We're addicted to hurry.
In the last several weeks I've become more and more aware of how hurried our lives can be. We cram our schedules, leaving but a couple of minutes of margin in between appointments. Oh, I'm sorry, I'll speak for myself. I cram my schedule: Class from 3:00-3:50, meeting at 4:00, dinner at 5 and Bible study at 6:00. Cram, cram, cram. I squeeze in lunch dates so that I can spend time with people, and then, because they're squeezed in, I linger to make them last just a litle bit longer, and because I lingered, I'm off running, late to my next engagement. I find myself wishing I had time for a nap far too often, knowing that if I take the time to nap, then I'll be up late that night. Sometimes I succumb; I'll probably be up late anyway.
Yes, we-- oh, sorry-- I am addicted to hurry.
During worship on Sunday the worship pastor said that he had had an excellent week of following Jesus and wondered if anyone else felt that way. A few hands went up. He asked for people to call out why they felt it had been an "better than average week." Words like "discipline" and "rest" or "obedience" or "prayer" were shouted out. Then he asked if anyone had had a less-than-average week following Jesus. I heard people call out words like "busyness" and "exhaustion."
Standing there listening to this got my mind spinning again. This obsession with hurry-- with busyness-- is pervasive. It's everywhere. We rush through meals, rush through phone calls, rush through traffic, rush through devotions, rush through appointments and rush to meet deadlines.
I've become increasingly aware of my tendency to rush through life and hurry through things. I've noticed my propensity toward crowding out things I care about in order to be more "efficient" with my time. See? I can balance my life and two-and-a-half others! Clearly, I am being productive as long as my never-ending to-do list has somethings marked off.
Right?
Laundry. Check.
No... perhaps efficiency and productivity is more about keeping the list short rather than finding things to check off.
This last week I've thrown my internal clock a wrench. Alarm clock? No way. Schedule? We'll figure it out. Feel like running? Or napping? Or eating? Or Skyping? Sure. And yet, I've finished two final papers, and two exams in the last week. I've been able to serve at PADS and Skype friends who I've struggled to keep in touch with. I've been able to play games with my grandparents and go on walks with God.
And still, I find my mind whirring like an incessant machine at times. It's confused. Why isn't there something to hurry off to? Something that needs to be rushed? At times, I must admit, I feel like I'm losing my mind. There's nothing to do; I worry that I'm being lazy, or unproductive, or inefficient.
Is this "losing-my-mind" stage my withdrawal from hurriedness?
I'm so sick of answering "tired" when asked how I'm doing. I hate hearing myself answer, "Good, but busy!" when asked how life is going. I don't like it and I'm sick of it.
And yet, the idea of not doing much seems terrifying. Shouldn't I be doing something productive? Gaining new skills or a wider work experience? Making money? Saving money? Getting work accomplished? I get squirmy and uncomfortable with the thought of not having much to do. Will I pick up a book and read for pleasure? Will I go on walks, and sit outside to see the sunset-- just because? Will I rest and be replenished, ready to pour out and serve? Or will I lose my mind because I'm not busy?
I know that I need more margin. I know that I need more down-time. I constantly have to fight this achieve, produce, gain mentality that has sunken in.
I must. I don't want to cut corners on the things and people that matter most. I don't want to give them corners. I want to give them the best me possible, knowing that they love the worst me too. I'm not exactly sure what this summer is going to look like, but I hope that I find time to simply sit... to rest... to breathe.
And on that note, I'm off to take a nap :)
Friday, May 11, 2012
Saturday, May 5, 2012
Stories
"I was expecting you to be talking to people! Are you sure you're enjoying yourself?" Julie asked me.
I shrugged. I hadn't seen anyone else talking to people, so I wasn't sure I should be. Besides, I didn't feel up to it. I was volunteering at PADS tonight, a community movement to support the homeless in DuPage County. My grandma had told me they were short on volunteers to serve dinner and asked if I would be willing to help. Of course I was willing. I haven't been involved in need-based ministry for a while.
