Monday, May 20, 2013


It's heavy. And I'm overwhelmed with awareness of what it's done. How its squelched and suffocated.

I watch The Boy flitter from here to there with excitement for this, that, and everything in between. Yet, he doesn't hardly enjoy any one thing. Sometimes I've thought it was remarkable how much he flitters. I thought it was evidence of joy.

Over time, I've come realize something that makes me incredibly sad.

The Boy has been struck with sickness. It distracts. Time isn't savored, it's devoured. His moments are hardly even tasted, they're gulped. His meals aren't enjoyed, they're more a nuisance -- something to be done on the list of to dos.

My son is exhausted after just a few hours of awakeness. I've noticed this and always wondered why he seems to fatigue so easily. His mind spins a hundred miles an hour.

We're homeschooling now. The reasons are many, though central to our decision is the hope that we can help our son learn to focus, and by changing the pace up a bit maybe we can harness his best hours for learning. He doesn't technically have a disease or syndrome that needs diagnosis, though he is symptomatic of a sickness.

I'm learning more than any of us, and I'm not even the one at home with him all day every day.

I'm watching The Boy's eyes and how they are always far off. He's always concerned -- about every. thing. and every. one., and nothing stands in between but a vast expanse that makes this and that so confusing to navigate. His world is so big and it's all so overwhelming.

What have we done for our children to live so crazed? 

My son hears an instruction to do something and inside processes it as hurry! He looks so far beyond now that he compromises on every single moment. Instead of one at a time, he takes handfuls of moments and swallows hard without tasting. I wonder if he even knows what vanilla tastes like -- sweet and tart.

This sickness of worrying about what comes next is anxiousness that robs us of peace. Joy is kidnapped.

And all I can think about is that he's eight. EIGHT!

I know 35 year-old's, 55 year-old's, and even 92 year-old's, with this sickness. I have symptoms of it, too, sometimes.

I've lived the crazy busy life -- Rushed. Anxious. Too serious for my own good. Intensely focused on the try-hard and shoulds. And incredibly overwhelmed with what's next?

I see so many people look parched. Withered. Dry. People are dying and they don't even know it. Life has nearly shriveled up inside them. And I fall to my knees at the thought of this eight-year-old Boy-Man missing out on life.

Frantic and hurried and rushed is sickening. Fatal.

The habit that has developed of thinking so far ahead . . . filling days to the brim with busy . . . rushing away the moment . . . it all saddens me. Angers me. Compulses me to Slow. Down. even more.

I tasted peace and decided I wanted more. Joy filled my heart and quieted the noise. A stirring arose within me and I started to live with a heightened awareness of God's presence in my life.

Less really is more. 

I want my son to learn what it means to live. I want him to experience life.

Jesus, calm his heart. Don't let these worries get the best of him.  

And I pray for us all.

Make us well, Father. Slow us to notice you. 

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