August and the Art of Slowing Down

August 2025

August and the Art of Slowing Down

August 2025

August and the Art of Slowing Down

August 2025

By Maude Harrison-Hudson, M. Div.

A Personal Reflection on Rest, Remembrance, and Renewal


There’s something about August.


The sun still burns hot, but the days grow a little softer at the edges. The flowers begin to bend with the weight of the season. Even the trees seem to hush a bit, their leaves heavy with what they’ve endured.


August doesn’t rush. It leans. It stretches. It lingers. And it teaches me to do the same.


In the past, I would barrel through this time of year with the same momentum I carried through the summer, checking off tasks, moving from one thing to the next, pushing past my exhaustion. But as I’ve grown through recovery, grief, and grace, I’ve learned to recognize August as something sacred.


August is not a month of striving.
It is a month of remembering.


It holds deep meaning for me. It’s the birth of my daughter Kim, whose presence changed my life, and whose death reshaped it. And it is also the month when my late husband took his final breath, after a long journey through illness and tenderness, suffering and surrender.


So, I slow down.


I walk more softly these weeks. I make space in my days for memory. I pull out photographs, run my fingers over her handwriting, reread old cards from him, and let myself feel the weight and beauty of what I’ve lived through. Not to dwell in sadness, but to honor what was real. To hold their lives with the reverence they deserve.


Grief doesn’t end. It changes shape. Sometimes it sits quietly beside me in the stillness. Sometimes it arrives as a sudden ache while folding laundry or hearing a song. I thought I’d forgotten. But in August, I don’t run from it. I lean in.


There was a time in my life when slowing down felt unbearable. If I stopped moving, the grief might consume me. The memories might overwhelm me. So, I stayed busy. I filled the space with food, alcohol, obligations, anything but silence.


But over the years, healing has taught me that stillness isn’t my enemy. It’s my sanctuary.

It’s where I hear God the clearest.

It’s where I meet myself most honestly.

It’s where I let love rise to the surface, love that is stronger than death.


In the quiet of August, I return to what truly matters: my body, my breath, my spiritual foundation:


  • Where do I need to be more gentle, with myself, with others, with my memories?
  • What do I need to let go of to move forward in peace?
  • How can I nourish myself, not just with food, but with beauty, prayer, and connection?


August is a time to remember that rest is not a reward; it is Holy, especially for those of us who have carried long burdens, deep griefs, and generations of survival.


So, I honor this time by:


  • Lighting a candle in Kim’s name
  • Sitting in the stillness of prayer with my husband’s memory
  • Taking walks at dusk when the sky is washed with soft gold
  • Letting the wind speak to me of letting go, of surrender, of beginning again


And I listen. Not just with my ears, but with my heart.


Because when I slow down enough to feel the ache of loss, I also feel the quiet pulse of life still flowing. When I stop rushing, I remember I am still here. I am still healing. I am still loved.


So, this August, I invite you to slow down with me.

To make room for memory.

To rest without guilt.

To love without armor.


To breathe without rushing toward what’s next.


Because the same God who called the stars into being

calls us to rest,

into remembrance,

and into renewal.


Reflection Questions:


  1. Who or what am I remembering with love this month?
  2. Where in my life am I resisting rest?
  3. How can I honor my grief and still welcome joy?


Benediction: A Blessing for the Slowing Soul


May the God of all comfort

wrap you in peace as you remember what was,

and hold you gently as you honor what still aches.

May you find rest for your body,

stillness for your spirit,

and tenderness for your grief.


“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”

-- Matthew 11:28


May the memories you carry be touched with light.

May your sorrow be softened by love.

May your breath come slowly, and your heart beat steadily.


As you walk through this season in the company of grace.


Go slow.

Go soft.

Go blessed.


"What we carry shows up, sometimes in silence, sometimes in pain."

A Personal Reflection on Rest, Remembrance, and Renewal


There’s something about August.


The sun still burns hot, but the days grow a little softer at the edges. The flowers begin to bend with the weight of the season. Even the trees seem to hush a bit, their leaves heavy with what they’ve endured.


August doesn’t rush. It leans. It stretches. It lingers. And it teaches me to do the same.


In the past, I would barrel through this time of year with the same momentum I carried through the summer, checking off tasks, moving from one thing to the next, pushing past my exhaustion. But as I’ve grown through recovery, grief, and grace, I’ve learned to recognize August as something sacred.


August is not a month of striving.
It is a month of remembering.


It holds deep meaning for me. It’s the birth of my daughter Kim, whose presence changed my life, and whose death reshaped it. And it is also the month when my late husband took his final breath, after a long journey through illness and tenderness, suffering and surrender.


So, I slow down.


I walk more softly these weeks. I make space in my days for memory. I pull out photographs, run my fingers over her handwriting, reread old cards from him, and let myself feel the weight and beauty of what I’ve lived through. Not to dwell in sadness, but to honor what was real. To hold their lives with the reverence they deserve.


Grief doesn’t end. It changes shape. Sometimes it sits quietly beside me in the stillness. Sometimes it arrives as a sudden ache while folding laundry or hearing a song. I thought I’d forgotten. But in August, I don’t run from it. I lean in.


There was a time in my life when slowing down felt unbearable. If I stopped moving, the grief might consume me. The memories might overwhelm me. So, I stayed busy. I filled the space with food, alcohol, obligations, anything but silence.


But over the years, healing has taught me that stillness isn’t my enemy. It’s my sanctuary.

It’s where I hear God the clearest.

