I have had a recurring fantasy since I was a kid, that life was a carousel in motion, and I had the power to freeze it anytime I wanted to – – any time life moved too fast, leaving me as the only animate rider with the option of getting off anywhere in the world. I would inevitably find an island with lots of sunshine, books and a beach and rest for a while until I was sufficiently recharged and ready to jump back into the fray. And then, hopping back onto the platform, I would mount my trusty steed and before he had even reached the top of his stride, I would be in synch with the rest of the world again, none the wiser but me. Life has always moved a bit too fast for me.

So why not slow down? And that doesn’t mean starting earlier so I can pack it all in – – It actually means slowing down, doing less, saying no. Moving at a pace commensurate with supply not demand. Supply of energy, attention, endurance, and ability – – not the demands of culture or schedule.

I am at a retreat this weekend – – 36 hours of time in which I only need to account for my own comings and goings. I never get that kind of time. Really never. It is a luxury. I just sent my husband a text (it actually was so long it broke down into several separate texts when sent) with detailed instructions about the girls’ schedule for the next 36 hours. SATs, lessons, workouts, homework, Church, birthday parties, presents, meals, food, scheduling…

So much goes into every day. Details. Unseen, often unappreciated. But details hammered out with the best of intentions, and with the welfare of each one of the family in mind as it is lovingly assembled into what sometimes feels like a precariously constructed house of cards, one activity wholly dependent upon the timely execution of the one before it. So much preparation goes into making the matrix fit and work and leave enough room to breathe. But it never works out that way; there is never enough time to breathe. And where in that matrix is there time to pursue God? To rest? To read? To ponder or simply do nothing together? Where is there room for spontaneity? Alone time. Time to recharge? Time to listen without distraction?

Do I have to be totally countercultural to live a life that includes the elements I find essential to health and happiness and fullness of life? The fact of the matter is, I have compromised everything and am just as guilty as the next Mom in packing the stream of life so full, it is bursting at the seams. Enough. It’s how I feel so much of the time. Enough. Stop the ride, I want to get off.

Before I came to the retreat, I went to my mother’s because I had enough uninterrupted hours to make the hour and a half trip out there, share some time with her and drive the hour and a half back in time to make the opening of the conference. Visits to the shore don’t happen often because in the economy of my life, time might be the least abundant commodity – – and uninterrupted chunks of time are even more rare. But today provided a window of opportunity and I took it.

I picked up my mother at home, drove her into town and we painted pottery and grabbed a quick lunch. The fact of the matter is she is a great artist. I have one of her almost-abstract paintings of South African life hanging in my kitchen to prove it. But what I discovered this morning is that she can barely wield her way around a piece of pre-fab ceramic and a paint brush. And now I have proof of that too!

It was funny, and dear. We spent the better part of two hours laughing, reminiscing, painting, and chatting. We navigated topics in mother-daughter short-hand, and enjoyed an intimacy only accessible through shared history. We intentionally steered clear of all things incendiary and kept each other positive. It was so lovely. And it certainly didn’t have anything to do with painting pottery…that just kept us still, which has always been a challenge for us both. We could have been chopping veggies or organizing closets – – it wasn’t about the activity – – it was about sharing time and space while keeping our minds off the to-do’s and the life that pressed in from the other side of that dedicated time.

Didn’t God design us to be in relationship? I don’t recall Adam or Eve getting post-it notes or a list of chores in the garden. They got each other. Companionship was the need…shared time and space was the answer. Isn’t that the definition of relationship? Time and space together? It still is, but my life has gotten so mired in the details, and so constrained by the schedule and the endless list of things that “need” doing that the urgent and immediate have supplanted the important.

That last step in my mother’s and my time together this morning – – the “keeping our minds off the to-do’s and the life that pressed in from the other side of that dedicated time” – – that is what is missing in my real life. I have been unable or unwilling to keep those things at bay when interacting with my family and they PRECLUDE shared time and space. I cannot listen to someone AND be thinking about “what’s next” at the same time. It’s one or the other. The moment the tidal wave of what-needs-doing, what’s-next-on-the-list, or what-is-still-left-undone, breaks into relational time, it is no longer relational time. It only looks that way but it isn’t fooling anyone – – -and the worst thing is, instead of building relationship, that kind of distracted time actually breaks it down. It’s the kind of time when I am answering in the right spots or “reacting appropriately” but not really engaged. It’s a lie.

