This week two of my friends posted photos of box turtles on their Facebook pages. It reminded me of a time in June 2006 when we’d had lots of rain and flash flooding. One evening when I walked down the half-mile road through my neighborhood, I had to step closely to avoid the rivulets of water. I was amazed when I also encountered three box turtles at different points on my walk.

That evening followed a stressful day. I’d had an appointment to evaluate lymphedema in my left arm following breast cancer surgery six years prior. I was not happy that the treatment described was much more involved than my oncologist had indicated. The next day, I’d be leaving for my Solo Journey to Edisto Island, South Carolina and I needed to pack, but was too distracted. Feeling tired and beaten down, I set out on the walk — my go-to when things were tense.

I wrote about that in Chapter V “You Can’t Rush a Turtle” in my memoir, He Heard My Voice: A Midlife Mom’s Journey Through Cancer and Stress and Her Unexpected Arrival at Healing and Wholeness (available on Amazon).

This is what I said in Chapter V:

“I stooped down to observe one turtle’s slow, purposeful webbed-foot stride. He stopped, partially pulling his head back into his shell, waited, then extended his head out and took a few more clunky steps.

“Why don’t you hurry up?” I said to the turtle, my voice with an irritable edge. Tired of watching and waiting, I picked the turtle up and placed him in the safety of the grass. Walking on at a faster pace, knowing I had to pack so I could leave early the next morning, I felt the senselessness of my frustration with the turtle.

Who, in their right mind, would rush a turtle?

Feeling worn down, I couldn’t get out of town fast enough. (p 94-95)

The next day I arrived for my 5-day stay at Sea of Peace, Catholic Retreat Center. I’d wondered if they’d “accept” a Methodist and Sharon, the spiritual leader, had responded,
“We welcome all faiths.” I’d participate in their morning devotional called The Hours, have individual sessions with Sharon, and learn about then practice Centering Prayer and Walking a Sacred Labyrinth. All of these were foreign to me but I was open to what they offered, to what I was being pulled toward.

Altogether, it was the perfect time for this journey. In my sessions with Sharon, focused on where I was in my faith journey, I mentioned what I’d intended to deal with after my trip: whether to go through with the lymphedema treatment. I spilled out my feeling that it was like having to deal with cancer all over again and I resented it. My anger and angst that I’d pushed down inside boiled over the top.

By that time, it was my fourth day and my second session with Sharon. I’d seen that she was deeply perceptive and had a gentle, caring manner; I trusted her.

She looked at me, with her hands in her lap, and leaned forward, “Don’t you think you deserve to be taken care of?”

I sat for a while, feeling the weight of her question, her inquiry into my heart. Eventually, more of what I’d pressed down pushed out. We talked about the responsibilities I had of caretaking as a mother, wife, daughter, and school nurse. We further explored my ‘driven’ nature that resulted in overloading my schedule with both responsibilities and leisure activities. I confessed to Sharon my crazy impatience with the turtle.

Through our sessions and the rest of my time at Sea of Peace, it seemed that God’s message to me was to “Slow Down.” I was reminded of a scripture that had been a comfort to me during my breast cancer treatment, Ps. 46:10, “Be Still and Know that I Am God.”

On the morning I left, I gave Sharon a gift: a marble turtle.

“This is to remind others, who’re like me, to slow down,” I told her. She laughed and placed it in the center of the coffee table. I bought a small one for me, a reminder of what I’d learned. Now, it sits on my writing desk.

And now, when I see those box turtles, whether on Facebook or by the road, I remember Sharon and how she encouraged me. It’s okay to take slow, clunky steps, to be however I need to be without rushing.

May it be so for you, too.

Connie