“Hurry is not just a disordered schedule. Hurry is a disordered heart.” ––John Ortberg
Sometimes I find myself chasing tasks when what is needed is stillness. This stage of parenting has seemed busier than ever, not because I am constantly moving in the way I did when my children were young, but because as my children are growing into adulthood, I find my heart and mind never rest. The stage is joyful and active in an entirely different way. My teens introduce me to new music and comedians and perspectives. They help with all the housework and increasingly manage more of their own educations. They do their own laundry and run their own tiny businesses. They help make dinners and mow the lawn. But they are not yet adults. They are straddling two worlds, with changing bodies and emotions, with swelling spiritual questions and complex realities, and in the process, my inner person is rarely still. I worry and wonder and plan. I make lists and set reminders and appointments. I try to remain one step ahead of them in all of their transitions.
I am prone to lean into busyness to pacify a restless heart. Sometimes as parents we can find relief in juggling all the things; other times our efforts wear us out, possibly even exasperate us. As a younger mother, I needed physical stillness to rest my feet, to take a nap, to think. In this stage with older children and teens, stillness has become the pathway into God’s presence, toward trust, toward rest, toward joy. The physical stillness reveals my restless heart and invites me to surrender it. Again and again, much like I wrote a few years ago here.
Long road trips require a lot of sitting and stillness. They also require patience. As any parent might attest in answering the curious little person in the back––ten hours is still ten hours. You cannot hurry time. Perhaps it’s why I enjoy road trips so much. They provide a physical reality of what is always true in life: we’ll get there when we get there. The secret, as they say, is to rest and enjoy the ride.