rest

Rest for the Sake of Others

  This spring I began a program of spiritual formation through The Transforming Center. "Formed to the image of Christ for the sake of others" is the phrase guiding this process. It's that last phrase, "for the sake of others" that keeps running through my mind. Who we are and what we do is not in isolation. There is power in how we live to impact those around us. Take rest, for example. I have always been someone with a high capacity for activity. I'm ambitious. I often bite off more than I can chew. For the longest time, I was unaware of the impact that pace had on me, to the point of outright denial. It's like the popular meme I've seen lately, something like this: Me: Why do I keep getting tension headaches? My body: because you're doing too much. Me: And why are my shoulders so tight? My body: Because you're doing too much. Me: I wish I knew why I got these stomach aches. My body: Please for the love of God, slow down. Me: I guess we'll never know . . . Only in my case, it wasn't just my body telling me. It was my doctor, my dentist, my chiropractor, my friends, my family. I used to think I could just tweak some things-plan a little better, delegate more, stay in front of the ball. But after a while, I realized I was being unkind to myself. So I started slowing down. Leaving more margin. Talking to the little monsters in me that drive me to perform. Giving them permission to stop. Breathing more deeply. It's been good. Yet, at the end of the day, I'm still tempted to push through busy days. One more task checked off. A little more productivity to get me ahead. The resistance to rest is never far off. For the Sake of Others Except now, when this phrase keeps resonating in my head, "for the sake of others." And I realize that while I might be able to power through, I have to ask what it does to those around me. Am I the person I want to be for them when I am strained to my limits? What does it communicate to them about how they ought to live? Does this pace form me to the image of Christ? I never want others to look at me and think, "I can't keep up." I want to live my life at a restful pace and to invite others to it as well. May they never feel under the pile by the pace I set. One morning recently, I woke up early because my body is physically incapable of sleeping past 6 am at the latest. My first thought was, "Hey, church starts later today. I could work for an hour." And then in my Facebook memories, I found this quote from my friend Ken Cochrum: "I feel it when I am not hurried to finish a conversation, a…

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Choosing Slow

If you've read my blog for any length of time, you know I like efficiency. (It's the hallmark trait of an Enneagram 3). The faster I work, the more I get done. If I get more done, I'm more likely to be seen, recognized, successful, valuable. Or so the logic goes. And so, I move quickly. I drive, as I like to say, like I'm trying to lose someone. Not super fast, but fast enough. Despite never taking a typing class, I type quickly (and with terrible form I imagine, but it gets the job done). Each week, I speed through my housework like a Tasmanian Devil. I dare you to keep up with me at the airport. Or anywhere, for that matter. I'm short, but I'm fast. Grocery shopping. Packing my bags. You name it-I guarantee I am mentally calculating how to get it done as fast as possible. It's like I'm playing a game of "whoever does more wins." Faster feels better. It feels like winning. I don't do slow. Or at least, I historically haven't. God started me on a journey in the spring of reclaiming space in my life. Turns out it's more than just doing less. It's doing less at a slower pace. Living an unhurried life. I'm learning that having less in my schedule doesn't necessarily mean my soul is taking life at a slow pace. As Mark Buchanan says in The Rest of God, we are meant to sabbath, "not just a day, but as an orientation, a way of seeing and knowing." Slow is not just about time, but it's an attitude, a way of living. So lately, I have to ask myself, "What's wrong with slow, Gina?" What do I gain by all this hurry? Maybe the better question is: What do I lose? When I make it my aim to drive as quickly as possible, my body stays in a state of tension. Slow drivers irritate me, my patience wears thin. Other people become nothing more than obstacles. My focus is on my pace, more than anything else around me, including those with me. When I type quickly, I feel myself ramping up. The, "more is better" lie whispers in my ear. A day of housework at top speed leaves me exhausted, depleting me of reserves I could have spent elsewhere. When I race through airports and stores and down the sidewalk, I miss life along the way. I miss the people around me. And all for a few extra minutes, one more task completed, another email sent. All this speed makes my soul feel left behind. There's no space, no rest. Getting more done, getting there sooner, doesn't guarantee more life, more love, more anything. I'm left impatient, exhausted, and irritated. For the sake of my soul, I'm choosing slow. So I'm choosing to drive slower than I could. When someone in front of me is taking their time, I often change my speed to match theirs. There's a long stretch out to…

