I have been frustrated the last couple of times by trying to work on coherent thoughts and losing concentration, time or energy about 2/3 every time. I don’t (at the present moment) feel like I actually have a coherent thought to get out, so maybe, hopefully, I won’t be disappointed 2/3 away through and pushing ‘publish’ with dissatisfaction and disgruntlement.
Relinquish. Receive. Beauty. Communion. Trust. Seek. Listen. Wonder. Witness. Confession
Previously, I had only one word for Sabbath, and that was ‘rest.’ I felt compelled by this being a concept God introduced along with creation, apart from the giving of the law, yet also distracted by “He is our rest,” and also, with frank honesty, a pile of to-do lists
Still, I’ve been fighting a building anger that I don’t have time to seek God. Even putting that into writing makes it obvious that “time” isn’t really the root issue. There are certainly things I don’t want to surrender that should be let go of — quite frivolous things, really, but all things standing by figure for the desire to be in control.
But there is also the problem that I have inescapably Grown Up. I passed the dread line of 30, I went and got a stupid doctorate degree. The starry-eyed time of dreaming about what life will be ‘when I grow up’ is quite passed, mostly, I think, replaced with the raw terror of running out of time. Realizing better now how incredibly fleeting time is comes the desire to ‘make something of it.’
Partly I think I swallowed accidentally while attempting to swim just a bit too much of the salty brine of school. The parts about having a defined plan, discrete goals, clear-cut deadlines, and then simply acting on them with puritanical industry. It was certainly pushed at me a lot, and looking around at that world, seemed to be the making of the sausage: audacity to declare the future, and then some dreadfully long hours to make it happen.
Looking at my life rapidly shrinking in front of me, I’ve felt a compulsion to define what I want and make it happen, like a properly educated individual (with very little actual living experience). But then infuriated by these attempts, because whatever else I do have, I have an ear I keep trying to tune closer and closer to truth, and none of the words I was telling myself had that tell-tale ring that guides you with the certainty of the North Star.
Do you believe that change can be forced by the outside in, or really only happens from the inside out? For me, this has not ever really be a question of doubt: absolutely, change only comes from the inside out. The outside in can throw up a veneer, it can pass to a quick glimpse, it can show an image. But to be the solid truth from bark to core, it has to be from in the inside out.
Somehow, though, I’d walked my way down a path of trying scheme appropriately to forge my outside circumstances thoroughly enough that my insides would transform (all the while give lip service to ‘of course, this must come first from the heart’). I hate how thoroughly we can deceive ourselves
That makes all of my to-do list a have-to, because I do have to — to obtain my objectives and my goals on my timeline by my strength. So rapidly I buy the lie it’s only responsible of me to do so. It’s an expensive lie, though; costly on so many different fronts.
Basically, what it comes down to, is the question of if life is taken or if it is received. If it is to be taken, there is no earthly rest to our labor at all. And if it is given, then the greatest attentiveness must be to the One Who Gives. It does you little good at all to be chasing after all these other voices while the One who is actually in fact handing you out your life is patiently trying to explain to you how this goes. As with that frustrated child on a party sugar-high who didn’t listen the first three times, and now is in serious melt down because of unforeseen circumstances, there is wailing that someone should have told them what was going on. No doubt the patient parent is holding their forehead and trying to hold their tongue
I read somewhere — or maybe heard? It maybe an Emily P. Freeman podcast — that the Sabbath is not taken; it is kept. All this weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth because there is no time to rest, only there is, only you keep giving it away for things less valuable. That was convicting for me, but not so much so that I didn’t keep trying to find better and better solutions for to-do’s and productivity and getting-these-monkeys-off-my-back.
With great grudgingness on my part, I felt goaded toward a book on “Sabbath keeping.” I don’t know why other people always pull up children as examples of innocence and wonder. I remember being a child, and frustrated melt-downs and grudging obedience seem like much more apt embodiments of childhood. I don’t even care for the author and tone of the book (in deference to I suppose is the reason I don’t name them), but as far as I’ve read so far. . . well, more often than not, I find myself almost rolling my eyes. At myself. Because this does ring of the truth, truth I’ve already uncovered, already experienced, already known, already argued for — and somehow managed to deliberately and I suppose disobediently put aside.
Speaking of asides, I’m beginning to doubt if there is any value or applicable worth to practical techniques of surviving this life and turning oneself always back to God. Careful, I don’t mean those techniques or forms aren’t valuable, or that there isn’t any worth in trying to cope with this life and find God. I just mean, the more I look into it, the more it seems to me like these things are so individualized than to offer any assistance to anyone else. Their finders and keepers are have comfort and steadiness by them — joy to them! But it feels a bit like trying to wear someone else’s face. It only gets there by the life you live anyhow, and to pick up someone else’s and try it on. . . it’s strangely disconcerting, even though it’s a perfectly fine face.
