Numbers by Candace Echols
I suspect the next two years will probably be the most hectic of our entire parenting journey. And if I’m being honest, I don’t love the word hectic.
It steals my joy.
Right now, I have five children ages 4-14. All of them are old enough to be involved in fun things like sports or school clubs, but none of them are old enough to drive. We are on spring break right now and I’ve realized something while I’ve been here: I’m my old self again—joy and all! There are no playdates or practices. There are no ball games or birthday parties. There are no tutoring sessions or text strings. It’s just us and some mountains. Forgive me if I sound like a grump. I actually love having a large family and I love being active. But sometimes, the sheer number of details and the daily logistical puzzles really sap me. If I’m being honest, I just cannot get it all done.
And I don’t think I’m alone.
My husband and I have not gone crazy allowing our kids to do everything that comes their way, but even just one activity per kid (plus church and after-school tutoring and friends and grandparents, etc.) adds up to a lot of time spent on the go. I’ve stumbled upon three ways to shift into a lower gear here and there and to connect with my Maker and my people amidst the craziness. They’re easy, they’re basic, and I use numbers to remember them.
- The three-second rule
For three seconds (one Mississippi, two Mississippi…), I stop to notice what’s around me. I take note of what I see, feel, smell, hear, and even taste. It’s difficult to cover all of those in a sliver of time, so I choose the things that are most obvious and I do absolutely nothing with them. I just notice them, the way my four-year-old notices our dog’s veterinarian on the way to school.
This often connects me with my own childhood in sweet ways that bring a thrill of nostalgia. Nostalgia is a decidedly human sensation and the moment it washes over me, everything screen-ish loses momentum in my brain. I’m restored to myself again—a child of God with an eternal soul—in just three seconds. This little mini-dance with life happens several times each day and I’ve found, the more I stop to observe, the more I want to see. Three seconds at a time, I’m reclaiming the life God has given me as his daughter—the life busyness seems determined to steal. This brings him glory, and it brings me joy, so I know we’re on the right track.
2. The six-second hug
Getting my hair cut (and, if I’m being honest, getting the grays covered and the highlights refreshed) gives me time every six-to-eight weeks for a guilty pleasure, and that is to read salon magazines. Don’t get me wrong—I stay within what my conscience will allow. But I love a good before-and-after photo shoot or an interview with Nicole Kidman every now and then. Once, during a salon visit, I read an article about six-second hugs. Apparently, it takes six seconds of hugging for the muscles in the body to start to relax (disclaimer: this is a ‘salon fact’ so take it with a grain of salt). I shared this with my pre-teen daughter. She agreed to try it with me as an experiment and, low and behold, we found it to be true! Could have been the placebo effect, but we’ve bonded over it so I’m keeping it—scientifically proven or not.
On those days when my shoulders are all tied up in knots and the calendar seems to have me hamstrung, I walk over to my daughter and say, “I’m having a six-second hug day.” She knows what that means and it’s her ministry to me just to stand there and hug her poor, tired mother. I do the same for her. She’s grown into a teenager now and so wisdom is required to know when to use this and when not to, but it’s become our little thing, and a worthy thing it is! It restores affection in my body, and with this, another little fragment of who God made me to be as his child. No amount of carpooling stress can stand up to a six-second hug—especially one from a teenager.
3. The ten-minute walk
Three seconds—easy peasy. Six seconds—doable. Ten minutes—another level. Ten minutes is 1/6 of an hour. Believe me. I’m well aware of all that can be done in ten minutes. I can turn on every light in the house, drink half a cup of coffee, make 14 pieces of toast, kiss my husband, say the blessing, put on my shoes (even ones with laces), let the dog out, sign two stacks of take-home papers, refill three water bottles, text my mother, drink the other half of the cup of coffee, and finish a Wordle in ten minutes. BAM! What can I say? I’m a mom.
But I have discovered that ten minutes outside (no matter the weather—and I’m cringing as I type that) walking and praying does more for me, more for my husband, and more for my children than all the serving in the world. And that’s particularly true if it can happen in the morning. There is something about the step-step-step of a walk that brings clarity of thought and mind. There’s something about seeing that big sky overhead that reminds me of my own smallness. There’s something about being outside that invites me to talk to God. And outdoor prayer connects me with him in a way almost nothing else does. I’m restored as his adopted girl, bought by the blood of Jesus, and I become keenly aware of it every time I walk with him in his good creation for just ten minutes. On the front end, to-do lists will always seem like a better idea than a walk, but down deep inside, they never get the real job done.
In total, the concept of this number asks for a minimum of 609 seconds out of 86,400 allotted in a day. Not too bad. Worth the try. Especially in the fight to remember who I am as a human being and who I am as God’s child. As the world seems to be shamelessly requiring more and more of my attention, I can fight for my soul by using the seconds and minutes I am given to connect with my Maker. And there is nothing that restores joy like that.
Candace and her husband Jim enjoy raising their five children in Memphis, Tennessee. She has a bernedoodle named Rookie, who inspired her first children's book Josephine and the Quarantine about how God cares for us in times of loneliness through puppies. Candace writes for several online publications such as Risen Motherhood and Deeply Rooted, but she's pretty excited about recently releasing her first NBA basketball piece in her city's newspaper, Daily Memphian. She thinks it would be pretty awesome to have a writing cottage in Oxford later in life. If Oxford, England doesn't work out, Oxford, Mississippi will do, too.