Yesterday morning, after breakfast, Abbey and I went outside for our usual morning walk. The sun was shining in a clear blue sky, but the temperature was 8 below zero. I put on my winter boots, bundled up with my down-filled jacket and pulled the hood over my head. Abbey waited patiently while I slipped on her harness and clipped on the leash. We stepped out the door to begin what I saw as a quick 5-minute walk down our driveway and around the circular drive among the condos, giving Abbey a chance to “do her business.” Abbey saw it differently – another 15-minute adventure outside.
“Come on, Abbey. It’s cold outside. Let’s get this walk over with.” Abbey didn’t hear me. She walked about 10 steps, nose to the ground, and stopped to sniff one particular spot in the snow extra carefully. I continued down the driveway until I got to the end of the 25-foot extend-a-leash. I turned around. Abbey was still sniffing that spot. “Come on, Abbey,” I called. She still ignored me. I gave a slight tug on the leash. She looked up, and then pranced in my direction. She came about 20 feet, and then stopped to “do her business.”
“Good girl, Abbey. Let’s keep going. Let’s walk around the whole circle. Then we can go back inside where it’s warm.” Abbey looked at me like I was crazy, took a few steps, and buried her nose in the snow. Then she looked up at me and called out, “Just a minute, Mom. Someone’s been here. I haven’t figured out who it was yet.” So I waited while she sniffed some more. Finally she took a couple steps, and stopped to eat some snow. “This is good, Mom. You should try it.”
“No, thanks, Abbey. Come on. Aren’t you cold?”
“Just a minute, Mom. This snow tastes so good.” I stopped when I reached the end of the 25-foot leash again. I looked back to see what Abbey was doing now. She was standing up tall, listening in the direction of Kitty and Mickey’s condo. Sometimes they come outside when she walks by and they always bring a handful of MilkBones.
“Oh, Abbey. They’re not coming out today. It’s too cold.” Reluctantly Abbey walked my direction. Then she picked up another scent to follow. After about 15 minutes of this pattern Abbey and I returned to our condo. I was freezing. She was invigorated. “Abbey, I think it’s time we need to talk about our walks.”
“I agree, Mom. You seem really frustrated. What’s wrong?”
“Yes, I am frustrated, Abbey. It’s cold outside, and you don’t seem to have a clue what the word ‘hurry’ means.”
“Oh, Mom, you’re always in such a hurry. You’re so busy you don’t take time to do anything fun – or to take time to enjoy anything you’re doing. I thought joy was supposed to be your ‘perfect word’ for this year. You’re in too much of a hurry to find joy.”
Abbey’s rather harsh observation startled me. Am I really that busy? Every morning this year, I start my devotional time by reading a reflection by Sarah Young from her book, Jesus Calling. In this reflection, Jesus says, “Sit quietly in my presence while I bless you. Make your mind like a still pool of water, ready to receive whatever thoughts I drop into it.” A few sentences later, Jesus says, “Keep looking to Me and communicating with Me as we walk through this day together. Take time to rest by the wayside, for I am not in a hurry. A leisurely pace accomplishes more than hurried striving.” I have read these words 62 times so far this year. Apparently, I’m not heeding what Jesus says about not hurrying. I guess Abbey’s right.
I’m going to try something new for Lent this year. I’m going to try to fast from hurry. It’s not an original idea. A few days ago I read about someone else who’s planning to do this. Linda Swanson has a blog called “Journey in Process.” In her blog, she mentioned a book she’s reading, An Unhurried Life by Alan Fadling.
I looked up the book on Amazon.com and was tempted to download a Kindle version to quickly skim the book for key ideas to help me before Lent starts tomorrow. Then I realized, hurrying to get ready for Lent so that I can give up hurrying for Lent, doesn’t make too much sense. I think I’ll still buy the book, but I’ll order it as a paperback that Mim can read, too. (She’s technology resistant.) Then, maybe during Lent I can spend time studying the book at a more leisurely pace, and Mim and I can talk about it as we try to break the habit of hurrying.