Ask any child who is trying to show a parent their artwork if the parent is really there or somewhere else in their heads and that child will have 100% accuracy in their assessment. Time shared, REAL relationship cannot be faked. I am not fooling ANYONE when I am not present and it’s kind of insulting, I would think, to be on the other side of the attempt to be present when my mind is filled with a thousand other things which, let’s be honest, are not as important as the moment of engagement I am missing.

When I am on the other side of that behavior – – when my husband is checking his calendar or has that glaze in his eyes to remind me he is entirely disengaged – – when my kids are really Instagramming and “yes-Mommy-ing” me, it distances me, hurts my feelings, and makes me feel insignificant.

Since when did I allow the schedule and the faulty, over-weight-bearing infrastructure of this family to take precedence over a kid telling me about a hard day, a challenging social moment or a proper greeting to a husband who just walked through the door after a long day?

And what about me? What about taking seriously my own need for engagement with the people in my own family? I need that too. I cannot play poor me, if I haven’t asked for what I need, and I need that time and attention from family just as much as they need that from me. I need the people around me to have the time to listen – – to my world – – to care enough to get off their phones, and snap-chat-instagram-text-conference-call-facebook-linked-in enough to really engage to see how I am doing too, to help me around the kitchen island and chat and joke and carry on and be in relationship, sharing time and space in the midst of real life. Like my mom and I did this morning. NO agenda for goodness sakes, just time together. Sometimes moving from the speed-of-life into that relational time feels awkward in the beginning, but it always gets to a place that is real, and easy and fun. In fact, fun is the hallmark of relationship. And how often do we get there….gentle teasing, laughter, self-deprecating observations, banter. This is the stuff of life – – but it needs time to blossom and without it, relationship fades into winter, untended and in desperate need of sunlight, water and warmth.

What if I redefined the way I approached time together in this family? The fact of the matter is, never, no matter how hard I have worked
or will ever work, no matter how well everyone “does their part,” will we ever get to that place where everything is done. I have to come up with a way to shut down, find a stopping point, turn off the to-do section of my brain and engage in time shared. I cannot buy into culture that says go, go, go or else you will be left behind. Go, go, go, or else someone loses out. It is the very go, go, go, that is the problem. The schedule and demands of the world will not slow down, so I have to. I have to make the conscious decision to step away and be alright with that.

What can I do to reconnect with those I love most in the world, by scheduling less – – or actually scheduling down time that I protect as fiercely as I protect the time for lessons and homework and logistics? What can I do to structure reunions and farewells so they are not just a litany of directives, updates and reminders but a chance to connect with someone when they come home or love on them before they depart?

What can I do to prioritize time shared – – make it the main event rather than treat it as an add-on, a do-it-while-we-are-on-the-way-to-do-something-else, proposition?

Shared time, is the very substance our childhoods are made of. When I look back at my childhood, it isn’t a collection of accomplishments or activities – – it is a collage of shared moments, conversations, mother-daughter days, swimming in the river with my brother, sitting in the workshop with my dad – – no life lessons, no podium-moments – – just time shared. God decides which of those moments I remember, which touch me in that deep and indelible way and which I will carry with me long after I grow up. But I waste my time in my own family trying to manufacture those moments in the lives of my own children and family. Don’t I realize I don’t have that power? They will remember the moments God chooses for them out of a collection of shared time and space. So why do I try and share life lessons, condense life, give them the cliff notes? Why don’t I concentrate more on just sharing it? Why do I try and prepare my kids for every eventuality? Why do I try and get everything “in order” so things will “be o.k.” when things will never be o.k., and I can never prepare them for every eventuality and things are never, all at once, “in order?” Why don’t I relax and enjoy THEM, make time for THEM, intentionally, every day, and enjoy that because that truly is the stuff of life.

And here is how God works….Time has a way of redeeming itself when shared like that….as God intended – – with Him in charge. There will be time enough, if I order my time as God would have me….to fit life in, just fine.

