HURRY UP!

It amazes me how long it takes me to get out the door. Actually, I do fine getting out the door. It’s the three young children who complicate things. Bathroom emergencies, lost sippy cups, coats, boots, and Rarity, the My Little Pony that goes everywhere with us these days. No matter how much time I leave, I feel like there is always a missing boot or an unexpected poopy diaper that keeps us from leaving when I want to. I find myself saying “hurry up!”, repeating myself, and generally getting agitated.

The other day I was searching for the inevitable missing boot, and my two-year-old was crying because her sock was "bad." I don’t even know what that means. I kept rushing us along, sticking her boot on her foot despite her protests, and trying to load us up in the car. I lost count of how many times I told her it was fine, let’s go, we have to hurry. Those who have tried to rush a two-year-old can imagine how well it went. It’s like trying to bathe a cat.

When we were finally all buckled in and she was still fussing, my son wisely informed me that she was upset because she was wearing her sisters’ socks (which fit, but weren’t hers), and that if I had just listened to her and traded socks, we probably would’ve gotten in the car faster.

Oh.

He was exactly right. My own stubbornness and hurry kept me from paying attention and solving the problem. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that this is true on so many levels. How often do we rush through our tasks, hurry out the door, rush through a meal, and miss the relational content of what is going on? In our haste we miss each other, and in the long run, this leads to conflict and disconnection. In fact, our hurry can cause us to miss each other in ways that slow us down and cost us more time. So often, if we could just slow down, look in each other’s’ eyes, and listen to each other’s words, we would save ourselves so much time and trouble.

I value timeliness and I like to be prompt. I am not advocating ignoring appointment times or obligations. What I am wondering though, is if our hurry and rush actually slow us down. What if my son is right? If my rushing was as responsible for our being late as my toddler’s sock drama? If the two minutes it would’ve taken to listen to her and help her fix the problem would’ve saved us the minutes wasted by her mini-meltdown?

Truthfully, I am not just talking about getting out the door with children in tow. I am talking about the big picture. About husbands and wives who squabble about lost keys instead of taking deep breaths and looking for them together. About bosses who yell at employees because they are in a hurry, and employees who feel demoralized and so productivity decreases. About honking at the person in front of you for not pulling out fast enough, upsetting both yourself and them more than is necessary.

We live in a culture of Hurry. I’m starting to see Hurry as an enemy of connection and a barrier to efficiency. I don’t think it works, and I think it creates relational problems and personal stress.

I am trying to break up with Hurry. I’m trying not to say it anymore, not out loud, and not to myself. When I find myself telling my children to hurry up, I am trying to take a deep breath instead. I am reminding myself that rushing won’t help. I am consciously slowing down my motions. I’m trying to leave wider margins, to leave less room for Hurry to creep in. And you know what? It is crazy hard. I’m not very good at it yet. In fact, I am terrible at it. But I am trying, I am learning, and I can already see that there are less missing boots, less tears, and less frustration. I think this is going to be good. Will you join me?

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