The Practice of Slowing

Both lanes were stopped on my favorite cut-through to my parents’ house. I didn’t see any work signs or accidents, just a line of cars backed up for some reason. The guy behind me laid on his horn, which always irritates. Then, emerging about 10 cars ahead, I saw there was a flock of geese. Without a care in the world, they sauntered ever so slowly across both lanes. I counted twenty-three adolescent goslings crossing the street from their pond to a field.

I’m learning to “do slow” again, more and more. It’s a lesson the Lord continues to teach. Slowing down your inside and slowing down your outside creates opportunities to actually see and hear from Him. It’s true for a prayer life, and it’s true in real life. It’s often interrupted by the “honking horns” of distraction.

My parents are in their slowing season these days, especially my dad. He and the goslings move at about the same pace. I picked Dad up for a recent appointment. Pushing a walker, we were slowly in and slowly out, enjoying pleasant interactions with those holding doors open for us.

The “practice of slowing” is a lesson the Lord has for everyone. It’s a blessing for those who learn how to do it before age becomes the teacher. I see I need a refresher.

After the appointment, we caught breakfast at The Original Pancake House, where Dad gets his favorite potato pancakes. There we sat, eating slowly, enjoying the time as Dad recounted the fabulous potato pancakes his Aunt Ruth would make for him on Saturdays after cleaning out the stalls on the family farm. “These are good, but nothing like Aunt Ruth’s,” he always says.

I stood to pay our bill while he finished up. A line to the register meant I would practice “slowing” again. A gentleman with a cane stood near me and, as I offered him my place in line, he smiled, saying, “I’m only stretching my back, my wife is in line.” I asked about his back, and he told me stories of sports injuries and military service, of many medical operations and his accompanying arthritis. He wasn’t complaining, simply telling the truth. He was just happy to find a standing position that still allowed him to play music. Turns out he was a singer and guitar player.

The line was moving, but I was enjoying the conversation, so I let people go ahead, looking over my shoulder seeing that Dad was still finishing up.

Turns out this gentleman was born in Hazard, Kentucky many years before. He’d been abandoned in a small hospital as an infant. A local church, St. Jerome, found a sweet family to adopt him in Cincinnati and they named him Jerome, though most call him Greg. I didn’t expect such a rich life story to be spilled out in those few minutes. “Wow, God rescued you, didn’t He?” I said. “He sure did!” was his happy reply.

The adoption story so warmed my heart that I shared our own story of Makayla, and that currently I was caring for my parents. Greg grew misty-eyed and gave me a hug. He had been the life beneficiary of a loving home. In his words and embrace he wanted me to understand how important it was to take time for others and to love in practical ways.

Dad met us with his walker and after short introductions, and a prayer of blessings, we unhurriedly moved on our way.

Sometimes prayer is simply slowing down to see and hear. Where are you practicing slowness these days?

Speaking of slow, I’m happy to announce that, at long last, my book is finally complete and available on Amazon!

By The Fire: The Spark of an Extraordinary God in an Ordinary Life

It’s a collection of stories I’ve told in different settings for years. I mostly wrote them for my family and friends, so please understand that’s the audience. They have a different feel than what I’ve captured in these newsletters, as they chronicle some important God moments in my life. If you appreciate a good story as much as I do, then perhaps you’ll enjoy some of these as well.

Click here to order a copy!

Blessings,
Rusty