The Need for Snail's Pace (Day 4)

I do not like snails. I've said otherwise, elsewhere, but for the moment, I change my mind. I want the world of rabbits, cheetahs, and hummingbirds. Snails are the pesky creation-revelation that slowness belongs to the Kingdom of God. 

The Lord is merciful and gracious,

slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love. Psalm 103:8

Don't overlook the obvious here, friends. With God, one day is as good as a thousand years, a thousand years as a day. God isn't late with his promise as some measure lateness. He is restraining himself on account of you, holding back the End because he doesn't want anyone lost. He's giving everyone space and time to change (2 Peter 3:9, The Message) I know this is out of context, but the character of God as patient and time-wise is consistent). 

I prefer the revelations in creation that point to speed and productivity. ("Lead on; don't slow down unless I tell you" 2 Kings 4). But this is not the way and pace of faithful living, especially when it comes to healing. Today, we are having a hard time, as parents, channeling the power of the Camino against our normal routines of quick-fix and productivity. But this journey in Madeline's body prefers the Camino (The Way in Spanish) rather than the cheetah. And we need to slow down in order to catch up to her recovery.

 

Madeline took a shower and had her hair brushed today, yet she is still experiencing pain beyond levels permitting her to go-home. But the nurse is awesome and helping her do the necessary things - eat, drink, use the bathroom. One small step at a time. I also have to remember that she is a13yo adolescent with all the feelings, behaviors, and quirks of a 13yo (and we are 40+ yo parents, with all the feelings, behaviors, and quirks of parents). The relationship comes with trust which also comes with words and moods....

 

We know Madeline is making progress and yet we are surprised she is still here. We lack patience and had expectations of a speedy recovery. Madeline is always a whippy and fierce kid, willing to conquer anything in her way, so we projected that onto this and entered with time-bound expectations. Joel Rude, a mentor and friend, said more than 20 years ago, "Gratitude emerges from a sense of anticipation rather than a set of expectations." We are recognizing how we live by expectations and productivity rather than anticipation and hope. 

 

I woke up on this Sunday morning realizing that over the course of 20 years of marriage, Sundays are often "work days" as pastors and preachers. I like to work and create weekly goals, daily task lists, and strategic communication. I like using Sundays for such endeavors. We've managed to make a 7-day workweek.... But this morning as I had a difficult time focusing, no desire to attend worship during Covid-surge, and confusion on how to spend the day, I noticed the difficulty of living amidst the unknown - How long will recovery take? What is Madeline thinking and feeling? How can we best be there for her? What can we do to get her home? Even these questions look at productivity and doing rather than the power of silence and being present. It is hard to break our addiction to working.

Over the last two days we have begun to recalibrate our expectations and are trying to be present regardless of time. We know Madeline is improving and there is light ahead, yet accepting where we are, however we are, is an act of patience and presence. If we slow down, we can see how Madeline's recovery is on track, as if there is a schedule for this. As we slow down to ask questions to the doctors and listen to Madeline, we are learning more about the severity of her surgery and recovery. Imagine living at the pressure of 30,000 feet for thirteen years and then dropping to sea level in an instant. (Or as my dad said to someone at church today; it's like
a Bobble head who had a tightened spring for a long time and then it was magically released. It's a bobble head, which hasn't bobbled, ever.) Additionally, the neck muscles were stretched and pulled; the nerves were released and shocked. There is finally more space in her brain for activity and breathing; her little body is completely recalibrating. It is a lot. Her neck and brain are recovering from an actual trauma. This will take time.

Snails-pace is our pace, and thankfully God gave us a revelation to remember through the snail (our friends also gifted Madeline with Levi, the Sloth. Both the creature and its name point to God's pacing and presence). But slowing has never been our speed; it is not Madeline's either. But today, I am trying to re-embrace what I learned by walking and learn to love the snail again.

 

As I look back over the past few days of this blog, we largely document the progress and success in recovery benchmarks. This is good, and yet, we can still learn to rest in her presence that needs patience. I can feel the need to overcome suffering, but like Under Armour, "The only way is through" (more productivity, but a great line anyway) and Madeline is doing the courageous work of suffering through (If you want a brilliant book on suffering and its place in our lives, check out this book by our friends, Sara and Daryl).

 

 

As I was thinking about hummingbirds, I found this its from a little piece on centering prayer from a journal entry some time ago:

 

We joke in our home that each of us is an animal. During the 2020 Covid-19 Stay-Home, Stay-Safe orders my kids decided to name their parents an animal - like a spirit animal from the buzzfeed quiz. In honesty and disclosure, my kids call me a Grizzly Bear. I'm content hibernating in the basement with my laptop and a cup of coffee, but when I make the occasional trek up the stairs and out of my cave, I am usually hungry and emerge with grumbly tones demanding the kids clean up the kitchen mess before their mom sees it. 

Lindsay was dubbed a hummingbird because she bustles and achieves more in a minute than most do in a day. Also, because who doesn't love a hummingbird? (Even more, who doesn't love a group of hummingbirds, which ornithologists dub a "charm", all the more reason to reference Lindsay as a hummingbird). Yet the science of a hummingbird is interesting. Hummingbirds are extremely smart, and "with their rocketing movements and jewel-like plumage, hummingbirds seem like a hybrid of flesh, feather, and fireworks. The wings of some species flap up to a hundred times per second. Their heart rate can exceed a thousand beats per minute, and they gulp nectar with a near-invisible flick of the tongue. In gardens or at backyard feeders, they're the definition of fleeting beauty."  (Borrell, Brendan. National Geographic, Jul2017 p98-118). The hummingbird's wings flap more than 100 times per second, and whether flapping down or up, the hummingbird is one of the few birds who can manage life with either direction. Its brain is more than 4 percent of its body weight, compared to a human whose brain is 2% of body weight. A hummingbird's fuel is the sweetness of flowers (and the sugar water many of us suspend from bright red feeders). If the hummingbird was a human, it would need to drink "more than one 12-ounce can of soda for every minute they're hovering, because they burn sugar so fast" (Borrell).  This is an amazing bird, and its entire life is dedicated to the act of bustling. 

We are not hummingbirds, yet our need for productivity and efficiency ought to make us sometimes wonder. The bustling of a hummingbird cannot find space to rest; its purpose is to fly. Ours is not; as a friend who is Cherokee once said, "I don't fly on airplanes because that role was given to the birds." We were given legs to walk, and walking is a slow way. There is a place for hummingbirds, and bustling has its place in our lives, but often in relationship to God, slow is the way.