Deceleration

I never cease to be amazed by the things I learn from my children. My kids have been, undoubtedly, some of my greatest Life Teachers. Little Squirt, right now, is instructing me in the joyful art of In-The-Moment-Living.

I am trying to slow down after a crazy-busy month, although I still have a few affairs to attend to. (“Affairs” meaning “projects.” I am not a Desperate Housewife.) I don’t think I’ve encountered an October in my lifetime that has been quite so active! I’ve had to add some responsibilities onto my plate that I hadn’t seen coming and don’t feel excited about. But mostly, it’s been positive stuff; things I enjoy tremendously when taken in healthy doses. I’ve had Starbucks dates and evening glasses of wine with girlfriends, fun projects with my beloved Drama Team, a delightful weekend visiting with Super Hubs’ visiting family. I’ve been to church meetings and school meetings and prayer meetings. It has, for the most part, been good and filling and rich.

But too much of a good thing is overkill. Like when I gorge on jelly-bellies. A handful is tasty. A couple of handfuls, still delectable. But shoveling them into my mouth at mock speed is just plain greedy and deserving of a fuzzy-mouthed, stomach-bloating Sugar Hangover. And that’s how I am feeling this week. I have an Activity Overload Hangover that has made me cranky and exhausted and resentful, and finding it necessary to feed my children cereal for dinner. I’ve been going joylessly through the motions of life, in a flurry of busyness, trying to just get through one more day. I haven't actually delighted in much of anything. This is not a pace that is healthy for me, but I really haven’t had much choice. Oh, Dear God, please let November bring me more margin! (“Bwa-ha-ha!” I hear God laughing maniacally at my naiveté.)

But Little Squirt, God bless his laid-back little 6-year-old heart, has been forcing me to practice In-The-Moment-Living. He relishes and celebrates the ordinary with such abandon! He lives in the present and enjoys the flavor of each and every jelly-belly, savoring them individually on his tongue. He has two paces of life: Slow and Stop-And-Smell-The-Roses.

While I see snow flurries as a depressing premonition of a brutal winter to come, Little Squirt dances in them, tongue stretched to Heaven. “I caught one!” Where I see a yard full of leaves as yet another chore to add to my overflowing plate, he sees an opportunity to make a pile for crunching and rolling and experiencing joy. He insisted I walk with him in his school’s Halloween parade, the only non-volunteer mother to do so. “Isn’t this SO FUN, Mommy??” he exclaimed.

The other day, my heart was filled with angst over so many burdens and so much water-treading. Little Squirt was sitting at the kitchen table in no particular hurry, coloring a picture, and singing a song at the top of his lungs. He was thoroughly enjoying the moment. I had the unmistakable impression that the voice of God was saying to me, “Be still, and learn from your child. Stop, and relish. Each moment is a gift.”