My mother is constantly telling me to slow down, to rest. And I know she’s right. For the past two years I’ve been trying to slow down, to determine to take in the moments and live the life of thanksgiving that every child of  God should live. It’s the life of Eucharisteo that I’ve learned—no, I’m learning—from Ann Voskamp.

When Mom pleads with me to slow down, warns that I’ll get run down, she speaks with conviction. I’m just like her.

Mom playing hopscotch, Mother’s Day 2011

Women of action. With a primary love language of Acts of Service I struggle to do or not to do—it’s always the question.

Last week Mom fell down her stairs and broke her ankle, the first bone she’s broken. On the eve of Thanksgiving she’ll have surgery. She has no choice but to slow down. It’s been said that housework is something that’s rarely noticed unless it’s not done. When a person is unable or not around to do what they do daily, the details become painfully obvious.

What struck me those first few days after her fall was Mom’s lack of complaint. Surgery will take place over one week after her fall. One week broken. On the week of Thanksgiving when she anticipated attending every single service of Camp Meeting she could attend, and this year greeting for the first time {something she was eagerly awaiting}, Mom will be laid up. Mom loves Camp Meeting. She loves cooking and especially for family, for Thanksgiving. Though her cries have indicated her level of pain, not one single time has she complained.

I stopped by on Friday to check on Mom, home alone, to do what I could. During my visit she shared with me a dream, a nightmare, she’d had several days before her fall. She hadn’t mentioned it to Dad, to anyone, until after her fall down those stairs.

In her dream she was standing at the top of her stairs with a long robe-like garment. She doesn’t currently have a robe. Layers of material dripped from her arms covering her hands, draping all around her. She recalls thinking, “I can’t go down there like this. I’ll surely fall.” Then, as if she knew she was going to fall, she screamed to my Dad, “Jim! Help me, I’m falling down the stairs!” Her screams translated into muffled nightmarish groans, waking my dad, niece, and nephew. They quickly woke her.

Mom talked with me about how the Lord tries to get our attention, yet we often refuse to slow down and listen. “He who has ears to hear, let him hear,” He tells us throughout Scripture. But we’re too busy to hear. For now, Mom must be still. And I can assure you she’ll be listening intently, her heart of gratitude opening the gates for His presence.

I’m taking notice, wanting to learn from her fall, her experience, rather than my own. All the while I’m preparing to be available, to be present, for this mother who is there at a moment’s notice for her family. It is an honor and a privilege, yet an intimidating if not terrifying realization.

Me and Mom, Mother’s Day 2011

Understand that it’s not busy people alone who need to slow, turn their eyes to Him, thank Him for the very moment, the very circumstance, the very trial, to count it as grace, and listen. You don’t have to be a Martha fussing over pots to be too busy to hear Him, to sit at His feet. Busy about your facebook’s business, you can miss Him. Swimming in the muck and the mire of your own mess, you can miss Him. And yes, fussing over the pots and the potty training, you can miss Him.

Though I wouldn’t wish what Mom is going through on anyone, I know she’s right where she needs to be. Broken. Still. And thankful. And there He is. Always.

I’m an awful wretched mess. Slow to learn, I’ve done my share of fussing just these past few days in spite of her amazing example. My own layers are threatening to trip me, cause me to fall. Yet though I stumble, though I fall, I’m learning.

Christianity isn’t about growing good, it’s about growing grace-filled — Christ-like. ~ Ann Voskamp

Someone is going to have to be busy about cleaning Mama’s pots. What I hope to learn from this is to slow first, to give thanks in everything, to give thanks for those pots, and count it as grace. And while I scrub, to worship. Because His presence can be found even while scrubbing pots.