Festina Lente

A month ago, we awoke to the prettiest snowfall: fluffy flakes descending and glistening in the morning sun. It was Saturday, my normal day to rest, but instead, I was playing catch-up after an eventful week.

I charged Alexa to find a playlist of relaxing instrumentals while I filled my coffee mug to the brim with vanilla roast and padded to my office in my favorite slippers.

Twenty minutes in, my husband appeared in the doorframe.

I think we should go sledding, he said.

I had not once considered it. In fact, the last time we had gone sledding was three years ago, a lively trio including our daughter.

So, I tucked my favorite pen inside my desk drawer and rose to find my winter boots. We ventured outdoors, creating fresh tracks through the wispy blanket of snow.

What fun! Two fifty-somethings trudging hilltop with one red sled, taking turns amid a cluster of skinny teenagers. The two of us must have seemed ancient and ridiculous in their youthful eyes…but never mind. Throwing caution (and perception) to the wind, we laughed as the wind nipped our noses.

After I zipped down the long hill, the sled gradually slowed. I stood and turned, looking up while shielding my eyes from the sun’s glare. My husband now seemed like a speck atop the hill.

A hill that suddenly resembled a mountain.

I weighed my options. If I raced up I would likely trip and plunge into a snowdrift. If I remained rooted to the earth, paralyzed by the rigorous climb, I would never reach the summit.

Festina lente, I thought.

Make haste slowly.

So I inhaled and with determination began, one boot in front of the other, and scaled the hill, our plastic sled bouncing lightly behind me.

After what seemed like many moons I reached the top, dazed and breathless, but happy. I handed the sled’s rope to my husband, who hunkered down and after one mighty push blazed down the slope, pumping his fist the entire way.

I laughed aloud.

//

The topic had been assigned, and I sat still, ruminating, watching the cursor blink rhythmically.

On the corner of my desk lay a three-by-five index card with my to-do list.

What if I work double time, and get everything done today? I mused.

So I went for it, permitting myself a scant two hours to write the entire article, determined to devote the rest of my workday to plowing through the remainder of my tasks.

I sprouted ears and became the rabbit of Aesop’s fable, hopping, racing, flying down too many trails, and after a couple of hours, I had penned a passable essay within the allotted word count.

I had not, however, reached the summit. The piece lacked warmth and personality. Heart and soul had evaporated in my haste.

And that is when I remembered a promise I once made, a silent pledge never to hit publish or send on words carelessly cobbled together– sentences yielding a bland, microwaved dinner.

How much grander to slowly, tenderly, peel, slice, braise, and season the ingredients, creating a rich, sumptuous stew of story–setting the mixture stovetop, setting the knob on low, and inviting the meaning and understanding to marinate–bubbling and simmering for days.

Festina lente.

//

At my office desk sits a miniature glass turtle, a cherished reminder that slow and steady, in the end, is rather lovely.

Aesop’s tortoise won the race, didn’t he?

My personal work, whether writing, teaching, tutoring, or cleaning houses, profits from a slow, steady burn, rather than a sizzling flash in the pan.

In this loco world, a culture obsessed with speed, I aim to choose the road less traveled, to make haste slowly, seeking to finish well.

Jesus finished well, accomplishing his Father’s will, while moving forward with calm resolve.

In fact, I cannot think of one instance in the Bible when Jesus rushed. His plate was full of Kingdom work, and he ministered to many. Christ was undeniably on mission, withdrawing only to pray and rest. Never once does Scripture indicate that our Savior scurried frantically from task to task. (Neither did he live passively, with lazy indifference.) His life was busy and purposeful.

He made haste with calm and measured surety.

The supreme example of diligence.

Festina lente.

---

The plans of the diligent lead surely to abundance, but everyone who is hasty comes only to poverty.

(Proverbs 21:5)

---