It’s where I meet myself most honestly.

It’s where I let love rise to the surface, love that is stronger than death.


In the quiet of August, I return to what truly matters: my body, my breath, my spiritual foundation:


  • Where do I need to be more gentle, with myself, with others, with my memories?
  • What do I need to let go of to move forward in peace?
  • How can I nourish myself, not just with food, but with beauty, prayer, and connection?


August is a time to remember that rest is not a reward; it is Holy, especially for those of us who have carried long burdens, deep griefs, and generations of survival.


So, I honor this time by:


  • Lighting a candle in Kim’s name
  • Sitting in the stillness of prayer with my husband’s memory
  • Taking walks at dusk when the sky is washed with soft gold
  • Letting the wind speak to me of letting go, of surrender, of beginning again


And I listen. Not just with my ears, but with my heart.


Because when I slow down enough to feel the ache of loss, I also feel the quiet pulse of life still flowing. When I stop rushing, I remember I am still here. I am still healing. I am still loved.


So, this August, I invite you to slow down with me.

To make room for memory.

To rest without guilt.

To love without armor.


To breathe without rushing toward what’s next.


Because the same God who called the stars into being

calls us to rest,

into remembrance,

and into renewal.


Reflection Questions:


  1. Who or what am I remembering with love this month?
  2. Where in my life am I resisting rest?
  3. How can I honor my grief and still welcome joy?


Benediction: A Blessing for the Slowing Soul


May the God of all comfort

wrap you in peace as you remember what was,

and hold you gently as you honor what still aches.

May you find rest for your body,

stillness for your spirit,

and tenderness for your grief.


“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”

-- Matthew 11:28


May the memories you carry be touched with light.

May your sorrow be softened by love.

May your breath come slowly, and your heart beat steadily.


As you walk through this season in the company of grace.


Go slow.

Go soft.

Go blessed.


"What we carry shows up, sometimes in silence, sometimes in pain."

A Personal Reflection on Rest, Remembrance, and Renewal


There’s something about August.


The sun still burns hot, but the days grow a little softer at the edges. The flowers begin to bend with the weight of the season. Even the trees seem to hush a bit, their leaves heavy with what they’ve endured.


August doesn’t rush. It leans. It stretches. It lingers. And it teaches me to do the same.


In the past, I would barrel through this time of year with the same momentum I carried through the summer, checking off tasks, moving from one thing to the next, pushing past my exhaustion. But as I’ve grown through recovery, grief, and grace, I’ve learned to recognize August as something sacred.


August is not a month of striving.
It is a month of remembering.


It holds deep meaning for me. It’s the birth of my daughter Kim, whose presence changed my life, and whose death reshaped it. And it is also the month when my late husband took his final breath, after a long journey through illness and tenderness, suffering and surrender.


So, I slow down.


I walk more softly these weeks. I make space in my days for memory. I pull out photographs, run my fingers over her handwriting, reread old cards from him, and let myself feel the weight and beauty of what I’ve lived through. Not to dwell in sadness, but to honor what was real. To hold their lives with the reverence they deserve.


Grief doesn’t end. It changes shape. Sometimes it sits quietly beside me in the stillness. Sometimes it arrives as a sudden ache while folding laundry or hearing a song. I thought I’d forgotten. But in August, I don’t run from it. I lean in.


There was a time in my life when slowing down felt unbearable. If I stopped moving, the grief might consume me. The memories might overwhelm me. So, I stayed busy. I filled the space with food, alcohol, obligations, anything but silence.


But over the years, healing has taught me that stillness isn’t my enemy. It’s my sanctuary.

It’s where I hear God the clearest.

It’s where I meet myself most honestly.

It’s where I let love rise to the surface, love that is stronger than death.


In the quiet of August, I return to what truly matters: my body, my breath, my spiritual foundation:


  • Where do I need to be more gentle, with myself, with others, with my memories?
  • What do I need to let go of to move forward in peace?
  • How can I nourish myself, not just with food, but with beauty, prayer, and connection?


August is a time to remember that rest is not a reward; it is Holy, especially for those of us who have carried long burdens, deep griefs, and generations of survival.


So, I honor this time by:


  • Lighting a candle in Kim’s name
  • Sitting in the stillness of prayer with my husband’s memory
  • Taking walks at dusk when the sky is washed with soft gold
  • Letting the wind speak to me of letting go, of surrender, of beginning again


And I listen. Not just with my ears, but with my heart.


Because when I slow down enough to feel the ache of loss, I also feel the quiet pulse of life still flowing. When I stop rushing, I remember I am still here. I am still healing. I am still loved.


So, this August, I invite you to slow down with me.

To make room for memory.

To rest without guilt.

To love without armor.


To breathe without rushing toward what’s next.


Because the same God who called the stars into being

calls us to rest,

into remembrance,

and into renewal.


Reflection Questions:


  1. Who or what am I remembering with love this month?
  2. Where in my life am I resisting rest?
  3. How can I honor my grief and still welcome joy?


Benediction: A Blessing for the Slowing Soul


May the God of all comfort

wrap you in peace as you remember what was,

and hold you gently as you honor what still aches.

May you find rest for your body,

stillness for your spirit,

and tenderness for your grief.


“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”

-- Matthew 11:28


May the memories you carry be touched with light.

May your sorrow be softened by love.

May your breath come slowly, and your heart beat steadily.


As you walk through this season in the company of grace.


Go slow.

Go soft.

Go blessed.


"What we carry shows up, sometimes in silence, sometimes in pain."