Slow Down

ONE DAY while I was teaching the P7 students, I had a short worksheet for each of them to complete. Before starting, I gave them the instructions: “I want each of you to write one sentence for each homophone you have on your paper. Then put all the words from each sentence in alphabetical order so we can practice what we learned this week. When you are finished, you may sit quietly while the rest of the class finishes as well. All right?”

I was met with blank stares from all ten students sitting in front of me. “Do you understand what you need to do?” I asked again. Confused faces all around. As I opened my mouth to repeat the directions, Veronica piped in, “You need to talk slower.”

So that was it. Not that they couldn’t understand the directions themselves—they just couldn’t understand me! That day, I learned to slow down when I speak to Ugandans. Tonight during my Luganda lesson with Uncle Daniel, he told me I pronounce everything correctly, but I need to say it all slower. “You’ve probably noticed,” he said, “that Ugandans don’t speak fast… ever. So in order for these words to sound right you need to slow down.”

Slow down. You all know me. When was the last time I heeded that command?

LAST WEEK, I wanted to make a quick trip to Mukono during lunch. After leaving Noah’s Ark, there is about a half-mile walk up a hill to the main road where I can catch a boda or taxi into town. Just outside the compound gate, I heard three sets of footsteps running in my direction and turned around to see three young students from a nearby school rushing toward me. They were on their way home and wanted to walk with me. One grabbed my hand and the others talked and smiled and we went on our way.

It was agonizingly slow. I could have crawled. Or slept for a while and then crawled. If I tried to hurry them a little bit by walking faster, it would only put distance between us, not encourage them to pick up the pace. It reminded me of my grandpa, who can take five minutes to dance a sort of shuffle down the driveway, sometimes for his own amusement and sometimes to infuriate the person with whom he is walking.

Everyone from the western world walks faster than Ugandans. I pass people all the time when I am walking around Noah’s Ark, especially as I plow my way up the big hill between the school and my house. But if I want to walk with them, I have to slow down.

Slow down. It can be agonizing. Think of all the things I could have accomplished in the time it took me to get from Point A to Point B!

I ARRIVED at Noah’s Ark in the late morning on a Saturday, way back in September the day after landing at Entebbe. Immediately upon arrival, I brought my things to my new room and Daniel gave me a tour of the compound. At the end of the tour, he brought me back to my room, told me what time to come to lunch, and turned to leave.

“Wait!” I said. “What am I supposed to do this afternoon? Is there a program for me yet?”

He laughed. “No, no, not yet. For the first three days, we just want volunteers to relax and settle in, and then we’ll figure everything out.”

Three days? To relax? That was not what I came here for! However, I was emotional, and I was homesick, and I was a little bit scared, so instead of immediately leaving to explore, I did just what he told me to… I relaxed. I napped. I read. I played cards with the Canadian volunteers across the way.

And you know what? Even after getting involved with several programs with the church and school and teenagers, I am finding time to relax. A testament to this is that I have read 14 books since I left home. I love reading, but I don’t make time for it at home like I have been able to here. I am busy, but I’m not busy all the time. I have slowed down.

Slow down. I can’t say I am very good at it yet, but I am learning. It is a skill that comes naturally to some and must be learned by others. I think in America it is too criticized and in Uganda it is too normal. A happy medium would do both countries well and I am gradually learning what that looks like for me, although it comes with a fair amount of frustration and impatience. Slow down.

And then God tells me to be still and know that He is God.

Have you ever tried that? Literally tried to be still and simply know that God is God? Not just slow down. Not think about what is happening for the rest of the day. Not pray to Him. Not open your mouth in worship. Just know that God is who He says He is.

I challenge you to try it. I can almost guarantee you will fail miserably. But that doesn’t mean it won’t be worthwhile.

This is possibly one of the most difficult things He expects of us. Following the commands, sure—do this, don’t do that—but wiping away your mind of everything except the fact that God is God? Wow. Good luck.

The point is not to congratulate yourself for thinking of nothing but God for a minute, five minutes, an hour. The point is not to get really good at meditation. The point is that when we are busily going about our everyday lives, whether in America or Uganda, we get so distracted by ourselves and other people and we start to take control. It’s amazing how our minds so easily trick us into making us think we are our own gods. We have power. We have control. We are not needy… right?

Can we know that God is God while we live life? Of course we can. Brother Lawrence, in the book The Practice of the Presence of God, said that he felt closer to God while he was in the kitchen peeling potatoes for the monks than when he sat down for his devotional time everyday. He learned the art of living not only for God, but with God, the skill of remembering God in every moment of every day, in every activity and conversation and service. He knew that God was God all the time.

But we are a society who is constantly running out the door and in the scramble for keys and purses and grocery lists, how would we ever remember to bring God with us too? Be still and know that I am God. He is not asking us to slow down—He is telling us to stop. Stop moving. Stop making noise. Stop trying to plan a future that is in His hands anyway. Stop fiddling with your phone when you are pretending to spend time with Him. Stop running out the door on your way to the next thing. Just stop. Be still. And know.

God is God, and as simple as that may seem, it holds a million mysteries and promises. I am not God. You are not God. He is God. It is perhaps the most baffling and comforting and powerful knowledge your brain will ever hold… if you are still enough to know.