Pause

I’m late.  Breakfast did not happen, and now I’m racing through the day with flailing arms and sirens wailing.  Still I am behind, always behind.

The clever guys have given this state of being a name.  They call it Time Famine.  Apparently the whole world is breathless, and 24 hours just isn’t enough.  With one hand clenched white on the steering wheel and our collective index fingers glued to the fast forward button, life is rapidly becoming one big emergency.The trouble is, we cannot hit rewind.

When asked what his greatest regret in life was, author Mark Buchanan’s answer was simple:

“Being in a hurry.  Getting to the next thing before I had fully entered the thing in front of me.  I cannot think of a single advantage I have ever gained from being in a hurry. But a thousand broken and missed things, tens of thousands, lie in the wake of all that rushing.”

Do we, like Buchanan, think that our mad-dash-to-the-finish-line is making up time, when we are actually throwing it away?   Can we wake up to the weightiness of his words, or is it OK for all our little boats to drift downstream together, further away from the Source?

As you have probably gathered, I have been wrestling with my own habitual severing of the silver thread that connects us to God and each other.  And make no mistake, this living amidst Time Famine’s clutches is a habit. Yes, one we sometimes feel cornered into amidst all the busy-ness and debt and work and kids and stuff, but a habit none the less, and one that we can choose to change.

A glimmer of another life rises when we realise that time sets itself to our pace.  Simply put, the faster we run, the more time flies. But the beauty of it all is that this also holds true in reverse.

If we pause, so, seemingly, does time.

We can choose to be completely present.  To fully enter the thing in front of us.  To pause. We can suspend time if we give ourselves wholeheartedly and gratefully accept the moments as all we have. Slowly, deliberately unwrapping them as gifts, savouring each ribbon that floats free. This is living intentionally.

I do not have words to describe the wonder of it all, but I have been awakened to moments I have missed for years.  The breathtaking beauty of a fresh new morning, little arms embracing me before I leave for work, a friend who needs comfort today and not tomorrow, the wooing of the Spirit which never returns in exactly the same way, or a partner who needs us to be fully here, right now. The gratitude that flows from living this way glorifies God, and acts as a catalyst to love Him with all our being.

In the margin I have scribbled a reminder: “No more hastily stumbling forward and breaking things. No more blurring of the beautiful, fragile moments into one, streaky mess.”  If these words somehow echo in your heart,  let’s try something practical:

Today, when you meet with a friend or client, choose to be present.  Look them in the eyes, grip them by the shoulders if you have to.  And listen.  Do not form the next thought while they are speaking, do not fiddle with your phone.  Enter the thing in front of you.  If you have little ones, take five minutes out to watch them sleep tonight.  Take in the beauty of golden curls cascading down a pillow slip.  Here, in the moment, God dwells.  These are the moments you will not forget. This is the habit that leads to no regret.

Glory to Him

WS