I’ve tried several different iterations of counting blessings, or list makings as a way to journal, and I can keep it up (by effort!) for a few months, but never enough to make it life sustaining. Just a different type of chore. I suspect, should I ever find a rhythm that works for me, it will seem horribly odd and unlikely to others — just as how I sleep better in an un-made bed. I still keep leaning toward wanting to know what everyone else is doing (and so have a vague fascination with largely arbitrary ‘church calendars’), but I think it’s mostly because I’m trying to escape the work of figuring it out myself. I kind of want to take the easy way out and have the answer handed to me instead of doing the more honest work of seeking, which is where my only real answer will be.
What I do know is that I have a long list of things that I desire, that don’t seem to fit any of my carefully plotted goals. I just want them. And as soon as I issue the edict to myself to rest (which is a very hard fought war, even in the midst of sickness and ill health), I immediately revert to those things. When I declared today that I would rest, sabbath-style, today, and sacrifice my mouse-laid plans of accomplishment and needing — I had this little thrill that maybe now I could actually have time to read poetry.
That in itself was a little stunning.
I didn’t even think that was on my list of deeply wanted things.
I mean, I knew I wanted it, vaguely, in the back of my mind. It irritated my highly to recognize that some individuals get to spend vast swaths of their time — even, in many cases, earn their livings — deeply engrossed in “The Arts.” I want to be deeply engrossed in the arts! And I’m angry that I can’t find some way to square my industry and productivity and manufactured sense of responsibility with putting even half as much time as I want to into The Arts.
I’m not swanky. I’m not pretentious. I just want to.
Also, I’m angry that I can’t figure out a proper plan to allow me to.
But the Sabbath wasn’t just a time to rest. It was a time to look at all that God had done. If my artistic involvements are of God, I don’t need a 5 year, carefully delineated — in a bullet journal — with washi tape — plan of how I will get there. I need to sit down, shut up, listen to what God is saying, and receive what He is giving (up to and including — wait for it — rest).
That looking to see what God has done, to me, is about beauty. It’s looking for and participating in the beauty, because the beauty is from Him. What are the beautiful (never mind if impractical) things to observe and do? Are those not good things for a sabbath?
Mostly, I’m in a dreadful hurry to write this down as a testimony to myself. A witness that at one point, I did too know better. That this is a thing that resounded with truth and should be held on to.
But also I am a little hesitant, wondering what a deliberate intent to look for God looks like for me. I did read a poem today, A Forest Hymn, and one line got stuck:
|Should we, in the world’s riper years, neglect|
|God’s ancient sanctuaries, and adore|
|Only among the crowd, and under roofs|
|That our frail hands have raised?|
Why did it get stuck? Because I’ve never felt I was adoring Him while among the crowds. Only ever in those ancient sanctuaries. The more people there were, the less I felt there was anything meaningful going on at all.
Curiously, to me, I have felt a little bit of that corporate worship — more so in the “higher” church services (if you can count things so). It’s curious to me, because I disagree resoundingly with so much of their theology. But I like their liturgy. I like the responsive readings and prayers. I like their more elemental music where we can actually hear our own hearts.
And in some fashion, I’m drawn to a liturgy for myself. I doubt the “church calendar” will give me any satisfaction. But I like the idea of a rhythm and framework to hide myself in, predictable but different, always there but speaking something different, that would give a home within the day. And I can’t imagine myself not giving in, again and again, into petty to-do lists and plans, if I don’t have a More Important framework to build around. If you don’t declare what is important, either someone else does for you, or you spend your time getting grey hairs chasing around minor stupid things that don’t matter in any real scheme of the universe.
Not passively observing. Actively declaring, and disciplining yourself to that confession, and by that I mean “not allowing the pressing importance of reading web-comics to de-rail all values and intentions.” Some things rightfully ought to hold more weight. I don’t mean we never get to unwind. But I do note, wryly, that if I can keep the electric siren away from me, I do seem to fall into prayer a good deal more often. Because I’m not so full on cotton candy and pork rinds that I can’t fit even one bite of pot roast in my mouth.
If life is a process of editing out the things that don’t actually give life and actively seeking the things that do, there are a good many changes that should be made, because there will be much (and immediate) rejoicing, is all. You feel better when you aren’t about to explode from eating junk food, even if it is ok to indulge once in a while.
What I do know was that when I was out of work for three weeks to do nothing but heal, I felt a good deal closer to God and instantly gravitated toward things that fostered that. But when I am busy, I keep doing all this crap that doesn’t help me at all and I feel very far from God — and by far from God, I mean it both ways. It’s so much harder to pray, and so much harder to have any sense that He is present.
It’s not a struggle of knowing the truth. It’s a struggle of pride, of vying for control, and of thinking too highly of my own priorities to put God in His rightful place.
Repentance does not come easily, but it is freeing.