As I marched along the path that morning, my mind was cluttered with anxiety. The hikers’ trail that runs partially along our town’s small, winding river was surrounded by new life, but I didn’t notice.
A lot was on my mind: three teenagers at two different schools, two younger ones at the district where I taught. Teaching four different high-stakes courses with students to engage, plans to make, and assignments to grade. The pressure never let up, especially now that testing season had started. Would I ever have enough time for my husband? Why wasn’t I at home getting something accomplished, so we could spend time together that evening?
Lately, I’d been too overwhelmed to confide in anyone, much less say anything but a cursory prayer. Instead, my mind raced with tasks and events and unrealistic worries, even when I was getting some exercise. And somehow even that seemed selfish.
I zipped my jacket a little higher and trooped on making mental sticky notes. If nothing else, I can be organized, I thought. Crazy, but organized.
On my third circuit of the park, I stopped at the river’s edge. The brown water swirled with sticks and debris from a recent rainfall. My mind was just as cluttered as the river with should haves and ought tos, schedules and obligations.
Then a duck with a striking gray head and a white band around its neck came into view. It was stuck in the middle of the current even though its feet furiously paddled under the surface. The poor thing was making no progress at all.
That duck is me, I thought.
I use up so much energy, but I never get anywhere. There’s always something else to do, I whined. My inner critic quickly chimed in, rattling off her well-documented list of my shortcomings.
A sudden movement near the opposite bank interrupted her tirade.
A brown speckled mother duck was moving a line of seven waddling babies into the river. One by one, they followed her and plopped into the churning water. But instead of fighting the current, they ventured out into the middle of the river. They bobbed along amidst the sticks until soon the mother turned and gradually led her little ones back to the bank further downstream.
Those ducks had a message for me.
Use the current to pace yourself. It’s your choice.
My mornings changed after I heard the ducks’ message. I chose to wake up earlier to read my Bible and spend meaningful time with God before my day began.
It wasn’t easy to ignore the voice reminding me of the long lists I should be attending to. But as I chose to sit in the silence, using God’s current, the lists got shorter and our family time got longer and better. I learned that God refreshes our lives if we slow down and choose to listen, maybe even to a family of ducks!
Leave a comment