If you have spent any time around me, or heard any stories about my “unlucky Julys,” you will know that I am clumsy — very clumsy. I can’t really explain it. I don’t know if it is poor depth perception or simply distraction. I believe I am usually just trying to do (or carry) too many things at once.
Given that he's a natural worrier, a
s much as my husband loves me, my clumsiness is not one of his favorite attributes of mine. Which is understandable, since this clumsiness tends to land me in the ER every few years for a random injury…i.e. the dance move that ended in shoulder surgery in 2007 or the statue of Mary “incident” two summers ago that severed the tendons and nerves of my left thumb.
Unfortunately, it seems that Lucy has inherited my clumsiness. The poor girl always has scraped knees and elbows, has a tendency towards dropping things, and even ran her bicycle right into a parked car (she was looking at a blue-jay). Peter has begun to remark to Lucy that she, not only looks like Mom, but she is also clumsy like Mom. The funny thing is, Lucy keeps getting the words clumsy and lazy mixed up. “ I’m lazy like Mom, is that right?” Which Peter then corrects, “No sweetie, no one has ever called your Mom lazy.” Which is true: I have always had trouble sitting still.
Psalm 46:10 states, “Be still, and know that I am God…” This often quoted verse has always been difficult for me. I am wired for efficiency and action. I wake up in the morning with a plan for the day — all of the tasks I need to check off my list. I have never been a good napper, even in the bleary, exhausting newborn days; because, napping felt like wasting valuable daylight hours. I thrive in busyness and accomplishment, and, I admit, I often find my value in those things. But, like all the things we put our hope in other than Jesus, busyness and accomplishment cannot sustain. During this strange season, I have been forced to slow down, and I have not gone into it willingly. Rather, I have fussed and fretted — grasping at the shallow idols of busyness and accomplishment to fulfill me.
My grandmother Mary, a very sassy Southern matriarch, always said to us, “If the devil can’t make you bad, he’ll make you busy.” This old adage has really rung true in my life, and as my family has leaned into the practice of praying Compline every night, I lament my need for busyness during confession each time. There is nothing inherently wrong with busyness — completing tasks and accomplishing your plan for the day. However, it can create noise and distraction. It can decreases space for relationships and interruptions. And, I find that, in my life, the places God usually shows up are in the quiet and in the interruptions. As we are reminded in 1 Kings 19, the prophet Elijah did not find God in the wind, the earthquake, or the fire. God revealed himself in a whisper — a still, small voice.
For some, quiet and rest come naturally. For others, like myself, it takes work. Making space for quiet and rest are a discipline. And the reminder of the need for this discipline in my life has been an unexpected gift of this season. In his work,
Mere Christianity
, C.S.Lewis speaks of the work and reward of this discipline:
“It comes the very moment you wake up each morning. All your wishes and hopes for the day rush at you like wild animals. And the first job each morning consists simply in shoving them all back; in listening to that other voice, taking that other point of view, letting that other larger, stronger, quieter life come flowing in. And so on, all day. Standing back from all your natural fussings and frettings; coming in out of the wind.”
This past week, my family and I took a trip to a lake in East Tennessee. After months and months of our world consisting mainly of our house and surrounding streets, the change of scene was much needed. Over the course of the week, I was able to do a couple of solo kayak rides on the lake. I had grand ideas of the distance I would travel and places I would explore. However, I continually found myself floating — simply being still and taking in the beauty around me. I leaned into the stillness, and listened for “that other voice,” the still, small voice. Those moments are where I truly found rest and restoration. “Be still,” the voice says, “and know that I am God…” (Psalm 46:10).
Jess
