The Sacred Slowing

My eyes roll down the hill, periodically interrupted by the flowing white linens I’m hanging on the line. The diapers are already in from their sun-bleaching and the children play. They’re pushing each other on the tire swing. Two on, two pushing; their laughter spinning up the hill to my ears. The body-laden swing is about all youngest three can handle. They don’t seem to mind the challenge.

Here it is quiet. Here I am quiet. I see my mother in the white fabric. And her mother, and her mother before her; the string and the wooden pins running as a humble lineage through us. The sweet simplicity of sunlight and spring winds.

My eyes drift to the garden. The little seeds are sprouting, and some are still hidden. The Listener had helped the night before. She hears everything but pretends to not have her own words yet. Her eyes say it all. Last night a splat-splat-splat met ears. I turned to her. “It’s faster” she said dumping the water from the large hole in the top of the can instead of the small spout in the front. I smiled and showed her the small seeds completely unearthed and drowning. “Oh” comes her acknowlegment and we cover again the little brown speckles.

Growing is slow, careful business. Such small seeds, such a large mess of dirt. Faster some how ceases to be a primary virtue it once was. Here, in this dirt, in this breeze… here He is. Showing me, this, my own soul. The small seeds, the mass of tired lumpy earth, the slowing. And I wait on Him, as He waits on me. Gently tending. Oh when? When did we rob ourselves of this sacred slowing- the cleansing wait. When did we first believe that lie? The running, the speed, the frantic pace of machine and energy. Did now ever truly yield what it promised? Did we ever save time? Or did we trade our peace for hollow conveniences.

Halted, here on this hill. In these seconds passed I purpose again to slow. To walk, to water, to watch, to wait. In all things, to rest in humble dilligence and confident expectation as each season passes. Knowing He who keeps the garden seed, keeps me.


3 thoughts on “The Sacred Slowing

  1. Reminds me of 1000 gifts. The gift of waiting. The gift of silence, which is not really silence, but filled with wind, rain, bird songs, bug songs. Into the silence. Immersed into the silence, we hear. Love the line about linens on the line and matriarchal lineage.

  2. Justin and I were just talking last night about how our lives have become so busy that we barely have time to check in with each other, let alone actual family time. There’s so many days that I need to slow everything I’m doing. Love this post!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s