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Come Be With Me

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"Come be with me." I probably said that a dozen times during the week when our son was home from college. It was good to have his presence here again. His words and laughter filled the empty spaces. More food was eaten. I did his laundry. Cut his hair. We ate out as a family, but other than that, it was an average week. I felt we should do something epic, like a beach day (but our kids hate the beach, and my husband traveled). But that's ok. We didn't need to do anything special together. I just wanted him to be with me. I wanted to be in his presence, hear his stories, sift through his fears, learn what he's learned. So, like a creepy person, I followed him around the house. When he watched TV, I sat with him. While he tinkered with his computer, I sat on his bed and read a book. Whenever I noticed him unoccupied, I called him over, "Come be with me." Each time I did, I couldn't help but think that this is how God views us. How He Sees Us As I go about my day, often weighed down by tasks or worries, God patiently waits. When I slow down enough to be with Him, the temptation is to make that time productive. Purposeful. I'm a soldier, reporting for duty, ready for my orders. But He just wants to be with me. I come with agendas. My prayer list, or the Bible study I'm doing. But He just wants to be with me. Or I convince myself it's not that important to Him if I come or not. It should be epic, right? Meaningful time. Spiritual progress. Mountains moved. I should make it worth His while. Yet God says, "Just come. Be with me." Yes, feel free to bring the needful tasks of your day. He will speak to them. But so much more He simply wants our presence. He wants to listen to our stories, sift through our fears, hear what we're learning. It's unfathomable to me that God might miss us while we're off trying to save the world, but He does. He watches us in our busy days and whispers, "Come be with me." Cease your doing. I just want to enjoy you. I love to spend time with you. I'm glad you're here. Whether we come in our filthy rags or we come in all our glory, minds quieted and at rest, or cluttered with the tasks of the day, He wants us to come. I want to cultivate this awareness in my life-wherever I am, He is there. He is waiting. Waiting to sing over me, to listen, to laugh, to simply be alongside me. "Your God is present among you,     a strong Warrior there to save you. Happy to have you back, he’ll calm you with his love     and delight you with his songs." Zephaniah 3:17, The Message Related posts: Learning to Walk (at an Unhurried Pace) Warning: Don't…

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Learning to Walk (at an Unhurried Pace)

  I shopped at Costco recently, and I realized, "I'm casually browsing." I don't remember the last time I casually browsed anywhere. Most of my shopping expeditions are like ninja missions, "You have eight minutes. GO!" This is one of the by-products of reclaiming my life. It began a few months ago when I made the decision to step out of one of my roles at work. It was a tough choice, but one made from a place of humility: I was simply doing too much. I felt called to slow my life to a walking pace. In the months since it feels like my soul suddenly has space to breathe. You know that feeling after a big meal when you go switch into your elastic waistband pants? That feeling. I'm finding margin in my life again. It feels good, for the most part. But it's not without its challenges. See, I'm used to running through life. So this invitation to walk, while inviting, is foreign. Walking is easier, and more sustainable, but I am not very good at it. I know how to run. During my brief stint as an actual runner, I remember the challenge of faster, farther. No matter how hard a run was, the minute I finished my first thought was, "I bet tomorrow I could improve." It's addictive, that kind of living. Faster. Farther. More. Better. Longer. Squeezing every ounce of life out of every day, pushing the edges of our capacity, filling the margins until there's no white space. After a while, we don't know what it looks like not to run. So in this process of learning to slow down, I'm finding I need to wrestle with two parts of me: my body, and my mind. My body simply isn't accustomed to breathing space. Just because your body slows down it doesn't mean your heart rate does. In other words, just because you make space on the outside doesn't mean your heart and soul know how to be still on the inside. In this slower pace, I'm aware of how amped up my body can get. What used to feel like energy I realize now was anxiety, my body gearing up for a fight. I'm relearning how to breathe regularly, to notice when my body tenses involuntarily. Yoga helps. And then there's the mental battle. I find myself thinking, "But I could do more. Look! Open space in my schedule. I should fill it." It's all fueled by deeper voices. Some of those voices say, "See? I knew you couldn't hack it. You're just average." Others say, "But people need you." And still others, "They'll be so disappointed." And the worst for me, "Lazy bum." The voices whisper that running is better. Faster. Farther. More. The voices are wrong. I recently read Present Over Perfect by Shauna Niequist, which in many ways gave me the courage to move this direction. In it, she says, "I'm going to find a new way of living…

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5 Things to Do When Life Is Good

