Remember Slow Days

in a hurried world

The pace of modern life promises more but delivers less. Instead of a take on culture or The Next Topic, today’s entry is a small reminder to slow down, not to escape, but to live more fully before God, attentive and unhurried, in this space called time. -Kara

Shadows (Charles Curran, 1887)

My mind is a crowded room.
A thousand thoughts pressing in at once.
They don’t wait their turn.
They don’t leave.

From the moment I open my eyes
to the moment my head hits the pillow—
there’s no pause.
No empty space.

I love it.
I also exhaust myself.

“Try being normal today, okay?” Darryl joked.
“Enjoy the day.
Go slow.”

Slow.

We toggle between group texts and dinner plans,
work deadlines and school paperwork,
headlines and half-read articles.

We skim everything and know nothing.

In twenty-four hours, experts on
nuclear war, AI enhancement,
international affairs

but somehow forget how to live

To talk with the neighbor
To pick weeds in the front garden
To think deeply about just one thing at a time

There was something genius about the ’80s and ’90s.
Or maybe it was just being a kid.
Either way,
we knew something about living.

To enjoy a day
with hardly any input at all from the outside world
(except when the corded phone rang)

Days of staring at clouds,
doing chores and odd jobs,
then relaxing at night

elbows-up on the living room floor,
combing through classifieds, comics,
and “breaking news” from days ago.

In adult life, the days blend into seasons
but do we remember moments?

The way the sun felt.
The way the bird sang over morning coffee.

I remember.

By July, the backyard was always baked brown.
The grass stiff and brittle like straw.
Sprinklers didn’t reach that far,
and my feet could tell.

I’d drag the basket out under the sun,
the wet weight of laundry—heavy.

Hands sunk deep into damp cotton,
pulling out shirts and towels,
twisted, soaked.

Shirts first. Sleeves folded just so.
Then towels—quick work,
snapping into line.
Satisfaction.

And when the work slowed,
I’d sit on the back deck
with a popsicle,
in the shade,
quiet.

I tilted my head to the sky,
the wind lifting the hair around my cheeks.
And for a moment,
everything was still.

For just one day,
I want to live that slow summer pace.

One thing at a time.
With both hands.

My body fully there.
My mind not already in five other places.

I want to remember what it felt like
to have room.

Room in my day.
Room in my soul.

Not because life was easier then—
but because it was slower.

And in the slowness,
I could see.

I don’t need everything to slow down.
Just me.
At least for a day.

Resist the urgency of the spinning world.

To sit in the sun
and not keep up on headlines.

To fold laundry with both hands
and listen to the kids chatter.

To remember
my chief end isn’t hurry or frantic
to know all things

But to know God,
and enjoy Him
forever.

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