The best day of my week last week was defined by 20 minutes around our tiny kitchen island…I was cutting veggies and Tim wandered in (which in and of itself made me feel lovely…because he just wanted to spend some time with me…) And he had a magazine and he sat there on the little kitchen stool, chatting and reading out loud, a section here and a section there, when he thought it might interest me. Otherwise we chatted. It was the standout moment of the week. It was time shared. I got A LOT accomplished last week. But that was the moment that meant the most.

This week, I think it will be that time shared with my Mom painting smiley faces on clay bowls, designs on salt dishes and hearts all the way down the handle of a mug she will hang on the mug-tree my father built her from a maple base and a bunch of dowel rods he and I bought at the hardware store one Saturday when I was in high school.

I won’t remember all the things I accomplished this week even a week from now. But I will remember that day with my Mom, those moments around the island with my husband and the day at the hardware store with my dad for a long, long time – – if not forever. Those God-moments are the stuff of life – – and they rarely emerge from my schedule, but from His.

My husband went to The Citadel, in Charleston South Carolina, a military school… “A bastion for the insecure,” he likes to joke, but I knew him then and I also know not everyone has the metal to make it through four years at a place like that. I have always been proud of him for what he did there, what he endured there and what he found out about himself during his time at The Citadel. “Oaks grow strong in contrary winds and diamonds are made under pressure…..” It certainly has been true of my husband as he has tackled some incredibly daunting things in his life.

In any case, part of the Citadel’s honor code goes something like, “A Cadet will not lie, cheat, steal nor tolerate those who do.” An intrinsic part of this code included an ‘intent to deceive’ – – not only the black and white areas of truth but all the dress gray in between. Growing up I was a master of the “technical truth…” It didn’t bother me then, I could always find a way to justify it to myself. And then life happened; I got to experience some pretty colossal failures and after finding myself facing real defeat on many levels in my mid-twenties, I set my life, very intentionally, on a new and different track. For me, the years that followed that decision were my time of “contrary winds and pressure,” and they served me well. During those years, it became very important to me that I regain the trust I had lost and earned the right to became trustworthy again. So all the gray areas of truth had to be erased in my life. And perhaps truer than any other part of that mission would be a willingness to eradicate any intent to deceive in my life – – the very thing the Citadel honor code addressed.

During that time, I was working in New York for a woman who had a day-time television program. I was in charge of her advertising, promotion and station relations with the 160-odd stations on which her syndicated program ran. I had an ad agency in LA produce our radio spots for ratings periods, and a print-ad agency on retainer in Chicago who handled all national advertising while our local staff produced all our on-air spots. The woman who hosted the show was a New York comedienne who had a particularly quick and sharp wit. She was also unafraid to ask questions others would never consider appropriate. One of the campaigns the print agency in Chicago came up with for us was the star of the show, arms uplifted, the New York Skyline rising behind her, with the tag line, “It’s my party and I’ll pry if I want to.” It captured the essence of both who she was and what the show was about perfectly. I loved that campaign and in the early years of the show, I had the proof framed and put on my office wall.

Well, one night, there was a young man who came to the office to pick me up to hear his band play downtown. And I found myself wanting to impress him. He went over the artifacts in my office with interest and when he read the ad on my wall, he laughed out loud, and asked, “Did you come up with that yourself?” And I did it. Without hardly missing a beat, I said yes. The moment I said it I regretted it, but there was no way out. O.k., there was a way out, but it wasn’t going to be easy – – particularly with a boy with whom I just shared an all-too-rare first date.

I called him the next day and through tears of embarrassment came clean. It was a call that may not seem like much but it was really hard for me, and is still great incentive to stick close to the truth.

But last night, more than 25 years later, I did it again. I intended to deceive…why? Does it matter? I wanted to impress. I didn’t want to look less than what it appeared I might be. Dilute, dilute, dilute….pride. It was my turn to make supper for our book club night and as the week wore on, and it became clear that I was woefully behind on pulling this off as I had hoped, I called Margaret at Margaret’s Soul Food Kitchen to help me think about what I could do about creating an authentic Southern dinner that would have epicurean roots that reaches all the way back to the 19^th Century. Margaret was wonderful. Really wonderful. She had one of the biggest Bible’s I have ever seen sitting beside her register and when I remarked on how lovely that was, she told me, “If you are going to be in business for yourself, you better have at least one of these,” and then looking at me she added, “and I usually have one out there for the folks I am serving too.”

