I move fast. Like real fast.
My friends and family often joke that I’m a tornado in the kitchen. I often shock myself by how much I can get done in an hour at my desk. And, it only takes one walk with me to know that “a walk” actually means a moderate jog.
Fast means effective, fast means that more can get accomplished, and fast means that I won’t get bored. So obviously, I really like the idea of fast.
But lately, most things that I’ve wanted to go fast are going really.
Really.
Slowly.
And I’m not just talking about a new recipe that took longer than I thought. I’m talking about a handful of relational dynamics that are taking longer to be worked through than I would have wished. I’m talking about a learning curve of leadership skills that seems never ending. I’m talking about pursuing change in the ministry that I lead and having it move slowly, slowly, slowly.
In our minds, things should get fixed quickly, right? We should be able to make changes quickly, we should be able to resolve things quickly, we should be able to learn things quickly.
But in reality, things just seem to take a really.
Long.
Time.
The other day, I was glancing through a friend’s book and saw a quote from Frederick Faber that described “the extreme slowness of God.” My eyes widened to into round globes of shock, and I immediately began to chafe at the description.
Isn’t God the most powerful entity of creation? The most effective, creative, brilliant leader of all time? The most genuine in bringing about reconciliation and whole relationships? Then why on His green earth is he described as being extremely slow? I was (and still am) annoyed.
But you see, as much as the idea of God being slow makes me chafe, it actually makes a whole lot of sense. I work with college students, and college students love the idea of quick and big change (and, their staff workers often like that idea, too!). After one conference, a student is ready to start an entirely new ministry that will change the entire campus. After one Scripture study, a student is ready to never ever fall into a certain sin again. And after one spring break mission trip, a student is ready to change an entire population of a city. In these big and grandiose moments, I affirm these remarkable and ambitious students, and then I gently remind them that “good change is slow change.”
So I already know that slow is good. I know that to be true with change, but I also know it to be true in other areas of life. Eating slowly is a much more delightful experience than shoveling. Having the time and space to linger in conversation with a friend is way better than the hurried “how-are-you-good-how-are-you-good” in the grocery store.
But as always, I have a hard time living into the wisdom that I share with other people.
Yes, God is powerful, effective, and ambitious. So yes, he could resolve and restore and reset all of the things that I want to be different now. But that would result in a God who was bustling around, rather than a God who was present with me and with those around me.
It is not from a lack of care that God moves slowly. It is from a deep and gentle compassion for
his people.
It is not from a lack of urgency that God moves slowly. It is from a sincerity of bringing about
lasting change.
It is not from a place of forgetfulness that God moves slowly. It is from a deep remembrance of
the fragility of humanity.
And it is not from a place of lethargy that God moves slowly. It is from a deep commitment to
be with people in the hardest moments rather than rushing ahead.
I serve a God of extreme slowness, a God who choose to be with me and with those around me, a God who pursues lasting change over band-aid change, and a God who tenderly sticks with us in our most fragile moments.
But now the challenge is for me to settle into that slowness. I hate moving slow – just ask my friends, family, or colleagues! But rather than running laps around a God who actually knows what’s going on, I might be wiser to settle down and relax a couple steps behind him and just follow.
I invite you to join me and to slow down. Maybe pick the longest line at the grocery store and pleasantly wait in it, as a friend suggested to me. Maybe drive the speed limit all day today (we'll see how that one goes for me!). Maybe ask God to help us follow him in the slowness rather than tell him how frustrated we are that we’re still waiting.
A God of extreme slowness has invited us to follow him. And as much as it makes me bristle, I truly do trust His slowness over my hustle.
My friends and family often joke that I’m a tornado in the kitchen. I often shock myself by how much I can get done in an hour at my desk. And, it only takes one walk with me to know that “a walk” actually means a moderate jog.
Fast means effective, fast means that more can get accomplished, and fast means that I won’t get bored. So obviously, I really like the idea of fast.
But lately, most things that I’ve wanted to go fast are going really.
Really.
Slowly.
And I’m not just talking about a new recipe that took longer than I thought. I’m talking about a handful of relational dynamics that are taking longer to be worked through than I would have wished. I’m talking about a learning curve of leadership skills that seems never ending. I’m talking about pursuing change in the ministry that I lead and having it move slowly, slowly, slowly.
In our minds, things should get fixed quickly, right? We should be able to make changes quickly, we should be able to resolve things quickly, we should be able to learn things quickly.
But in reality, things just seem to take a really.
Long.
Time.
The other day, I was glancing through a friend’s book and saw a quote from Frederick Faber that described “the extreme slowness of God.” My eyes widened to into round globes of shock, and I immediately began to chafe at the description.
Isn’t God the most powerful entity of creation? The most effective, creative, brilliant leader of all time? The most genuine in bringing about reconciliation and whole relationships? Then why on His green earth is he described as being extremely slow? I was (and still am) annoyed.
But you see, as much as the idea of God being slow makes me chafe, it actually makes a whole lot of sense. I work with college students, and college students love the idea of quick and big change (and, their staff workers often like that idea, too!). After one conference, a student is ready to start an entirely new ministry that will change the entire campus. After one Scripture study, a student is ready to never ever fall into a certain sin again. And after one spring break mission trip, a student is ready to change an entire population of a city. In these big and grandiose moments, I affirm these remarkable and ambitious students, and then I gently remind them that “good change is slow change.”
So I already know that slow is good. I know that to be true with change, but I also know it to be true in other areas of life. Eating slowly is a much more delightful experience than shoveling. Having the time and space to linger in conversation with a friend is way better than the hurried “how-are-you-good-how-are-you-good” in the grocery store.
But as always, I have a hard time living into the wisdom that I share with other people.
Yes, God is powerful, effective, and ambitious. So yes, he could resolve and restore and reset all of the things that I want to be different now. But that would result in a God who was bustling around, rather than a God who was present with me and with those around me.
It is not from a lack of care that God moves slowly. It is from a deep and gentle compassion for
his people.
It is not from a lack of urgency that God moves slowly. It is from a sincerity of bringing about
lasting change.
It is not from a place of forgetfulness that God moves slowly. It is from a deep remembrance of
the fragility of humanity.
And it is not from a place of lethargy that God moves slowly. It is from a deep commitment to
be with people in the hardest moments rather than rushing ahead.
I serve a God of extreme slowness, a God who choose to be with me and with those around me, a God who pursues lasting change over band-aid change, and a God who tenderly sticks with us in our most fragile moments.
But now the challenge is for me to settle into that slowness. I hate moving slow – just ask my friends, family, or colleagues! But rather than running laps around a God who actually knows what’s going on, I might be wiser to settle down and relax a couple steps behind him and just follow.
I invite you to join me and to slow down. Maybe pick the longest line at the grocery store and pleasantly wait in it, as a friend suggested to me. Maybe drive the speed limit all day today (we'll see how that one goes for me!). Maybe ask God to help us follow him in the slowness rather than tell him how frustrated we are that we’re still waiting.
A God of extreme slowness has invited us to follow him. And as much as it makes me bristle, I truly do trust His slowness over my hustle.