Daddy Slow Down

For a full-blooded Mexican, my father had very long legs. He was also full of energy most of the time. When he and I walked side by side (and in the city of Chicago, my hometown, people walk or ride their bikes everywhere), I was constantly saying, “Daddy, slow down!” He would laugh good-naturedly and try to slow his pace, but before long he’d be off and (almost) running again. He wasn’t trying to leave me behind; he just naturally had a long, easy stride that was a bit more than I could match as a little girl.

I’ve been feeling a lot like that little girl again.

I lost my earthly father in my twenties, and at about the same time I started devotedly following my heavenly one. He’s even harder to keep up with than Daddy was.  

As a disciple, I’m called to follow God. If I choose to sit down in the middle of the sidewalk, so to speak, He’ll let me, and He'll love me anyway. Most Christians have spent at least a portion of their lives sitting in one spot, content to go nowhere, and in fact some spend their whole lives doing so. But a handful of years ago I realized my life was getting away from me, and I didn’t want to just sit there anymore. I wanted to really follow. I knew that would mean going places I’d never dreamed of—places that would scare the living tar out of me. I was right.

A few years ago, I married a dreamer who was just crazy enough to follow God wherever He led—the more implausible the better. For example, God asked Kenny to feed people, and in less than two and a half years we went from a food pantry the size of an apartment closet to a warehouse that churns out more than forty thousand pounds of food every month. Watching stuff like that has brought me to a level of faith I’ve never been at before.

So, almost a year ago, when I realized that God was asking me to quit my secure little 9-to-5 job and launch my own business, I plowed through the terror and followed Him into the unknown. I was petrified of failing, of finding out I’m a loser who can't run a business, and of looking like an idiot. But pretty much since the get go, God’s been dumping opportunities and work into my lap. I’m breathless with gratitude and awe. I’m being paid to do what I love, and I’ve been able to engage in certain aspects of ministry that I was never free to do when I had to punch a time clock.  

But once again, as of a week or so ago, there’s an agitation in my spirit that happens when God is about to bring me face to face with a new challenge. You’d think that I’d welcome change by now, but I still loathe it. I want routine and solidity and structure. I don't want another shift just as I'm starting to catch my breath.

Daddy, slow down. Daddy, I can’t keep up.

Silly me. God wants me to feel the adventure of it all, and yet I'm tempted to cling to fear and get caught up in the what-ifs. It’s not like He’s going to leave me behind. Whatever shift is coming will be good, because He is always good. I can almost see Him turning and laughing, stretching out His hand. 

In faith, I'm grabbing that hand. In faith, I'm saying, Okay Daddy, let's go.