Slower Rhythms- Measures of Grace

I have always been in a hurry. As a child I was in a hurry to grow up and be an adult. I rushed through my childhood years, always yearning to be in the next phase of life: straining to get to my high school years; always looking ahead to the next grade, the new teacher, the next challenge. Once I was in college, it was all about how quickly I could get into the job market and become gainfully employed. I obtained my original nursing degree from a 2-year community college - not only because it was cheaper, but it was faster. Dating my now husband in high school, we were both of the same ilk; hurry up and grow up. He bought our first home 2 weeks after he turned 18, and we spent the next year remodeling our little doll-house with one bedroom, a tiny kitchen, and a bathroom so small the door never opened fully, bumping into the tub. We considered ourselves practical: we got married young, worked full-time and went to college at night - always with the goal to hurry-up and get to the next phase in life. We traded up houses several times, anxious to get to our dream “family-home” which we accomplished before we turned 30. Of course, with such achievements came more pressure to achieve, to hurry up so that we could enter the next phase of our busy, busy lives.

None of this is intended to downplay the amazing blessing of our early adult years. They were amazing, fulfilling, and filled with many wonderful people. We had our children during these years, my husband launched a successful IT business, and I went into healthcare management positions that were rewarding and memorable.

But we never stood still, always rushing, moving... and though we have hundreds of photos to commemorate those years, with countless memories of holidays and vacations and all the requisite childhood high points of recitals, soccer games, plays, musicals, birthday parties and assorted family gatherings, I have this insistent niggling in a deep corner of my heart that somehow - I missed something. That my ever-forward, fast-thinking brain trampled over something that was precious and irretrievable simply because I was in such a rush to live.

In recent years, I have more time, obviously. My girls are now moms themselves, with successful jobs and loving husbands and homes filled with children and love. And I watch from the sidelines, hoping that they aren’t rushing as much as I did - and for the most part, I’m happy to observe that they seem more able to take life as it comes. They don’t appear to be in such a hurry to move through the game board of life, trying to get to a self-imposed place of achievement that never seems to stand still. And even though I have more time, and I intentionally seek to slow down the pace of my living - it’s a hard thing for me to do. There are days I can feel the need to rush as a physical, breathy force, heart-racing, the urge ever present to hurry up and get to the next thing,

Sadly, I still rush through my life, some days as if the hounds of hell were on my heels. And when I stop to catch my breath, I always ask “Why? What is so darned important that I can’t take two minutes to watch the sunset out my front door? What do I think I’ll miss"?” And there it is- a dawning of understanding - a realization that - yes, there is the crux of my dilemma, I think. And it seems it’s common enough that our modern culture has coined a phrase for it: FOMO. Fear Of Missing Out. And until I read about it in a blog somewhere, I’d not thought about my own propensity to hurry up through life as a fear. But down deep, I must admit it truly is: a fear of missing out. It is soul-deep, as most fears are, buried in the memories and minor annoying traumas of a childhood shared with four siblings and busy working parents, and a life that was busy enough for the 60s and 70s, even though on retrospect it seems to have moved along at a leisurely stroll - at least compared to my adult years.

There is much written today about intentionality; living intentionally, mindfully, appreciating the life we have, one moment at a time. It’s a spiritual endeavor as much as anything else. Those of us who lean toward the Benedictine philosophy of measured days focused on prayer, work and relationship do appreciate how such living needs to be unfolded slowly, with care and honor to the blessing and wonder of this world. St. Benedict lived in an era of chaos and change, not unlike ours, and his philosophy mirrors the modern simplicity and minimalist movements that ask not only that we simplify but also that we slow down, become mindful, intentionally imbuing into each seemingly mundane act a speck of glory, a drop of grace. Benedictine, or modern minimalism - it’s much the same. As another wise man wrote centuries ago, “There is nothing new under the sun.”

And of course, the irony is that I’ve not missed out on anything in my life except perhaps the joy of observing, seeing, noticing some of the simpler things in my life. This fear of mine? All in my head, reverberating like the after-effects of a bad dream. How can I miss out when the most simple things around me are filled with excruciating beauty? When the mere whisper of my grandson fills my heart, the giggle of my granddaughter brings me to my knees, the cheery hello of my daughters on the phone pulls me up into a sweet moment of memories of times gone by? I’m learning that I miss out only to the extent that I rush through life and miss the simple, the beautiful, the sweet. And I’m learning - it’s never too late to learn.

It’s a process, this learning to savor, this acceptance of a measured step to my days. And so far, it has been a blessed process, one that nurtures a new unfolding grace to my later years. I’m learning there’s nothing to rush toward. Whatever is ahead will find me fast enough. It’s ok to simply walk and not run; to sit and ponder the flames in my fireplace just because they’re beautiful; to sit and knit quietly, with no agenda but the the joy of knitting.

I know many people my age and older have slowed down for no reason related to physical health - though for some, that may be so. But I know there are many more like me who’ve finally seen the wisdom in the slow, in the measured, in the simple grace of breathing from one moment into the next, simply to appreciate the glory inherent in that moment. I know it is a blessing and gift, this slowing down the pace of life to a new rhythm, a slower song, to measures of grace. I’m practicing, I’m working on it. And it will come. I’m waiting for it.