When I got there, I didn't know any of the volunteers. I kind of kept to myself, but began helping them set up mattress and make the beds for the night. Sixty mats upstairs for the men. Ten downstairs for the women and ten for the family room. As I was bending over and folding the sheets over and over again, I was struck by the momentary nature of my presence at PADS that night. I would only be helping out this one night, the whole summer. I would only set up these beds, this one night, this whole year. And yet, those coming tonight, would depend on PADS many, many, many nights throughout the summer. It was an eerie thought and, for some reason, sent odd chills down my spine in the 80 degree room.
After setting beds up, I headed to the kitchen where I found Julie, an old family friend. She knew me when I was a toddler, I believe. We chatted and caught up on life while we cut bread and put cookies on plates, waiting for the people to arrive.
When they started to arrive, I was unsure of how to interact with them. I knew they were homeless-- that's why they were here. But no one else was going up and talking to them. So instead, I smiled politely and helped wherever I could. But to be honest, I felt very useless. I was running back and forth filling up the dessert tray, wishing I was sitting at a table, striking up a conversation with one of the people there.
So Julie's question was unnerving. Yes, I was expecting that I'd be talking to people too. She said it was perfectly fine for me to go and talk to them... even if no one else was. So I took in a deep breath, grabbed a pitcher of water and started walking around the tables, offering refills. This way, I began making small talk with people. Near the end of the meal, I started talking with a man. We'll call him Rob.
Rob was in his mid-fifties and was very friendly. We started up a conversation very easily and I asked if I could join him at his table. He very hospitably said yes and kept a warm conversation going. I found out he had a daughter about my age and was able to hear much about his life. My heart warmed being able to listen to him and get to know more of his story.
Ah, stories. Aren't we all just stories strung together?
Lucas teases me because I love telling stories. I love hearing stories. I love reading stories. I love them. I find that they capture people so well... their hearts, their dreams, their interests, their fears... their lives. I love stories.
And so, we sat at the table, covered in a plastic tablecloth, telling stories.
The night came to a close and I had to leave.
"Dear young lady," he cried, "you have truly made my night."
I smiled and waved back.
Ah, he had truly made my night.
I shrugged. I hadn't seen anyone else talking to people, so I wasn't sure I should be. Besides, I didn't feel up to it. I was volunteering at PADS tonight, a community movement to support the homeless in DuPage County. My grandma had told me they were short on volunteers to serve dinner and asked if I would be willing to help. Of course I was willing. I haven't been involved in need-based ministry for a while.
When I got there, I didn't know any of the volunteers. I kind of kept to myself, but began helping them set up mattress and make the beds for the night. Sixty mats upstairs for the men. Ten downstairs for the women and ten for the family room. As I was bending over and folding the sheets over and over again, I was struck by the momentary nature of my presence at PADS that night. I would only be helping out this one night, the whole summer. I would only set up these beds, this one night, this whole year. And yet, those coming tonight, would depend on PADS many, many, many nights throughout the summer. It was an eerie thought and, for some reason, sent odd chills down my spine in the 80 degree room.
After setting beds up, I headed to the kitchen where I found Julie, an old family friend. She knew me when I was a toddler, I believe. We chatted and caught up on life while we cut bread and put cookies on plates, waiting for the people to arrive.
When they started to arrive, I was unsure of how to interact with them. I knew they were homeless-- that's why they were here. But no one else was going up and talking to them. So instead, I smiled politely and helped wherever I could. But to be honest, I felt very useless. I was running back and forth filling up the dessert tray, wishing I was sitting at a table, striking up a conversation with one of the people there.
So Julie's question was unnerving. Yes, I was expecting that I'd be talking to people too. She said it was perfectly fine for me to go and talk to them... even if no one else was. So I took in a deep breath, grabbed a pitcher of water and started walking around the tables, offering refills. This way, I began making small talk with people. Near the end of the meal, I started talking with a man. We'll call him Rob.
Rob was in his mid-fifties and was very friendly. We started up a conversation very easily and I asked if I could join him at his table. He very hospitably said yes and kept a warm conversation going. I found out he had a daughter about my age and was able to hear much about his life. My heart warmed being able to listen to him and get to know more of his story.
