My dad is a stop and smell the roses kind of guy. Not in a figurative sense, but in a literal, stop-dead-in-his-tracks-to-smell-the-roses kind of way. Growing up, there were countless times when my dad would call us to stop what we were doing, come outside, and smell his freshly pruned roses. I, on the other hand, was more of an admire-the-roses-on-my-way-out-the-door kind of person.
(I realize these aren’t roses, however they get the point across.)
In fact, if you had asked me to name a song that would sum up my life a few years ago, I would unabashedly sing these lyrics to you:
“I’m in a hurry to get things done, I rush and I rush until life’s no fun.
All I really gotta do is live and die, but I’m in a hurry to get things done.”
However, if I really thought about the truth of this statement, the emptiness would set in. Sure my rush was always a little more noble than this song–rushing to go to Bible study, rushing to attend a student’s soccer game, rushing to serve at the women’s shelter, rushing to save the world (or at least my part of the world), rushing, rushing, rushing…you get the picture.
All of this came careening at me this morning as we were rushing to go visit a school here in Kigali.
First, let me explain a little bit about Africa time. Africa is a place that makes a Type A personality like myself a little stressed. It’s a place where a kids program that is supposed to begin at 10am translates into the pastor jumping in the shower at five after ten, shining his shoes at 10:45, and walking out the door a little after eleven to begin our forty-five minute walk to church. Africa is a place where we are told to be ready at “exactly nine forty-something;” which roughly translated means sitting in the living room, fully dressed and ready to walk out the door at any moment for at least a solid hour.
This morning three of our team members were invited to come tour a school at nine. We walked out the door with about 25 minutes to get there, expecting motos (motorcycle taxis that make your heart pound in a way that has you crying out for God’s protection everytime you jump on the back) to be somewhere in the vicinity to take us all the way there. What we found, however, was an empty road with no motos in sight. So, we began the 20 minute walk down to the paved road where we could hopefully catch them into town. One of my teammates was angry about this situation.
Watching her march down the windy dirt road with a disgusted air, I saw myself, or rather my old self, and I realized with a sad heart that I have spent so many years
missing the roses.
On our walk, there were children running up to hug us, hold our hands, or give us five (this is progress in itself since they used to just stand on the side of the road with mouths agape). My teammate missed it all. She missed the beautiful sun shining, the gorgeous scenery, even the little children longing to be acknowledged by us. I stopped (much to her dismay) to shake their hands, give them hugs, and say hello.
Roses are all around me in full bloom every single day. Sometimes they take the form of grubby little children hardly able to contain their excitement as they scream “a mzungu, a mzungu” and wrap their dirty little arms around me. Other times they take the form of a beautiful conversation with a dear friend or a complete stranger at a coffee shop, a ferry ride with the wind whipping my hair, or a sunny walk with Jesus.
I realized today that I no longer want to miss the roses. Those roses contain all of life’s beautiful little treasures that are so easy to miss when we rush through our lives. Those roses are God’s love letters to us that sit unopened when our eyes are focused on the destination instead of the journey.
I want to smell the roses.
