Photographs by Anjuli

slow.

he moves slowly, my samuel does. he walks, he meanders, he wanders. he eats slow, he speaks slow, he is slow.
he moves from rock, to beetle, to dirt, always holding his blanket, always sucking his thumb. the more i rush him, the slower he goes.

the more i push him to speed up, to keep up, to hurry up, the more frustrated i become and the more each tiny step aggravates me.

and last night, just days after his 4th birthday i watched him fall asleep. i played with the hair just around his ear and i said i was sorry. sorry for all the times i rushed him, squeezed his shoulders too hard and shoved him into his seat because he wasn’t staying on my schedule. sorry i didn’t take time to see what he was looking at or slow down and sit and wait for him to catch up. sorry.

 he is teaching me to slow down.  a little boy is taking in a very big world and a little heart becomes bruised when i push. a heart: something more important than time, something more important than what other people think, something more important than my agenda. and not just something, someone.

“slow down, someone’s heart is at stake here.”

at the lake.

at the lake i am reminded of who i am.

i watched the fog, thick and heavy with grief sealing the lake closed, soul slow and steadily collapsing in.

at the lake i remember the way we laughed in the cold brisk mornings, bodies held close for warmth walking to the morning meal.

  i watched the sun rise bursting from behind the mountains. we were girls in love with God. we worshiped.

at the lake i turned 14 and boys tied me to a tree and i pretended to hate it.

i watched sparks from around the fire pit light our faces playing games till the bell rang.

at the lake i remember when i turned from 19 to 20. alone.  i asked God to find me here.

i watched my friend’s arms wrapped around her legs. rocking. sobbing. she had to say goodbye and it broke everything in her.

at the lake i remember my sister’s voice harmonizing, notes dancing like a waltz. hands held open.

i watched young girls find healing for the first time.

at the lake i ran to a boy and told him i liked him. he turned me down. but later he would became my husband.

i watched my boys fish and dig for worms and run in the wild wide open.

at the lake my soul can’t help but be held in longing.

i watched my layers stripping, falling, and soul spreading out smooth like glass.

at the lake i felt the light against my skin expose my story, the way only this lake can.

i watched as my husband spoke these words, “the greatest gift you can give is to know your own story.”