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Slow Down Your Summer
by Keri Wyatt Kent
It’s
summer. Here in Chicago, our daytime high temps shot
from the 50s and 60s to the 80s within a few days—which
is typical.
By the
time you read this my daughter will have graduated from
8th grade, my son from elementary school.
Soccer season will end this week, and classes and other
activities are finally winding down. Today I am trying
to finish this newsletter while preparing to have my
in-laws over to attend graduation.
Summer can
be a time when things actually do settle down—or not. We
get sucked into the trap of thinking summer is endless
and put off what we really want to do. We see wide open
days and rush to fill them, rather than relish them.
Try to
keep summer as slow as you can. How? Choose very
carefully what you say yes and no to. If someone asks
you to do something you don’t want to do, and your only
plans are to putter in the garden, simply say, “I’m
sorry, I have plans.” The more you say no to busyness,
the more leisurely your summer will be. That’s hardly a
profound statement—if you’re not busy, you’ll be
leisurely. But how many of us can actually do the hard
work of saying no?
Don’t sign
your kids up for too much, if you can help it. If they
are old enough to work at a job like babysitting or
lawn-mowing, have them do that.
And also,
explore the spiritual discipline of solitude.
With the
kids home from school, solitude is harder to find. But
not impossible. I love solitude in summer because I can
enjoy it outside—in the garden, in a park, during a walk
by the lake. Just watching loons dive, re-surface, flap
their wings dry and do it all over—that’s a worship
experience for me.
I can find
solitude in a sidewalk cafe in the city, surrounded by
strangers, even. God is everywhere—on a mountaintop and
on a city street.
Solitude
as a spiritual practice is not just being alone, but
being alone with God. Spending one-on-one time with the
God can feel intimidating. You wonder—will I feel God’s
presence? Will I know what to do? Focus on this: the God
who made all the beauty of summer loves you with a
radical, deep and overwhelming love, and desires your
company.
God
created the beauty of summer flowers and singing birds,
in part, because he knew you would find joy in it. And
in part, because he finds joy in it. And the joy God
finds in his own creation, and the joy you find in it,
is just something you have in common. Appreciating
beauty is part of what it means to bear the image of
God. He set the earth in its orbit, just perfectly, so
that we would have seasons and warmth. The next time you
say, “Wow, what a beautiful summer day!” remember who
came up with the idea of beauty and summer in the first
place, and then arranged the solar system in such a way
that we could experience. That same God wants to simply
be with you.
We often
have what I call a cell-phone relationship with God. We
call him when we want something—a favor, or a little
help, or to lodge a complaint. Sometimes we call to
thank him or just say hi, but even then, we’re talking
while we’re on the run. It’s not bad to keep in touch
with God however we can. Some communication is better
than none at all. And in fact, we often keep in touch
with friends and family via similar communication—quick
calls on the run.
Or we get
into a rules-focused faith, where we just try to do
stuff for God, to impress him or to mitigate our sin a
bit. We have a performance-based relationship, which
assumes God’s love is conditional.
But a
truly deep relationship is not based on what we do for
the other person. An abiding friendship can’t be
maintained with only occasional quick calls asking for
favors. Close, intimate relationships need unhurried
time. Time where we put away the cell phone and sit on
the front porch, enjoying both conversation and
comfortable silence. Front porch conversations are
leisurely. They’re more about time spent than words
spoken.
Last
weekend I put some bright blue plastic chairs on my
small front porch. I potted up some pink impatients and
stacked them around the chairs. I found a great sisal
rug to put out there. It’s my new sanctuary, a place to
sit and watch the world go by, a place to invite a
friend to sit and have a glass of iced tea on a hot
summer day and just relax.
The porch
also serves as a reminder, every time I walk through my
front door, to make some time for summer solitude—to
carve out time to be alone with a God who loves me. A
God who appreciates what I try to do to serve, but
mostly, just wants to be with me.
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