Every morning. Window watching, waiting. Rylie waiting for her transportation van to school and Max waiting for Hudson to come home. (Eventually he gives up and sulks in his bed all day until Hudson does eventually come back home.)
This particular morning I was struck with the thought of how they wait with such commitment and focus. They aren’t multitasking on a device or even having a snack while they wait. They are just putting all of their energy and focus into waiting. They are fully present in their waiting. And while it may seem like a waste of time or somewhat boring, these two are THE most excited when the thing or person they are waiting for finally shows up. It gives them an immense appreciation and joy when they receive what they have so patiently waited for. And on the other end- if it is a person they are waiting for, that person is met with the most pure joy and a feeling of being fully seen and loved. It is a gift that gives both ways.
Our attention is constantly pulled in a million directions daily, many times by technology that doesn’t always have to be attended to. We have allowed ourselves to become increasingly distracted as we seek to fill every quiet or dull space with entertainment or purposeful distraction. We don’t like to wait. It forces us to be still and we can’t control how long we have to wait at times. And the second we lose control of something is when our fear kicks in, disguised as seeking entertainment or busyness. Because our lack of control of a situation is often rooted in fear, and we subconsciously look for ways to distract ourselves away from feeling out of control.
Unfortunately our ability to easily distract ourselves has begun to hurt our appreciation for each other. We can be in a room full of people and still feel unseen and insignificant if everyone is busy doing something. It has continued to turn us inward, focusing more on ourselves than others. Sending us down a path one step at a time where we slowly become less and less interested in caring about other people. We notice less what others need and are less motivated to give selflessly of our attention and time.
In the book The Ruthless Elimination of Hurry John Mark Comer says,
“Because what you give your attention to is the person you become. Put another way: the mind is the portal to the soul, and what you fill your mind with will shape the trajectory of your character. In the end, your life is no more than the sum of what you gave your attention to. That bodes well for those apprentices of Jesus who give the bulk of their attention to him and to all that is good, beautiful, and true in his world. But not for those who give their attention to the 24-7 news cycle of outrage and anxiety and emotion-charged drama or the nonstop feed of celebrity gossip, titillation, and cultural drivel. (As if we “give” it in the first place; much of it is stolen by a clever algorithm out to monetize our precious attention.) But again: we become what we give our attention to, for better or worse.”
Rylie also likes to sit at that same window whenever she knows we will be having visitors or when her aide is scheduled to come. One time when we were not sure when family who live out of state were going to arrive, she sat at the window for over an hour. We would check in to see if she wanted to step away since she did not have the ability to independently move herself, but she resolved to waiting until their arrival. Committed. Because she was that excited to see them. Can you think of a time where someone made you feel so loved and valued? John Mark Comer also states in his book, "Hurry and love are incompatible." I had to think on that for a while. The more I contemplated this quote I thought about how much love has to do with presence, and how much 'hurry' and 'presence' really do not coexist.
When Rylie was born it was a traumatic, dramatic, emergent event. I had gone into labor at 24 weeks pregnant after a placental abruption. Paul and I lived in the small city of Toccoa, Georgia at the time where the only hospital in town was in no way ready to appropriately set up to handle a micro preemie if I were to deliver that night. So my doctor did his best to delay delivering her until they were able to get a sort of ambulance bus up from Atlanta to transport her to a better equipped facility. After several hours I was taken back and put under anesthesia for an emergency c-section. They successfully delivered little 1.9lb Rylie and minutes after I awoke I was able to squint from my bed to see her tiny, frail little body in the isolette before they whisked her away on the enormous ambulance bus to Atlanta. I had to spend the next couple of days recovering in the hospital before I was well enough to make the drive to Atlanta to see her. Much of those days are a blur to me as you can imagine. I remember random things like the Tombstone pizza I was eating an hour before going to the emergency room and then vomiting the same pizza a few hours later as they made me lie with my head lower than my feet to try to prolong labor. I remember that Paul was watching a movie about Dale Earnhardt when I told him I thought something was wrong and he may need to take me to the hospital. You know, the important things.... One memory in particular stands out to me this day though. It was so meaningful to me in that moment, and actually has become one of the most powerful examples of Jesus to me that I have ever experienced.
When I was pregnant with Rylie I was actually in the midst of trying to finish up my senior year of college. I had gone into labor the day after my last final exam for fall semester. (To this day Rylie loves all things that have to do with calendars, memorizing dates and days, and loves schedules. So I like to think she somehow purposely waited for me to finish my semester before planning her dramatic entrance into the world.) One of the classes I had taken that semester was French with Dr. Harvey who was a retired missionary from West Africa. I loved hearing his stories from being on the mission field, and his personable nature made it all the more enjoyable to learn in his classes. He was one of those people who always made you feel welcome in his presence. Always smiling with what I would describe as a gentle joy. If you were ever in need of help he would be someone you know you could ask and he would do anything to help you. He cared deeply for people and his heart overflowed with the love of Jesus.
Word spread quickly around campus when I had gone into premature labor and we were so encouraged by those who came to visit those couple of days while I was recouping in the hospital. One of the visitors was was Dr. Harvey. The memory I have of Dr. Harvey that day is not full of much detail as you might expect such a profound memory to be. But I guess it has weathered all of these years in my heart as more of a memory of a feeling. It reminds me of the quote, "People will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel."
I don't remember seeing him walk into the room and I remember none of the things that he said to us that day. I simply remember him sitting in a chair at the end of my hospital bed facing me with a look of deep concern and empathy. I remember feeling surprised that he sat there for as long as he did without feeling a need to keep talking. I felt him wanting to do something with every fiber in his being, and knowing there was nothing he could do to fix it, and so he was just quietly present. And I remember at some point him fighting tears in his eyes because he was so deeply concerned. It remains to me one of the most powerful example of presence that I have ever experienced. I felt his heart that day aching with ours: distressed and grieving and scared because none of us knew what the future would hold for our daughter in such a fragile state. He felt with us. He sat with us. He was the presence of Jesus to us. I often wonder if he knew the impact he had on us that day. And the example he gave that I carry with me to this day whenever I see someone hurting or grieving.
I do know that if Dr. Harvey had called that day to say, "Hey! I will be praying for you," it would have been nice but would not have made us feel as cared for and loved as the presence he gave. Sending a card or telling us to let him know if we needed anything would have been a nice gesture, but it wouldn't have been something I would have taken the time to write about 17 years later. Presence moves people. It leaves an imprint on people's hearts. Presence is a kind of love that Jesus is. "Hurry and love are incompatible."
Admittedly when I was sitting at the table that day snapping these pictures I had been doing something mindlessly on my smart phone moments prior. So please hear me - I too am still working on the whole presence thing! But when I looked up and took a moment to take in the picture in front of me and the deeper implications it had, it helped me pause and reflect. And it served as a reminder to not be so quick to try to fill all of the quiet spaces. Even the seemingly boring ones like waiting endlessly by the window for someone who may or may not show up soon. Because it is that kind of sacrifice and whole hearted commitment that gives the gift of powerful presence to the person they are waiting on. It is in those quiet spaces of presence - alone or being present with another person - that allow things to happen in our heart that wouldn't happen if we continued in constant distraction.
In the pause of presence we see things differently. After all, love doesn't hurry "Love is patient..." (1 Corinthians 13).
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