Unspooling

As I Was Saying is a forum for a variety of perspectives to foster faith-related conversations among our readers with the goal of mutual learning, even in disagreement. Apart from articles written by editorial staff, these perspectives do not necessarily reflect the views of The Banner.

It was a quiet evening, the kind where the air carries the faint fragrance of midsummer lilies. Together, my husband and I walked along a path along the outskirts of a small park.

A man walking a large dog appeared, coming toward us on the path. The moment he laid eyes on us, he and the dog quickly darted away, diverting down a fork in the path.

Once they were a good distance away, they abruptly stopped. Somewhat sheepishly, the man called back to us, “I’m so sorry! My dog is afraid of canes. He will go ballistic if he gets too close to your cane!” He was referring to the forearm cane I was using to walk.

In an embarrassed tone, he continued explaining, “My dog is kind of in an adolescent phase; he wants to be a guard dog but cannot yet assess the threat level. So for him, everything is at the level of a nuclear threat!”

After assuring him we understood, we continued our evening stroll. However, his words struck me; I can’t help but contemplate their parallel to modern life.

We live in a world where potential threats abound. Not just wars being fought far away, but arguments and divisions much closer to home, even inside our homes—conflict within our churches, families, and friendship groups; conflict within ourselves; and problems to be solved at our jobs or schools, or for our children or aging family members.

We have 24/7 access to media that shares all number of threats: stories of terrible crimes, environmental disasters, or bad things that might come to pass. All these amp us up and influence how we react to the situations we encounter.

Many of us live lives that feel exhaustingly fast paced, running constantly but never really feeling caught up. We are constantly choking down the sensation of trying so hard to be good enough or do good enough or at least appear good enough, but never really feeling like we succeeded.

This sense of failure can juxtapose sharply against the images of perfection that constantly surround us on social media, where people share only their happiest, best photos and videos. We can find ourselves looking at others’ seeming perfection against a backdrop of what feels like our own lives barely being held together.

The constant barrage of all these things—from the big to the small—begins to take its toll. We start to feel increasingly on high alert, reacting to otherwise innocuous things as if they were major deals.

It’s a feeling I know well in my life as a parent who adopts older kids and youth with disabilities, while also living with complex physical disabilities myself. Some days, it’s the stress of advocating for my kids at a dizzying number of medical appointments and disability support and special education meetings that starts to get to me; other days, it’s because my kids are having their millionth argument of the day (even though if I wait five minutes, they will be best of friends again).

Sometimes it’s because I had a fall; other times, because our adult son needs crisis support. Often, it’s because the dishes have piled up again despite all the time I spend washing them—and I feel ashamed, as if I’m the only one in the world with a full sink.

So, with intentionality, this summer, I’ve calmed our family’s schedule and planned a much quieter season than usual. Less time for running around, more time for coffee on the back deck by the apple trees. Fewer day camps and frenetic activities to run the kids to and more time for them to have free play and build creativity.

No big summer family road trip this year, just quiet and space for recalibration, playing with our kittens, and making homemade ice cream. Less worrying about the dishes, and more time enjoying the food on those dishes.

I call it unspooling—like a thread wound far too tightly, finally released from its spool. A breathing room that brings to mind Psalm 46:10: Be still, and know that I am God.

This quieting of spirit naturally flows into the Apostle Paul’s gentle teachings in Philippians 4:6-7: “Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”

It’s a beautiful peace that helps us dial down the frenetic intensity of life's situations, embracing unspooling calm.