Take your time
There is a saying in black churches that is often said when the preacher is well into his sermon, right after he has set up and laid out the foundation for the point he wants to drive home. When his pace slows,
you can feel him shifting the sermon from head to heart. It often comes from a loyal and anticipatory congregant. It goes, “Take your time pastor.”
It’s a saying that carries the weight of centuries of anticipation for a better word to be spoken over and to a people deserving of goodness; A people in anticipation of their minds being changed and visions expanded.
Take your time.
It’s a saying that permits the divine to stay a little longer, though the wooden pew may be digging into stockings encasing fleshy thighs, and the air may not be working at the same intensity as the spirit.
Take your time.
It’s a shouted command of ownership of time; A mystical time-bending decree.
Take.
Your.
Time.
It’s a saying that I have been saying a lot this week.
“Destinee. Take your time.”
I am in an in-between season. One where work comes a lot slower than normal. It’s a season I have prayed for. I have desired the space and freedom to make room for other things I love in my life, To have nights full of art, and dinner parties on rooftops with friends. And yet, this is not what I thought that space and freedom would look like. There are mornings when I can feel myself becoming antsy about not having enough on my to-do list. Days where I can feel anxiety creeping in telling me that I haven’t done enough, or made enough money, or I need to work harder to get to the next thing faster. Where worry comes crawling, telling me this time is useless and I am missing out on an opportunity. When you are used to living on microwaved time, an oven can feel like a furnace.
I have actively and intentionally been working on changing my mind. Changing how I think and feel about my industry, relationships, faith, and specifically time. It’s my goal for 2024, and my my my has it been a challenge. I identified that there were ways of being that just no longer worked for me. And in this pursuit, I am learning that developing new habits and ways of being take time. And time in a culture that only values it at a particular pace (fast), often feels like an elusive variable beyond our grasping.
In these moments, like a pastor, I am learning to set up and lay out the foundation for the point I want to drive home for myself. I slow down my pace and I begin to make the shift from head to heart. There I wait for the spirit, my soul, and my community to say, “Take your time, Destinee,” and there I find the strength to become a learner of life and give myself grace.
Do you take your time? With yourself? For yourself? Do you allow yourself to go through the season you’re in, without feeling like you need to move on quickly? Do you allow yourself time to learn? Do you take everything that is yours in each season of your life?
Do you walk slow and feel the rain on your skin (I had to do it)? Do you breathe in every bit of what God has to offer you?
Do you believe that this is the day that the Lord has made?
This one.
With all its cloudy weather, unanswered emails, and to-do lists. With the exact dollar amount you have in your bank account, that unresolved conflict with your friend, and the boss you don’t care for.
With its beautiful birds sitting on your window seal, and perfectly timed trains on platforms (you know, the ones where the train stops with the door right in front of you).
With that song you love coming on, just at the right time, on your Spotify
playlist, and your friend giving you eight minutes of good news, and the, “yes, he liked your Instagram story.”
Are you taking it all in and being with it? Are you taking your time?
I hope so.
Take your time darling. Take your time friend.
Take.
Your.
Time.