The wild crazy of it all

Busy.  Too busy.
Said in in the moment.
In the pride.

Doing stuff.   Important work.
Activity.  Events.
Overflowing the calendar.
In all seasons.  Life never slowing.

And in our culture.  A symbol.
Sometimes an excuse.
Sometimes just real good stuff.  This busy.
But also.

Sometimes.

A cover.  For wounds and sorrows and pain.
When reality crashes into us.
Never stopping to feel.  Emotion running hard.

And so the dance.
To achieve and cram and stuff.
Every moment full.
With busy.

But what I am finding.
In the healing.
And in the slow.

Goodness.  Showing up.                                               

Like a child.
Intent on a project. 

Bent low.  Face scrunched up.
With smock and long handled brushes.
Tubes leaking color.  And canvas blank.

Savoring the moment.
Hurry gone.  Busy vanquished.

And slowly.

Something new emerging.

On a canvas.  In a life.

Because.

When the too-busy falls away.
The wild crazy of it all.
And the breathing slows.
And the laughter. 
It just deepens and fills the space.

Where there was despair and hurry.

Instead.

Like a child.  Finding joy.

And filling a canvas.
With ordinary and painful even.
And the colors exploding.
In the reeling and then the rest.
Into something beautiful.

Finding.

In the slow.

Whether an hour.  An afternoon.
A week away.   Or a season long.

To fill.  With God.
His goodness.
In the.  You're good enough.

And the wild crazy of it all.

The laughter.
It just deepens and fills the space.

When the too-busy falls away.