The Ann's at My Table

"Stare at something beautiful. Stare for a long, long time."

This is the first Ann. The one who reminded me months ago to slow down.

She is practical. She gives me ways.




The first Ann's words resonate with the words of the second Ann. The one who reminded me just a few short days ago to be "happy in all these little things that God gives." The second Ann is leaning over cheese curls with her camera, when her husband walks in the door.

"I do feel foolish," she says. "I mean, it's curls of mozzarella and cheddar piled high in a pond of golden day."

These Ann's, both a part of my fast-paced online world. They visit my thoughts, accompany my moments. Slow down. Note the sunlight. Note the curls of time, the secret tucked-in places.

I decide to stare at something beautiful. How hard could it be?




My first thought is to cheat the experience, work from memory. I know what my great-grandmother's table cloth looks like.

Don't I?

My second thought is to set a timer. But what constitutes a "long time"?

Forget the details, I decide. Just jump in (mosey in?).




I feel the linen between my fingers. The weave is uneven, as I suppose all linen is. What is linen? I realize I don't know.

I don't know if my great-grandmother used a pattern for this table cloth, or if she dreamed it up herself. Oh goodness, are these grape leaves and grapes? I hadn't noticed. Ah, communion sewn into the cloth—a silent, spiritual poetry that sat under dishes and glasses, time and again.

And there is more I don't know. So much more. Is this the lesson of beauty? How much we don't know? Is this what moves us to awe? The ache to know?

I don't know how she chose the thread. It is strong yet silky. Did someone peddle it to her door? Did she walk to a shop on some German market street? Who made this thread that has lasted through time?

The stitches are small, so so small. How many hours did she work to make them? Did her fingers hurt as she moved the needle through nights and days, stitching a love gift for her daughter's wedding? Did she work by gaslight? Electric? Did she get bored, or did this work soothe her spirit?

I don't know. All I know is, thanks to my sweet Ann's, I have looked for a long time. And beauty has left me with questions.




---

Thanks to...

Ann Kroeker, author of Not So Fast: Slow-Down Solutions for Frenzied Families

Ann Voskamp, author of One Thousand Gifts: A Dare to Live Fully Right Where You Are

Drift Me

Night comes and I realize I'm bound up. I can feel it ...as if cords are laced from one part of my insides to another, and little tension-elves are pulling them tight, tight, tighter. My breathing is shallow. I keep sighing, as if to catch elusive breath. The day has done me in, or maybe the week... okay, the month.

It has been long, too long— sitting inside, letting life wrap and tug. I remember these words, written during my year of daily outdoor solitude and I'm filled with the urgency to be freed...

There were days when I would go outside only to think, “There is not a single new thing I will find here.” In these moments, it felt utterly true, and I felt I was wasting my time in my excuse-for-a-woods. Then, in the next moment, the trees above me would shudder in the breeze, and something would blow past. Seeds, maybe, releasing themselves to the wind, raining over me.

Then I would start to relax, to breathe. It occured to me that I breathed differently when I was outside, and that with each breath I lost some care of the day. I became a lady’s corset, unstrung by the wind, unlaced by black-capped chickadees.

Why have I gotten away from this? The commitment over, I guess, life rushed back in, but my heart still needs rain, seeds, wind, sky. The Ann's are reminding me to come back to lazy moments, to let God drift me.


Sunset Over the River photo by Sara. Used with permission.

RELATED:
Ann K's book Not So Fast: Slow-Down Solutions for Frenzied Families
Ann K's post Catch a Falling Star
Ann V's Slow Down, A Primer
High Calling Blogs Power of the Slowing
elk's Four Windows
Mom2Six's Still
S. Etole's Take Time
LL's Stumble into Loveliness and Morning with the Moon
Kelly's A Broken Still
nAncY's into
Maureen's Reading GoodNightMoon
Bonnie's The Beauty of Whitespace
Esther's Ditch the Leash
Joelle's This
Ann K's From the Rush to a Hush
Jennifer's Hush...
Bonnie's The Call of Love Whispers
DSMama's The Best Part
Kirsten's Cemetery Walking
Monica's Slow to See the Spinning
Jessica's Sit Down!

HOW ABOUT YOU?
Do you have a story to share, about the need to slow down, or your experiences with "slowing"? Drop your link in the comment box and I'll link to you here (links back are appreciated, though not required; that way, others can see what we're up to and share too). Let's celebrate and drift together...

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Poetry prompt: Make a "word pool" of at least five slow words. Yeah, I guess molasses counts. But verbs are good too. Create a poem using a minimum of one of your slow words, but feel free to use the whole pool. Post your poem by Thursday, October 22, for links and possible feature at High Calling Blogs. Drop your post link here in the comment box so I don't miss it. Thanks!