Ah, stories. Aren't we all just stories strung together?
Lucas teases me because I love telling stories. I love hearing stories. I love reading stories. I love them. I find that they capture people so well... their hearts, their dreams, their interests, their fears... their lives. I love stories.
And so, we sat at the table, covered in a plastic tablecloth, telling stories.
The night came to a close and I had to leave.
"Dear young lady," he cried, "you have truly made my night."
I smiled and waved back.
Ah, he had truly made my night.
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
Boxes
My closet is empty.
My dresser is empty save for two pairs of clothes.
My books are sitting in boxes.
I have yet to take my pictures down from the wall.
Am I really packing up again?
Strangely enough, this packing feels like I'm leaving Colombia all over again. No, I'm not nearly as attached to this room in Busey-Evans as I was to my home in Colombia. No, I'm not leaving my family, most of my friends and moving to a place where I know no one. No, I'm not moving to a different continent. No, no, no.
But, not unlike leaving Colombia, everything I own, after I leave U of I this week, will be in boxes or suitcases again. I'm not simply packing up my "college stuff" and bringing it back to a room where my "other stuff" is; my college stuff, for the most part, happens to be my stuff. I'll be back to living out of a suitcase for a couple of months before I move back down to Champaign to live elsewhere and unpack again-- creating a space of my own in the fall.
And there's that odd sense of knowing that I'll never be living in this room again. I probably won't (though I can't say for sure) live with Ty or Chrissy again. I won't walk down the hallway and stop by Karissa and Calen's room anymore. And that's just a really strange thought.
For the last two years, my entire college existence has happened from this room, with these people as core. I sometimes forget how the way we take in the world is so spatially and geographically influenced, but leaving this room is reminding me. Yes, next fall will feel quite different.
And so, in a sense... as I pack, I pack with farewells in my mind and goodbyes in my heart. I pack knowing that this concludes a short instance, a brief chapter. What has become so familiar will quickly become a memory and I'll fall right back into my familiar routine of transitioning and adjusting.
My dresser is empty save for two pairs of clothes.
My books are sitting in boxes.
I have yet to take my pictures down from the wall.
Am I really packing up again?
Strangely enough, this packing feels like I'm leaving Colombia all over again. No, I'm not nearly as attached to this room in Busey-Evans as I was to my home in Colombia. No, I'm not leaving my family, most of my friends and moving to a place where I know no one. No, I'm not moving to a different continent. No, no, no.
But, not unlike leaving Colombia, everything I own, after I leave U of I this week, will be in boxes or suitcases again. I'm not simply packing up my "college stuff" and bringing it back to a room where my "other stuff" is; my college stuff, for the most part, happens to be my stuff. I'll be back to living out of a suitcase for a couple of months before I move back down to Champaign to live elsewhere and unpack again-- creating a space of my own in the fall.
And there's that odd sense of knowing that I'll never be living in this room again. I probably won't (though I can't say for sure) live with Ty or Chrissy again. I won't walk down the hallway and stop by Karissa and Calen's room anymore. And that's just a really strange thought.
For the last two years, my entire college existence has happened from this room, with these people as core. I sometimes forget how the way we take in the world is so spatially and geographically influenced, but leaving this room is reminding me. Yes, next fall will feel quite different.
And so, in a sense... as I pack, I pack with farewells in my mind and goodbyes in my heart. I pack knowing that this concludes a short instance, a brief chapter. What has become so familiar will quickly become a memory and I'll fall right back into my familiar routine of transitioning and adjusting.
 |
| Tyler and I at a Barndance-- Fall 2010 |
 |
| First Snow Fall of 2010 with Chrissy |
 |
| The three of us on my birthday-- 2011 |
 |
| Chrissy- Dec 2011 |
 |
| Ty and I on my birthday 2012 |
 |
| ChRiSsY |
 |
| On mah bday with Chrissy |
 |
| Me, Karissa and Ty... on my birthday |
 |
| Chrissy, Me and Karissa... birthday :) |
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)