Stop and Smell the Pine Trees

I visited my grandparents in Tucson, Arizona this weekend.

I had prepared myself for the desert heat, I had prepared myself for the complications of family dynamics, but I had not prepared myself for the extreme change of pace.

One would assume that I might view this ’slowing down’ as a welcome respite from the hustle and bustle of city life, but it took me a while to acclimate.

How much slower were things in Tucson, you ask? Well, let’s just say our mode of transportation was my Gramps’ station wagon, we ate dinner at 5, and nothing around our hotel was open past 8.

Ya feel me?

I was so accustomed to meetings and emails and phone calls and coffee dates and lunches and more meetings and scheduling that I initially found myself anxious and agitated at the slow-as-molasses manner in which we lolly-gagged from one activity to the next. But somewhere around the second day of the trip, I had a stop-and-smell-the-roses moment. Or rather, a stop-and-smell-the-pine-tree moment, to be exact.

There we were at my grandparents house. We had been through the standard activities: played with the dogs, looked at the most recent souvenir from their global travels, rummaged through Grandma’s jewelry (our favorite past time when visiting) and played a few games of Mexican Dominoes. After exhausting the indoor options, we poured some wine and went outside to visit the lavish garden (Gramps’ pride and joy).

We were met with the sight of various cactus, wildflower and vegetable plants winding beautifully through the yard amidst fountains and sculptures. The air was breathtakingly quiet aside from the hummingbirds, finches and quail that fluttered about playfully. It was one of the most serene moments I’d experienced in months. I started to silently scold myself for being so impatient with the leisurely pace of my grandparent’s world. I then began to really drink in the scene before me and the peacefulness that comes from slowing down a bit. I looked up at the blue-purple sky and saw before me a magnificent, tall pine tree. Almost as though she could read my mind, my Grandma said, “That tree was our very first Christmas tree in this house. We planted it more than ten years ago, isn’t it extraordinary?”

I was blown away. There is something very powerful about a thing that starts so small and grows into something so beautiful. It is humbling to think of the time it takes for that kind of transformation. And despite the fact that I am nowhere near where I’d like to be financially, professionally, relationally or spiritually; in time I, like the pine tree, will be magnificently strong and beautiful.

And so will you.