The 1 Reason Why You have to Slow Down

We hear them far off in the woods, just as the sun sinks further down.

And I stop.

Because who doesn’t stop when the world slips up behind and surprises you?





So we stand there and listen long and neither one of us can stop smiling and I almost forget to breathe.

The frogs have returned, the frogs and their song.

 Why does the trilling in the throat of a frog do this wondrous thing inside of me?  

The oldest boy, he and the dog go crashing off through that worn carpet of leaves all rustling, boy and Lab questing for big things.

But the Littlest One and I?

We’ve already found it.

That sound. 

A symphony of sound, trilling low and deep, fills the spaces between the trees, lifts us too.

It is like the water, a looking glass of trunks and limbs, like the water itself croons.

With the everyday eyes, I can’t see the singers at all. It takes time for eyes to adjust to stillness, and only the slow really see.

Then — there they are, on the far side. There!  These glinting eyes flickering up through waters. The peepers are back and we cvan see the, see the source of the song. Who doesn’t want front row seats to glory?

Can we pick our way across the swamp — can we get any closer?

She squeezes my hand tight and we splash across the bog and in a flash, the pond snaps shut.

All’s soundless.

Just this glassy reflection of maple branches pointing up to that curve of muted moon come early.

She and I swish swash further out, as far as we can go.

Then wait.

On this isle of tangled grass, the water slowly rises up to our boot ankles.

A red tail hawk swoops and soars, his wings motionless on the currents.

The moon rides higher, tailing sun dipping.

We say nothing, this Little One and I, but watch swamp’s mirror, waiting stock-still for the singers to surface.

The Lab charges up, smashing our reflection of anticipation.

“Go, Boaz!”she whispers too loud at the dog. “We’re waiting for the frogs to sing!” From within the woods somewhere, a brother whistles and Boaz ricochets off.

We wait.

Then one by one, they pop to the light. We catch our breath. Dare not move.

Tentatively it comes, this chorus , then crescendo, throaty yet gilded, and she squeezes my hand and we’re spellbound, smiling silly.

I could sit here forever, listening.

Doesn’t all the hurry makes us hurt? 

Slow never killed time. It’s the the rushing and racing, the trying to catch up, this is what kills time — ourselves.

Why in the world do we keep wounding ourselves?


Life is not an emergency. 

And this, this is the only way to slow down time:

When I fully enter into the current moment with the weight of all my attention, I slow the torrent with the weight of me all here.

Weigh down this moment in time with attention full, and the whole of time’s river slows, slows, slows.

In this space of time and sphere, I am attentive. I am aware. I am accepting the whole of the moment, weighing it down with me all here. This giving thanks for one thousand things , it’s that too, an invitation to slow time down with weight of full attention.

Long, so very long, her and I, we just sit. We just soak in frog songs on golden pond.

When our toes are cold and the shadows stretch, I stand slow, not wanting to.

“We leaving the frogs, now?” she whispers up to me.

I nod …. reluctant.

So Littlest swings round and two splashing steps into it and  it all falls quiet.

The sudden hush turns our heads.

The swamp’s soundless, blinked silent by hurried sloshing.

I scoop up  one wide-eyed little girl.

And whisper into her the ways of God.

“You can only hear your life sing — when you still.”





Be still, and know that I am God.

Ps. 46:10

:revisiting this as the frog sang last night

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An offering of thanks.. #3286 – #3295 of One Thousand Gifts

~ the return of the frogs and the Canada geese and the robins and the sun and all spring’s song
~ the wonder of this new community! All of you here making it all about Him!
~ the first ladybug!
~ cutting up cucumbers with my mama, talking about memories
~ choosing to do it different than this blurring instant world
~ the ugly-beautiful of a sink full of dirty dishes in the light
~ hard eucharisteo: flare of chronic illness … for all things I thank You, Sovereign Lord
~ {that God alone does something: #7}
~ the notes of grace playing everywhere, in everything….

Unending, unspeakable thanks be to God...

Take The JOY DARE for March— and Count 1000 Gifts in 2012 (maybe winning the NikonD90 camera would be a gift too?) Thank-you is a word that can change you, your world — the whole world!


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Give thanks to the Lord! His Love Endures Forever!