Slowing Down

Two and a half years ago, my husband and I shared a small basement apartment with our - then - four children. He was recovering from a health scare, and I was recovering from picking up the pieces around the scare. He couldn't work, and we were together alllllllll dayyyyyyy everyyyyyyydayyyyyyy. I thought about working, but Steve needed me at home, so we lived there, in a tiny space, with no idea what the next day would look like. We didn't have a yard. We didn't have extra money. We didn't have any space. We were literally hiding in a basement.

In search of space, I got in the habit of walking on trails for miles and miles every day, with all my kids, of course; pushing them in a stroller; pulling them in a wagon; letting them ride ahead on bikes. They'd straggle behind, moaning and groaning when they got tired. We walked for miles and miles, while I sorted out all the events and confusion and questions that were swirling around in my head. If I was walking really fast, it was because I was working through something that made me very emotional. Ana would ask me, "Why are you walking so fast?" I took the time one night to explain to her that when I got upset, I walked faster without realizing it. After that, on a walk, if I started to leave everyone in the dust, Ana - almost 9 at the time - would then call me on it, "Mom, You're upset!"

I remember turning around and looking at my kids, way behind me at one point, and I realized - in that very moment - that I should try to walk more slowly when I am upset. In fact, maybe I should occasionally just sit down altogether, bow my head, and LISTEN.

Our walks became much more relaxed after that - they became prayer walks. I am going for a prayer walk right now, and this time I am not praying for answers or direction; I am praying in thanks. I am going to walk and walk and walk, very slowly, and I am going to say, "Thanks."

I hope Ana notices.