It might have done me good to glance at John 8:31-32 before I served my book club the incredible meal Margaret put together. But that evening, I found myself NOT telling anyone that the collards, Hoppin’ John, and the iron skillet corn bread were her creation. (I don’t even have an Iron Skillet)

At dinner that night, Don asked me if the cornbread was cooked in a skillet. “Yup.” Beth asked me if there was vinegar in the Collards, “Just a little.” And Keith asked about the Hoppin’ John and I found myself evading. Brian told me how good the collards were and Olivia said something to the effect of “How do you do all this?” And I didn’t take a single one of those wide-open opportunities to point to Margaret, the best chef in town. I answered as “honestly” as I could and then changed the subject.

And then when I woke up with the dogs at four in the morning I couldn’t fall back to sleep because I couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that I intended to deceive. The “Why?” of it all. Well, I could call it a lot of things, but really it’s just pride.

I want to be better than I am. But I am enough. It’s not about what I do, it’s about how I go about doing it. With decency and honor – -the kind of honor that includes an intent to be transparent which is the core of honesty, and a necessary ingredient to being truly trustworthy. The nothing-to-hide kind of honesty leaves me free. The intent to deceive, the “technical truth” binds me to lies, a bondage that is never worth any degree of deception.

With every opportunity I passed by to tell the truth, it became more difficult to come clean. My husband thought Soul Food was a great idea and didn’t bat an eye when I threw in the towel at the end of the week and called Margaret. He did bat an eye however when, right before the meal, I said, “Do I have to tell everyone I didn’t make it?” I nicknamed my husband Captain America – – and for no shortage of good reason. He lifted an eyebrow and I knew exactly what his answer was. But to his credit, he has always let me make my own mistakes and has never been one to strong-arm his way in my life – – even when it’s the right way. It allows me my own path, but it is a freedom I cherish, and an independence that ultimately leads to growth, however ungraceful.

Looking back at the whole night, not only did God give me multiple off-ramps, but he also gave me fair warning – -like a Bible by the cash register and my husband’s words of caution. And nowhere in that process, if I had taken an exit, would it have cost me an ounce of pride or trustworthiness. But I let it roll. I held fast. If this event had been the downing of a small plane, there would have been an entire escalation of avoidable errors that would point to the ultimate crash and burn. All I needed to do was eject.

My dad always told me life never changes in huge swaths, it changes, by degrees, so that we can continue to fool ourselves saying “It wasn’t that bad.” But unchecked those small changes take a life completely off course. He told me you have to constantly correct your course and be vigilant about your heading in life, to stay true. Veering from the truth, in whatever degree, is a dangerous thing for me, and no matter how humbling it is to get back on track immediately, in the long run, it’s worth it and it is the only fix to realigning my trajectory with God’s. I don’t know where God is taking me in this life, but I know it’s on a path taken one step at a time and clearly marked by the truth.

25 years ago, it was really embarrassing to tell William, the night after seeing just how cool he was behind the microphone, that I had not come up with the creative aspect of the ad on my wall he had found so funny. REALLY hard.

25 years later, it’s going to be really hard to tell my bookies, that I didn’t make the collards, Hoppin’ John or Cornbread. But that impulse to deceive – – to create myself as something I am not – – never less, always more – – is not something that leads to freedom. The truth, in its multifaceted whole, is what leads to true freedom. And being who I am, no more, no less has got to be good enough. I have enough baggage in life, I don’t need to be filling up a bag full of intent-to-deceive to drag around with me at this age and stage.

And it’s worth the embarrassment of coming clean after the fact. I know I will be cringing tomorrow, but I guarantee when the dogs get me up at 4 in the morning again, I will fall right back to sleep after I take them out and give them a bone.

I am sorry my bookies, that I wanted you to think I had made that scrumptious meal. I may call for help in the future, when it’s my turn to cook, but I will never take credit for it again. And I deserve all the teasing I am going to get. Love you.

And for the best Soul Food in Alexandria, Virginia, please Call Margaret’s Soul Food at (703) 608-9226. She is amazing, AND
she caters!

And how could I have forgotten ….she also made these to-die-for sweet potato pies and gave me two for free.

John 8:31-32 “If you hold to my teaching, you are really my disciples. ³² Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.”