be ceaseless when I am stuck sitting at a table with someone and can’t think about getting up to do something else; and rejoicing fills my soul when I breathe more deeply. This has quite literally been a painful lesson, but one I hope to remember well after my body is free of both illness and injury. Let it be so. Thanks be to God!