A quiet revolution against our busyness

Maybe kids like Eden, the slow ones, contribute to a quiet revolution against our busyness. Maybe they are on a secret mission to reverse our priorities.

After all, if you only know that Eden is "slow," you might not realize how smart she is. You might not guess that she is often the first one in the room to understand a joke—or to make one. You might not appreciate that she can remember events that happened three years ago, and what she was wearing, and how she felt at the time.

Slowness is not something Eden will ever grow out of. Monday mornings aside, I'm not sure I want her to. Because even as I try to prepare her for life in a high-speed world, I want to be aware of how I can leave behind my own need to hurry. How I can grow up to be more like my daughter.

Perhaps Eden has simply never lost the slowness of heaven. A heaven that brought the Messiah a few hundred years late, slow to answer Israel's longing. A heaven that allowed Jesus to linger, slow to visit the dying Lazarus. A heaven that is home to a mysterious God, slow to give the answers I want for my little girl with the extra chromosome.

Tonight before bed, I tell Eden what a joy she is to us. She reaches up to play with my hair and says, "Oh, Mommy, you just make my heart more prettier."

My daughter Eden is slow. And every day she makes our hearts more prettier.
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