The Hurt of Hurry

Ann (see, I'm on a first-name basis now...or so I delude myself into thinking) says hurry makes us hurt.

I look at my day: hurry through work so I can go to a friend's house to hurry through a visit, then hurry home where husband waits for me and I stuff dinner down my throat and this is when I should be most present - with my husband and in our prayers - but I hurry to bed, hoping I can get to sleep as fast as I can. Sleep, I believe, is the only time when not only do I not want to hurry, but I am forced to take it slow, minute by dreaming minute.

The next day I hurry to wake up and start it all over again. Actually, if I am honest, I primarily want to get to the sleep part.

Now what kind of existence is that? Where's the room for miracles? For sudden surprises that leave me laughing out loud? Where's the looking? The first blue-jay of Spring could fly right past me and I wouldn't even know it.

Many Christian songs ask the question: what if you just passed someone on the street and that person was Jesus? You wouldn't have seen him.

Yes, hurry makes us hurt.

I miss out on my clients succeeding at their jobs; I miss out on the taste of acai berry tea and having honest conversation with a friend; I miss out on tasting a good dinner; I miss out on my life with the man with whom I am to spend the rest of my life and if there's ever a sin it's that. What does sleep hold that's so enticing that it's my get-to-goal?

Ah, it's an escape. It's forced-upon-down-time. Rest. Of course, I want to escape this hurtful hurry-up-ed-ness. My life has the fast-forward button on and it's tiring, sad, and joyless.

Not so when I slow down. Not so when my eyes linger on a tree branch arching in the breeze. Right then, I am the breeze. I am the branch. I am beside God, watching Him create these moments.

I don't want to live asleep. I want to witness God's work and I want to do work for God. I vow not to hurry up any longer. I press the stop button and press play, with the occasional pause.

Bless you.