I walk really fast. I’m not apologizing for it. I once did a bike ride with my thirteen-year-old and his preferred “chill pace” was legitimately slower than my usual walking speed. I know this because my watch can tell me the miles per hour for both activities. I did not like “chill pace.”
My husband and I moved into a neighborhood called Hill Creek Acres this summer. My new walking route is now full of (you guessed it) acres of hills and creeks. There’s one hill right after the covered bridge by our house that is so steep you have to lean into it to get to the top. Even the speediest speed walker has to slow down.
I have mixed feelings about slowing down.
This week I’ve been drawn to Isaiah 30. The passage I keep coming back to starts out this way:
“For thus said the LORD God, the Holy One of Israel,
‘In returning and rest you shall be saved;
In quietness and in trust shall be your strength.’
But you were unwilling, and you said
‘No! We will flee upon horses’;
therefore you shall flee away;
and, ‘We will ride upon swift steeds’;
therefore your pursuers shall be swift.
I linger over returning and rest, quietness and trust for just a second. And then I find myself resonating with that exclamation point after “No”. Returning and rest? No. Exclamation point. I feel it in my body, in the space between my eyes – the “Quick-quick!” of filling space with something, anything, to keep from slowing down.
I’ve done a good job of avoiding what happens when I slow down. Maybe you can relate. Sometimes when I slow down, emotions come up that feel too big to handle, too big for me to go all the way through and make it to the other side. Emotions like sadness, anger, or disappointment.
Let’s go back to that hill in my neighborhood. There are days I have to slow down almost to a stop halfway to the top, and it’s on those days that I’ll see a particular fallen tree in the woods or sparkly frost on the leaves. There’s something about the speed of how fast I’m going that determines what I can notice around me. When I’m walking fast, I notice less. If I’m totally still, I can’t help but notice.
This morning I was sitting down to read a psalm and journal, and within minutes I had this very urgent but quick-don’t worry-I’ll be right back thing I needed to do on my phone. I got up, grabbed my phone, and in the same movement thought about how getting up from my Bible to grab my phone is probably not a great practice. I put it out of sight, sat back down, and in the same moment a quiet thought that spoke straight to my heart dropped out onto the page.
I’m convinced that thought wouldn’t have been there after the phone thing I needed to do, whatever it was.
Isaiah 30 continues:
“A thousand shall flee at the threat of one;
at the threat of five you shall flee,
till you are left
like a flagstaff on the top of a mountain,
like a signal on a hill.”
It’s at this point in the passage that I picture the flagstaff. On top of the mountain and alone is how I see it. I can relate to this image because it seems that when my life is filled with all of my quick-quick space filling, I often find myself alone. I’ve been frantically filling the time and I haven’t been connecting. When I'm moving that fast, there’s no time to check in with myself, with my body and soul, to see what might come up. There’s no time to reach out to others to see how their days might have looked this week. I’m functioning like a flag on top of a mountain.
But here’s what happens next.
“Therefore the Lord waits to be gracious to you,
and therefore he exalts himself to show mercy to you.
For the Lord is a God of justice;
blessed are all those who wait for him.”
Deep breath in. Deep breath out. He waits to be gracious to me. The words that follow keep getting better.
“... but your eyes shall see your Teacher. And your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying, ‘This is the way, walk in it,’ when you turn to the right or when you turn to the left.”
These words calm me. I remember that often it’s in the hard seasons that I slow down out of necessity, because I can’t keep up the pace, and I find that the Lord is waiting right there in that space to receive my questions. What should I do? Which way do I go? To the right or to the left? Which brings us back to walking. Sometimes the hills are exactly what we need to lean into the Lord, to slow down enough to hear the quiet voice of his love.
What might the Lord be inviting you to see and to hear even today, even now? Maybe you’re able to slow down and notice something in you, in the world around you, in others. Whatever that thing is that just popped up, listen for just a minute. Write something down or make a note in your phone. See what might come next as you slow down and create (just a little) space. You can sit with the Lord in whatever thoughts and emotions might come up.
Maybe you found something you want to share with a friend - can I encourage you to send that text? Maybe you want some extra care and this is a season to reach out to one of our counselors or mentors. If so, we’d love to come alongside you. And take heart: in all of this, He’s with us and He waits to be gracious to us.
By Jessie Linneman, Mentor