A few years ago, a rabbi and I were to co-officiate very big, very formal wedding a little north of Boston.
About an hour before the wedding, I opened my suitcase and discovered I had packed a suit coat, a dress shirt, a tie - but no suit pants.
The only thing I had by way of pants were the light wash jeans I was wearing at that moment. And like said, very formal.
I quickly discovered that there was a Kohl’s about 8 miles from the venue, and that was probably my best chance…
I sprinted to my rental car and begin driving along one of those beautiful, windy backroad New England highways with the tall tree foliage covering everything…
…at a dangerously fast speed.
As I drove, I had Siri call Kohl’s, and within a few seconds I was on the phone with an employee:
“Hi. I need help. Can you pick out a formal looking suit for me?” I then provided my measurements and added…
“And can you place the suit into the changing room as I need to change into it as soon as I get there?”
I could tell the Kohl’s employee was highly skeptical…but she eventually promised to do it.
I arrived to the store, and raced to the dressing room. In under a minute, I had the new suit on and my other clothes now crumbled under my arm as I began jogging to the check-out area.
Where, of course, there was a line…
Fortunately, the people in front of me could see the visible sweat forming across my forehead, not to mention the breathless panic of my demeanor. Kindly, they offered to have me go to the front of the line.
“Thank you! Truth is,” I explained, “I am the co-officiant for a wedding that begins at the top of the hour about 8 miles from here.”
Simultaneously, they all checked their watches in quiet disbelief.
Once at the register, I discovered I still needed to remove those white plastic sensors from the suit.
I hopped up on the counter and pulled the tail of the coat toward the cashier, and she removed it. I jumped down and offered a full hamstring stretch with my leg onto the register area. Quickly, she got that one off as well.
I paid, sprinted again to the car, and I drove at untold speeds back down that windy, foliage-covered highway… ultimately arriving five whole minutes before the wedding was to begin.
New suit. Notes in hand. Sweat pouring down my brow.
It is amazing the thing we can pull off when we have to.
But at what cost?
I looked the part… but inside I was exasperated.
I said the right words in the ceremony that day… but I felt none of them.
I was there… but I wasn’t there.
Can you imagine showing up to something as sacred as wedding and because the race to get there had been all-consuming, you missed the whole thing?
Many of us, I think, find ourselves taking the highway of life at whatever speed is needed to pull off all of the demands.
And since a lot of life is…
one thing to the next.
multitasking as much as possible.
to-do lists that grow longer even as we are crossing off items…
..we speed up. Again and again.
And a lot of the time - at least to all outward appearances -
we look the part;
we say the right words;
things seem generally put-together.
But, what about - for some of us -
The beads of sweat forming along our brow?
The tiredness of our body?
The growing lack of connection to our heart?
Can you imagine showing up to something as sacred as life and because so much had been consumed by the race, you missed the whole thing?
When I arrived back to the wedding five minutes before start time, I saw the entire wedding party huddled together with the rabbi right in the middle.
He had drawn them into a time of prayer over the couple, the service, and the families.
I don’t remember the content of his prayer. What I remember was his presence.
Even while the other officiant for the big wedding was nowhere in sight and the rabbi truly had no idea how things were now going to unfold in the service… he was at peace.
I think if I had a single word for his way of being it would be this: grounded.
Grounded in who he was and what he brought to this moment…
Grounded in the gift of moment itself… regardless of how the plan was or was not unfolding.
Grounded – a word which does not suggest much movement all, but it does suggest
strength,
and depth,
and vitality.
A lot like those tall, foliage-filled trees deeply rooted on either side of and canvassing over that New England highway.
Truth is, I think that every single day on the highway of life, there are all around us these quiet, persistent invitations whispering to us about a grounded way of life.
A grounded way that does not grow overnight but…in the end one
so full,
so abundant,
so nourishing.
And these daily invitations, I believe, they come to us in any and all of the moments that would have us slow - even just briefly - in order for us to truly appreciate their gift:
The grateful prayer of a rabbi,
the beauty of fresh foliage,
an embrace,
a child’s infectious laughter,
someone coming alongside to help,
a thoughtful conversation,
cooking and then sharing a meal…
The things of Joy and Beauty, the things also of Grief and Surprise - these are the trees lining the road of life inviting us to a grounded way.
Grounded in the gift of the moment.
Grounded in who we are.
Grounded in our presence before another.
Grounded in our awareness of the gifts we bring to this world.
Is it possible we’ve been speeding by any trees these recent days?
What if we received their invitation?
And can you imagine - perhaps a few years down the road - when others look at our lives…
…instead of staring in quiet disbelief at all we were trying to pull off in our short window of time, they smiled in genuine gratitude?
For our grounded life had been for them an invitation to another way on the road of life.
As I read this it made me think of grieving my mother. I so often want to speed it up; give me a checklist for grief and I’ll get it done. But it doesn’t work that way. As your piece suggests, I might be missing some important moments and beauty that I really need to be present for? Thanks for the thought provoking words.
Yes, we live in a world of "immediate gratification"....Or at least that is the expectation of the world. Slowing down seems counterintuitive with so much to be done. And yet most of "real life" is about moving at the speed of love. Slowing, trusting, listening, asking questions... good stuff takes time - walking at three miles an hour and breathing in His moments of grace and beauty.