Slow Is Not Weak

I don’t think I’ve ever met a man who intentionally set out to live a hurried life. It just happens. One responsibility turns into five. Five becomes twenty. Before too long, your calendar is full, your mind never seems to shut off, and being busy starts feeling normal. If someone asks how life is going, “Busy” almost becomes a badge of honor. We laugh about it, complain about it, and secretly wear it like proof that we’re needed.

I know I did.

For a long time, I measured my days by how much I accomplished or how many hours I logged. If I checked enough boxes, solved enough problems, answered enough emails, and kept everyone moving in the right direction, I felt like the day had been worthwhile. I didn’t realize I had quietly started measuring my value by my productivity.

The problem with living that way is that your soul eventually begins to move at a different pace than your life. Your calendar keeps filling. Your phone keeps buzzing. The responsibilities never seem to slow down. Outwardly, everything keeps moving forward. Inwardly, something begins falling behind.

The strange thing is that you don’t notice it at first. You just become a little more impatient and a little more distracted. Your mind wanders off, and you become less present. Conversations become interruptions that lead to irritated remarks. Silence becomes uncomfortable, so you do mindless work. Sitting still feels like you’re just wasting time. And before you know it, you’ve become addicted to momentum because momentum keeps you from noticing what’s happening underneath it.

I don’t think I was afraid of slowing down because I had too much to do. I think I was afraid of what I might find if I did slow down. If I got quiet long enough, I’d have to admit I was tired or worn out. I’d probably have to admit I was carrying disappointments I had never actually grieved. I’d have to admit there were questions I couldn’t answer. I’d have to admit that underneath all the responsibilities, there were places in my heart I had ignored for years and things that needed to be addressed.

Keeping busy was simply easier. Busyness can become one of the most socially acceptable ways to avoid yourself. Nobody questions it, and in fact, people usually applaud it. They call you hardworking, dedicated, driven, and responsible. I’ve also realized something else. Out of the Ten Commandments, this may be the one we break without anyone thinking twice about it. “Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy.” We almost celebrate the opposite.

Very few people ever stop to ask whether you’re healthy. Most people simply ask whether you’re getting everything done. Those are two very different questions. Jesus never seemed to be in a hurry and in many cases seemed to take His time. I’ve thought about that a lot, especially when it comes to my own life. Jesus had three years to accomplish what would change history forever, yet He walked almost everywhere He went. He stopped for people everyone else ignored. He allowed interruptions to become ministry. He disappeared to lonely places to spend time with His Father. He was never driven by urgency, yet He fulfilled everything the Father had asked Him to do.

Somewhere along the way, I realized I was trying to follow Jesus at a pace He never lived. And that realization made me feel very uncomfortable. Not because I wanted to slow down, but because I didn’t know how to. I had trained myself to believe that if I wasn’t producing something, I wasn’t accomplishing anything. Sitting quietly with God felt unproductive. Taking a walk without my phone felt irresponsible. Rest felt like something I had to earn instead of something God had designed.

The more time I spend watching Jesus, the more convinced I become that His pace wasn’t accidental. Love, healing, trust, and formation all have a pace. None of them can be microwaved. None of them responds well to being hurried. Not because He isn’t powerful enough, but because relationships don’t grow through speed, they grow through time and presence. That’s a big lesson I’ve been learning more recently than ever.

Slowing down isn’t about doing less. It’s about becoming present enough to notice what God is already doing. I’ve found that God rarely reveals everything I want to know when I’m sprinting through life. More often, He meets me when I finally stop trying to outrun my own soul. Maybe that’s why Psalm 46 doesn’t say, “Work harder and know that I am God.” It says, “Be still, and know that I am God.” I’ve read that verse for years, and now I’m finally beginning to understand it.

Stillness isn’t weakness. Stillness is trust. It’s believing that God is still working even when I stop. Stillness is believing that my value doesn’t rise and fall with my productivity. It’s believing that the world doesn’t rest on my shoulders. The older I get, the less I want to become a man who is constantly in motion. I want to become a man who moves at the pace of his Savior. Because I’ve started to believe something I never understood when I was younger. God has never been in a hurry with me.

Maybe I don’t need to be in such a hurry with myself either.