  Recently, my husband and I tried to arrange a night out with some good friends. He suggested staying in, and I replied, "Oh, you know how he is-he'll want to go out instead." And it hit me: I love that I know this person. He's someone I did not know prior to life in Orlando. I love that God has given us not just new, but dear, dear friends. Life feels good right now. Our cups are full. That's more precious after the rough transition we had to Orlando. We have history here, good history. It is a season of joy, a time to revel in the rich harvest of this place God has given us. So the natural question becomes: how can we make the most of this? Because life doesn't stay put for long. God keeps leading us to new seasons, and some of them are tough. Here's what God has been encouraging me to do in this time: 5 things to do when life is good Rest Transition takes a toll. Chances are, it took some climbing to get to this spot. God gives us times when our souls can rest. Take a deep breath and look around. Get to know this new landscape God created. Don't spend energy looking back at what you left, and don't waste it trying to prepare for what might be ahead. Just be all here. Give thanks The practice of gratitude is so essential to navigating transition well. When it's over, it's tempting to forget where all this goodness comes from. Thank God for bringing you to this place and for every little blessing that you see. Celebrate the heck out of it! The other day I made a list of things I'm grateful for, and I felt God's absolute pleasure in giving them to me. It's His joy to bring us to wide open spaces. Realize that fact and respond. Remember others It wasn't long ago that we were the new people, the ones without community or roots. Those people are all around us, hungry for connection. We could be the one to meet their needs. Remember what it felt like to not be in this place, and ask God to lead you to grab others by the hand and walk well with them. We can give them the strength we feel right now. Bear witness When you're in the storm of transition, it's hard to remember that there are places of abundance, solid ground to stand on. Scripture says a good word from a distant land brings hope. We can be that good word to others. Sometimes we're discouraged from sharing about being in places of blessing when others are struggling. But bearing witness is about giving credit to God, and reminding all of us of His goodness. Let it fuel the future  Life changes constantly, and what carries us through is remembering that God is our anchor. Like I said in my New Year's post, we look back so we can look…

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Finding Balance in the Seasons

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Years ago, I had a delightful life coach and mentor by the name of Dayle. She encouraged me to make a personal development plan for that season of my life. Being a planner by nature, I was excited to show her what I thought was a well-balanced plan. She took one look at it and said, “Gina, I’m exhausted just looking at this.” “But I don’t know what I could cut out. All these things are important,” I insisted. Dayle affirmed that yes, everything on my plan was important. But then, she suggested that maybe not all of them were equally important at this moment. That began a journey of understanding what it looks like to find balance, not in our days, but in the seasons of our lives.  To read the rest of the story, join me at Redbud Writer's Guild!

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Warning: Don’t Forget to Breathe

In the quiet of a dimly lit room, standing unsteadily on a foam mat, wondering if everyone behind me was judging my form (they weren't), I tried to focus. Arms up, down to prayer, bend over. Lift halfway, down again, now back up and reach . . . and oh yeah, don’t forget to breathe. It seems like the lamest command one human could give another, “Don’t forget to breathe.” We breathe on average 17,000+ times per day involuntarily. I have done it for over 40 years. That’s, . . . (I don't do math) a lot of breathing. I should be practiced by now. And yet. Every time our sweet yoga guide said it, I realized I was not breathing. So focused on the action I forgot to inhale and exhale. When I did breathe, my body relaxed. I sank deeper, and became more aware of everything I was doing. The places that were tight, needing more attention, spoke to me. Our instructor pointed out that the Jewish name for God-Yahweh-was meant to be breathed. It's the only consonants in the Hebrew alphabet not articulated with the lips and tongue. So as you breathe in and out, you can say the name of Yahweh. That is what we practiced. Yah-weh. Yah-weh. A way of breathing that reminds us who is with us and what He offers. It calls us to slow down, lean in, be aware that the very breath of God is in us. So, in the moments when life feels a little rushed, too overwhelming, too hard, I've been trying to practice this. We must remember to breathe. Don't forget . . . . . . when that guy in front of you is driving 40 in a 55 and there's no possibility of passing . . . Yah-weh . . . We breathe in patience, peace and the knowledge that we will get there eventually. Then we breathe out grace toward those who slow us down when we want to be fast. Don't forget . . .  . . . when we ask our children to do something and we can see the objections forming in their heads before they're even words . . . Yah-weh . . . We breathe in time to speak to the heart. Then we breathe out words that love and invite. Don't forget . . . . . . when one more person presents one more need for us to meet . . . Yah-weh . . . We breathe in the space we need to question if this yes is for us or not. Then we breathe out an honest, humble answer that offers the best for everyone. Don't forget . . . . . . when our best-laid plans fall to pieces . . . Yah-weh . . . We breathe in the grace we need. Then we breathe out a good laugh at the idea that we were ever in control in the first place. Don't forget . . . . . . when anxiety grips our hearts and warns us to step away from the brave paths God's calling us to take .…

