an unhurried life.

A few weeks I wrote about my desire for a simple life.  Over time I’d love to flesh that out on the blog, as these thoughts take form in my heart and, hopefully, in my life.

The idea of wanting an unhurried life has been growing within me these past couple of years, but I can reach back in my memory to find that I first began learning it from a pastor’s wife and friend here in Lititz, Sandy Johnston.

I moved here and had no friends and a baby on the way.  Sandy would call me every so often just to see how I was doing.  She’d stop by with dinner, or invite me over on a Saturday morning to learn how to make apple pie crust.  She remembered details about my life and asked follow-up questions.  She was a homeschooling mom who taught part-time and gave music lessons.  She was a busy lady.  But she never seemed busy.  She was someone about whom I thought, “Sandy has time for me.”  And afterward came the impression, If I’m ever a pastor’s wife, I want to be like her.

Later on we moved to South Asia, and I learned some more.  Fairly soon after we moved, I began meeting a few young moms on the playground and chatting with them.  My first friend was Asma, and I will be forever grateful to her for welcoming me when she had lots of friends of her own and certainly didn’t need to show kindness to an outsider.

Soon after we struck up conversation, I wanted to hang out more, and invited her out for coffee.  She sounded interested in the idea, but I could never nail down a day or time.  Once she came by my apartment to visit me, so I returned the favor, probably to drop off cookies or some such thing.  As I walked into her home, she insisted, “Sit down, sit down. Please stay for tea.”  I stayed, we chatted, then after what I thought an appropriate amount of time, I began to wrap things up to head downstairs to my apartment. “You’re leaving so soon?”  she asked. “Please come back when you can stay awhile.”

Okay.  I tried to set a time (maybe on Thursday?). “No, don’t set a date, you’re welcome here anytime.”

This was one of the hardest cultural things for me to grow accustomed to.  This idea of making new friends and their insistence that I come see them “… any time!  You’re always welcome!”  I thought they were just being polite.  But as my friendship with Asma grew, I began to realize she was completely serious.

I thought I could best get to know people through shopping or coffee dates or having them over for dinner, but I found out these new friends just wanted my presence.  They were honoring me by inviting me straight to their home.  Straight into their personal space and family life.  To slow down and just sit and visit.  Anytime I wanted.

That is one of the things I came to love most about South Asian culture, and one thing that made me feel like I fit in there.  I don’t have lots of ministry skills to bring to the table, and I quickly learned that was fine.  I learned that the way to really get to know my neighbors was to pop over to their apartment for a cup of tea and stay for two hours (kids are happily welcome!).

Though it didn’t come naturally, I really believe this sort of in-the-home hospitality, whether in my home or in theirs, was the reason I was blessed with good friendships in such a short amount of time.  There is an intimacy that comes with being present with one another without a reason or a schedule or a ministry.  It’s humbling because you’re not “accomplishing” anything.  But maybe that’s the point.

Learning this began to change the way I saw “ministry” and the way I considered how best to show love to people (and how best I felt love).  I pray that this beautiful part of South Asian culture took root in my heart, even in eighteen short months.

And now here I am, back home for good, looking at the giant question mark that is our future, wondering how I fit into it.  I’m thinking of myself as possibly, one day, a pastor’s wife, or a full-time Christian worker’s wife, trying to guess at what my niche will be.

And I keep coming back to this idea. If there’s one thing I want to be known for among my friends, my neighbors, my family, it’s this: “Jules has time for me.”

Sounds pretty basic, right?  But yet, it’s not a given.  Not in South Asia.  Certainly not here in America, where it seems like the most oft-repeated phrase I’ve heard since coming home is, “I’m just so busy.”  I’m completely swamped.  Life is crazy.  Who has time to sleep?  I’m exhausted.

I guess stepping away for a year and a half has caused me to notice it more–even notice how quickly I pick up the refrain.  And as I fire off an email to a friend, apologizing that “things are just so crazy right now,” I stop short.  No.

No.

That is not what I want.  I am not a victim of this abstract, swirling force of busyness, which hits those in ministry as much or more as those not in ministry.  I’m not going to make excuses to the people who matter to me that essentially say, I’d love to spend more time with you, but my busyness comes first.  I want to be like Sandy, like Asma.  I want to have time.

I’m going to go out on a limb here and say I think busyness may be one of the biggest idols in our country.  You’d certainly believe it if you listened to people talk.  If you listened to yourself talk.  You’ll be shocked by how often a phrase to this effect comes out of your mouth (I know I am when I listen to myself).  You’d think we all bow low before this god, and if we chose to stop bowing we’d cease to exist (or. cease to matter?).

There’s nothing wrong with busyness, in and of itself.  We need to make a living.  We have good things to commit to.

But the problem comes when we’re so busy we don’t have space in our lives for people.  For hurting people.  For non-believing people.  For happy people.  For lonely people.  For our kids.

I’d say that blogger/writer Ann Voskamp’s most repeated piece of advice to moms is “Slow down.”  Slow down.  You’re hurting your kids.  You’re rushing them.  You’re not listening to them.  You’re demonstrating that righteousness is found in busyness.

I need to hear those words, oh, about every day.  I don’t want my kids growing up with a hurried, busy mom.  I don’t want my friends to say, “I love to spend time with Julie, but she’s just always so busy.”  I don’t want my neighbors (whoever they turn out to be) to know me as the lady rushing back and forth from her car to the next school or sports or church event.  I don’t want people to worry that they are imposing on me with their needs.

If Christians really want to stand out, to be different in the world, we shouldn’t show that we go to church and Bible study; we should slow down.  We should live less-hurried lives.  Or at the very least, stop telling people about how hurried our lives are.  Try it and I bet you’ll discover a fraction of how much your identity is wrapped up in busyness or in proclaiming your busyness.  A busy pastor is a good pastor.  A busy mom is a popular, interesting mom.

When did this become a virtue in the church?  I know that even as I want to be unhurried, I’m scared to death of being judged as “that pastor’s wife who has so much time on her hands” (surely that’s not spiritual?).

But I think the people around us are hungry for someone who has time.  For someone to listen.  No agenda.  No texting, no checking email.  To be present, with undivided attention.

And here’s the thing: being the kind of person who loves people and who puts relationships first doesn’t just happen by accident.  It’s intentional.  It’s saying “no” to some things (good things), in order to leave space to say “yes” to others.  It’s risking your reputation, your identity, your feeling worthwhile and efficient and useful.  As my husband shared in Sunday school this morning, true ministry happens in the interruptions.

If you can never be interrupted, never schedule an impromptu cook-out with the new friends you made, never bring a last-minute meal to a mom who had a rough night with her new baby, never sit leisurely out in the yard to chat with the neighbor kids who are over-talkative and annoying and lonely, then you’ll miss it.  I’ll miss it.  I don’t want to miss it.

Please know that I write this post not out of judgment but out of the humility that says, “I’m scared.  I can’t do this. What will people think of me?  How will everything get done?”  Also out of the humility that knows how apt I am to schedule a “down day” with my kids, then fill up all the spaces with laundry and dinner prep and blogging and not ever just sit down and play with them.

It’s a journey, one I’m determined to continue on.  I want to strike up a conversation in the Chick-Fil-A playground.  I want to be the one smiling, not tapping her foot, in the check-out line.  I want to notice the person sitting in church who looks sad.  I want my girlfriends to know they can drop by my house for an afternoon cup of coffee.  I want free week nights in our schedule for a last-minute dinner with friends–or strangers.  I want to be out rummaging in the yard when a neighbor decides to come introduce herself.

I want to be okay with being less important and less busy.

I want an unhurried life.