How many times have I heard this in my life? When I was
running through the house as a child... running beside the swimming pool...
running in church... running near the road...
“Walk, don’t run!”
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I was a fast runner. I ran everywhere. I remember “running
an errand” for a teacher in primary school. While everybody else was in class, I
had a clear route, sprinting from one side of school to the other. I pushed my
legs to pump faster, willing my toes to skim the ground lightly as I bounded, unencumbered
by weight or gravity. I felt like I was flying.
Now my running is more earth-bound but I’m still wired to do
things fast. I type fast, talk fast, listen fast, feel fast. I think so fast
that I lose track of the many topics I’m processing all at once and have to
make a list.
I am a list-maker and the more rapidly I can move through my
day’s lists, the sooner I can switch into a lower gear and slow down. When my
list is done, I can stop and chat; I can spend some time, hang out and give you
my undivided attention. When everything is done...
No one ever taught me this – there was no lesson in school
or talk from my parents or text book to guide me - but somewhere along the way
I learned that personal interaction came last, that only once I have finished all
my jobs for the day can I then sit down, relax, and relate. Relationships came
at the end of the list but, in reality, the list never ends.
I’d like to be able to tell you that connecting with you is more
important than getting things done and that, when you’re with me, I will give
you my undivided attention. But I can’t promise this because, honestly, it’s
not always and I won’t every time.
I quietly confess, just between you and me, that getting
things done has very often been more important than you. For that, I’m sorry.
Now I live in a culture different from the one in which I was
raised. Here in Mozambique, relating comes first. At the top of the list of
things to do is “to be”. Be present, be open, be available. Just be.
Just be? Me? A list-making, flow-charting, organising,
planning westerner, just being? I’d have to make a list to work out where to
start.
Weddings here go on for days. Church goes on for hours.
Invited for lunch? There’s no rushing off to get things done – it’s all about
celebrating together and it will probably turn into dinner. There’ll be none of
this “I’ll just pop in for an hour but then I’ll leave” nonsense. You’re there
for the long haul, you’re engaged, you’re accessible. Or you’re not there at
all.
At the supermarket
checkout, there’s a fluid conversation that transfers itself like a game of
verbal tag from one customer to the next as the line moves forward; the scanner
and the packer are included and will stop scanning and packing to take part in
the conversation or to laugh at a joke. I’m sure the joke has been on me when
I’ve been tapping my can of tomatoes on the bench, frustrated that everybody’s
chatting while I’m waiting to be served. How excruciatingly inappropriate I
have been culturally.
It’s all about people: listening, connecting, knowing one
another. How often I’ve run past an opportunity that would have made me a
richer person.
Walk, don’t run!
In reality, running through my days may get more done in a
practical sense but at what cost? How many rich moments of relating to another
person have I missed by running? How much wealthier would I be in relationships
if I had learned years ago to walk, not run?
My Mozambican brothers and sisters have taught me much about
walking through each day, keeping the main thing the main thing. Surely the
main thing is each other. The lists can wait. The jobs will get done eventually.
The world will keep turning.
I am still learning to slow down, to breathe deeply and
deliberately when I sense the tension between my desire to walk and my
compulsion to run. I can’t say that walking comes naturally to me yet. I am
still adjusting to the rhythm of life here. But I’m taking more time than I
used to, to be, and that is a good thing.
At the end of the day, I now ask myself, “Did you run or did
you walk?”
Today, did you look deeply into someone’s eyes and really,
truly listen to their response when you asked how they were? Did you lay an
encouraging hand on a child’s shoulder as they told you about their day at
school? Did you make a new friend, encourage an old one? Did you share a few
silent moments where words weren’t needed and a relationship grew out of
effortless companionship?
Did you spend some of your doing time today, just being?
I am learning to walk gently through my days and hope that,
when you see me, you’ll stroll along beside me for just a little while.
Valda is three months old. Her skin is light, her cry weak
and her limbs stick-thin. She weighs 1.5kg. Valda is fighting for her life.
And yet, Valda continues day after day to fight. Her round
black eyes open wide and she watches the faces of the many people who come to
the nursery to pray, to love, to will some of their strength to her as they
hold her. Her skeletal frame is growing but she has no flesh on those bones to
pad out her wizened features. “Wizened” – a term used for old people fading gently
away after a long and active life. Valda, who has only just begun her
adventure. Valda, who has been placed upon the earth for such a time as this.
Valda, called, chosen, with a destiny to fulfil.
We will continue to pray and believe. We’ve seen it so often,
the miracle of life taking hold when death tries to rob the world of a gift
such as Valda. I’m sure I can see it in those beautiful eyes as they watch me watch
her. I hold her close, almost weightless in my hands as I press my cheek to
hers and sing, “You will live and tell of His wonders...” Over and over I
repeat the words, a sing-song declaration that she is not alone and that she
will get through.