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Stand at the Crossroads

It would never have been in my plans to make an international move pregnant, but that is exactly what I did in the fall of ‘99. When I was thrown into the newness of being a first time mama six months later, I was still wrestling to grasp a language as different from English as possible, learning how to lead a ministry alongside my husband, and finding my place in a new culture. I was swimming in transition. My love for our host country, coupled with a deep need for external validation, drove me through the spring to squeeze life out of every hour: studying the language while our son napped, taking him with me to meet students, our team passing him around as we met and planned. I once nursed him with one arm while wiping a poop explosion off the wall with baby wipes so I could finish in time to meet a student for discipleship. I wanted to do it all. Six months later, I was overwhelmed. To read the rest of the story, and how God used this verse from Jeremiah to minister to me, go to my guest post at (in)courage here:  Stand at the Crossroads

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To Truly Be Still

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It’s completely quiet in my house right now. For the first time in nearly 20 years, I have a week alone. My husband took our two kids to Vermont this week to ski, and I opted to stay home, work, and take care of the dog. To me, skiing is an expensive exercise in trying not to kill yourself in cold weather. Truth be told, my heart jumped at the possibility of time alone. I love it. My soul can breathe again. Or it could, if I would just be still. I’ve realized, through the past few years, that there is a big difference between being alone and being quiet. There might not be anyone around, but I can still keep my soul from settling into any sort of stillness. I write, work, clean, (just kidding, I probably don’t clean), walk the dog, watch TV, read. I do a million activities with my alone time, but the real challenge for me is to actually be still. What Happens When We're Still Still enough to feel my own soul. To experience the emptiness, sadness, or anxiety I use all that activity to avoid. Still enough to reflect on my life and make more purposeful decisions. To maybe do less but do it with more meaning. Still enough to hear His voice. To let Him minister to me in all those emotions. Still enough to let Him guide my activities. I know why I struggle to be still. It scares me. I’m afraid if I stop producing I stop having value. I like feeling I’ve made the most of every day. And yes, it is important to use every moment wisely. But what if the greatest wisdom for us in a given moment is to simply be? When I do slow down, and allow myself the freedom to do nothing more than exist, my soul can rest. It can loosen its grip on the lie that I have to do anything to warrant praise. In stillness, I am reminded that all my activity is no substitute for the bread of life He offers me. It cannot feed my soul like stillness can. So yesterday was a “just be” day. I slept in. Lingered in the Word. When unexpected tears I couldn’t explain other than, “I think I just needed release” came, I let them fall. I pushed aside the “should do” and “ought to” of my never ending to do list and determined to just enjoy a non-productive day. Took deep breaths. Napped. I pursued stillness. Be Still and Know Be still and know. I feel like this has been the theme of so many of my posts these last few months, but it's a hard lesson to learn in a culture that does its best to push and push us beyond our limits, that doesn't invite us to slow down. So I will keep saying it, to myself and others. Consider this your invitation. When was the last time you gave yourself permission to be…

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Let Go and Let Him Hold You

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These last few months have been tough. I've ventured in to new areas that make me uncomfortable and scared and bone-weary, resulting in a lot of anxiety, and at times, depression. Being the get 'er done girl that I am, my gut reaction to seasons like this is, "Ok, so what do I need to DO, God?" I can't just let go. Give me the formula to get back to awesome. Show me what scriptures to dwell on, what truth to grasp, what prayers to pray. Show me my error and I'll fix it. Tell me what to think and do and I'll do it. I will make it happen. But maybe instead of doing, we're supposed to stop trying to save ourselves and just let go. I was reminded last night of a poem I read years ago, back when I first started to realize what a winding road faith can be. I read it like God is speaking to me. First Lesson by Philip Booth Lie back daughter, let your head be tipped back in the cup of my hand. Gently, and I will hold you. Spread your arms wide, lie out on the stream and look high at the gulls. A dead-man's float is face down. You will dive and swim soon enough where this tidewater ebbs to the sea. Daughter, believe me, when you tire on the long thrash to your island, lie up, and survive. As you float now, where I held you and let go, remember when fear cramps your heart what I told you: lie gently and wide to the light-year stars, lie back, and the sea will hold you. Have you spent much time floating on water? Picture yourself like this child, trusting her father to hold her as she's learning to swim, when she's scared and tired. There's something so freeing and relaxing about it if we can let go of trying to keep ourselves afloat and just let the water hold us. The father reminds his daughter to look to that which is bigger than her. It's the definition of "Be still and know." Know that He is there. Nothing is wasted. Every tear is caught, and every sigh is heard. He knows what He's doing with us. The way out of our wilderness is clear to Him, and He will lead us in His timing and His ways. The places that seem the most stagnant are often the places where He is preparing us for something we cannot see. His love will hold us, when we let go. Related posts: I Don't Need Rescuing (Except I D0)  Get Quiet Enough to Listen The Battle Belongs to Him 

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