“Please slow down. We love our children.”
These words are bold white, planted on yards around my neighbourhood, reminding drivers to watch their speed.
These words are more than this for me. “Please slow down”. They are the words constantly tugging at me. All the time.
Everything in my life tells me to slow down. And when I actually listen, I often find true wonder in those moments. Wonder I haven’t found anywhere else.
The tiny seed growing, poking its’ head through the soil, its’ future is a tall oak tree.
When I am forced to slow down, bowing down low, wiping grains of rice off of the sticky floor, I look up, humbled, and see the miracle wrapped in tiny curled toes and laughing blue eyes.
When I slice the squash, not in the frantic rush that my body is prone to choose, but slowly, thankfully, I am able to smell its’ sweet scent before plopping it into the pot of oil and onions.
When I step out on the porch with my son. And gaze up at the night sky through a glittered paper towel roll. The “wow” off of his lips echoes the silent wonder growing in my heart.
Slowing down stirs a question in me, as I stir the coconut milk into the squash soup.
Who decided to hide these miracles in the small, quiet, slow moments? To be unwrapped, like gifts?
Now is a time in my life when what was once clear has gone grey. Where there were straight paths there is now a maze. What I once thought I now question. And all of this uncertainty and doubt leaves me feeling unsettled, confused, and lost. My life is telling me to slow down.
I think I will find a lot of truth there. In the slowing down, and the looking. Being brave enough to get up close – life under a microscope – searching for wonder.