Remembering to Slow Down

I was on my way to work last week. I had several things in my hands which is just how I do life. I was balancing all of them just fine-- really I was. A coffee cake for the employee breakfast, a dozen eggs for a coworker, my purse, and a hot cup of tea.  I made it to my car. I placed the cup of tea on the rooftop and proceeded to place the rest of the items on the passenger seat. Then, I got into my car. For those of you paying attention-- you’re saying--oh..no, please don't tell me you drove away with the tea on your roof. I have good news. The second I got into my car, I remembered that my tea cup was still outside, and I retrieved it. I held the cup for a few moments and savored its warmth, took a sip, and then carefully placed it into the cup holder. I paused and took a deep breath before I backed out of the driveway, and muttered in my head something about the fact that I am still learning lessons on “slowing down.”

It hasn’t been an easy journey. Actually, at times, my journey has been pretty painful. Trust me about the saying that “it’s the little things.” It is indeed the little things. It is the little things that matter in many ways. Little things remind us of what really should matter in life. Little things also   provide wake-up calls. It is the little things that can morph into much larger things if we let them-- both in negative and wonderfully positive ways. 

We've all had reminders that we should probably slow down. My first reminder was sudden, unexpected, and boy, was it ever painful! My husband and I were getting ready to go out for a luncheon date. Between busy work schedules and kids and school, it had been a while since we had shared some quality time together. I was on a mission and I went up to the bedroom to gather a few things including my shoes. It was the little thing-- my right pinky toe that collided with the very large and hard wood chest at the foot of our bed. I nailed it -- perfectly. My toe- the chest. I heard a very loud CRACK and I knew something at that point had gone seriously wrong. The loud CRACK sent me quickly on to our bed, where I folded immediately into a fetal position. Tears erupted. Within seconds, my toe-- the top of my foot went from gray to purple and pink and swelled to enormous proportions. My husband made attempts to comfort me, but was pulled away to answer the babysitter’s knocks on the front door. She asked if we still needed her? Oh, hell yes! You bet. So much for the mid-day date. I hobbled to the car and we headed to the hospital for x-rays. It took a long time for my broken toe to heal. I guess you could say that I was forced to slow down. During that time, friends and family chimed in saying “you have to slow down.”

Believe it or not, my next lesson came later that same year. It was my step-daughter’s birthday dinner. It was a hot July afternoon and we had a large fan on the floor. Ya know-- the metal kind with a stabilizing base that juts out on both sides. You already know where I’m going with this but I’ll tell you anyway.

I can’t tell you why I felt that I needed to rush to get the candles, but apparently I did. I grabbed the candles from the kitchen, then recklessly attempted to return to the dining room. I came to a grinding halt when the pinky toe on my left foot collided with the base of the floor fan. It was as painful as I remembered when I broke my toe several months earlier. This time, I hobbled over to the freezer and grabbed the ice pack as I made way to the bathroom. I sat with my foot resting on the vanity and watched again, as my toe and the top of my foot turned colors and swelled. 

It took over a year for both toes to heal completely. I haven’t forgotten the pain that I felt- not once, but two times due to my rushing around and trying to manage and balance it all. I am much more intentional these days. In so many ways, I have slowed down to take inventory of the little things-- like the sounds on an early morning when I take care of our hens, taking the time to prepare and pack my husband’s lunch each day, embraces or exchanges from a loved one, and even the aroma of chocolate chip cookies fresh from the oven. If we lose sight of these small things, we can’t be present for the larger things that come our way. Our lack of presence can result in decisions being made for us. In my case, I had lost sight of the small things, and in turn, I was forced to stop, and to take note.