practicing the pause

Several years ago I was learning how to surf. No, not all Californians are born surfing. The second hardest thing about surfing, after balancing on moving water, is the timing. I would paddle out into the wake and turn my board toward the shoreline and wait. I wanted to catch every wave that came, but my instructor would tell me, "Not this one." The waves were either too big or too small. If the wave is too big, you dive under it. If you try to stay on top, it'll just take you. If the wave isn't big enough, you just let it pass. Once you pick the just-right, Goldilocks wave, you still have to time when to begin paddling and when to stand up. I'm laying belly down, head turned to watch the waves come from behind me. "Wait... wait... GO! Paddle! Faster! Go, go, go! Now stand up!"

I've never been good at timing things. I'm kind of an all or nothing girl. In swimming, I was a sprinter. I loved to swim HARD for a short period of time and be done. Every now and then, my coach would sign me up for long distance races. There would be much lamenting on my part. The more I complained, the longer the events got until I found myself signed up for the 1650 (66 laps!) My coach told me it would improve my sprint times because I needed to practice pacing and stroke length. It was good for me, but I wanted to go fast.

I always have. Catch every wave. Sprint. Work hard, play hard, sleep hard. (My Fitbit tells me I can fall asleep in two minutes.) I have tried and given up yoga on many occasions. There's too much pausing, breathing, "being." I can't sit still for that long.

But I have found myself many times in seasons of life in which I'm being told to wait, to not catch a wave, to practice my pacing, to sit and just be. Ecclesiastes says, "There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens." Some waves are too big; I'm not ready for them. Some are too small to carry me where I intend to go. Sometimes we are signed up for long-haul journeys we don't want to be on. I'm learning to live in these seasons and practice the pause. We are asked to stay in these places not for distance, but depth. Our growth changes from horizontal to vertical. We can dig a little deeper and grow areas that might not get tended to when we're running full speed ahead.

This isn't a skill inherent to me. I must practice the pause. I must learn that "not right now" doesn't mean "never." What is to be learned in these moments of slowing down, pacing ourselves, and learning to choose which waves to ride? How does this season ready us for the sprint that's ahead?