Still Waters

I was in a car with a friend.  We were talking about purpose and meaning and contentment and fullness and joy and passion and heart cry and how it relates to work.

It was a stimulating conversation at first, but halfway through the drive I found myself feeling exhausted and irritated.  There were some other factors at play that had to do with energy and hunger levels, but the dialogue was losing ground for me fast.

It wasn't until several hours after our discussion ended and I had a moment to process my thoughts that I realized where the issue lay.

I am content.

The thought was like inhaling the freshest, cleanest air I had ever tasted, and it caught me completely off guard.

Rewind a little bit.

Several months before this conversation with my friend, I had a talk with another friend where they challenged me on my perception of contentment.  I was(and am) working in a job that I didn't dream of doing when I was planning out my life.  This was several months after starting that job.

Rewind some more.

Two weeks short of a year ago, I finished working somewhere that helped me discover my heart's cry and passion.  It was amazing.  I only left because we felt it was time to move to another town for various reasons.

Fast forward to the second friend.

I had become a little bitter and hugely frustrated:  Right after discovering what I felt I was made to do, I found myself stuck in a job that didn't fit.  It was(is) a good job, and I work for good people, but I wanted to be doing what I wanted to be doing.

My friend that challenged me on my lack of contentment said some very poignant words that stuck like glue.  He told a story that ended with an angry, frustrated prayer which was followed by a striking response from God:

Is being with me not enough for you?

My friend said it wasn't at the time, but now he can honestly say it is.

I nodded, smiled, pretended this was a new revelation, but truthfully I(and probably you) have heard this kind of story many times before.  Interpret how you will, but I felt like this was a concept I already understood: true contentment comes from being content in the present with what you have regardless of circumstance.  As long as you are at peace with God, you are at peace with everything and everyone.

I thought I got it, until I got it.

I am content.

Nothing has changed.  My circumstance still isn't everything my heart cries out for.  There are things I desire to do with my skills and passions, and I'm working towards those when I have time.

But what do I have now?  What do I have right here?

A wife(her eyes go deeper than the deepest wells).  A daughter(her laugh and her smile obliterate all darkness).  A roof over my head.  A job that pays our bills.  Friends.  Family.  A 10 month old that sleeps through the night(hallelujah!).

Don't get me wrong, contentedness didn't magically happen.  There were some rough steps along the way.  I started trying to fill all my extra time outside of work with active steps toward doing what I love.  I still do this sometimes, but I was doing it so much that I didn't have any energy left for my wife and daughter.

I'm gonna say that again.  It's important and I don't want you to miss it.

I was doing it so much that I didn't have any energy left for my wife and daughter.

So I took a step back, focused on being present, and a few weeks later I was in a car with a friend; talking about purpose and meaning and contentment and fullness and joy and passion and heart cry and how it relates to work.

--

"The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He makes me lie down in green pastures(perhaps because we don't have enough sense to do it ourselves?)
He leads me beside still waters.
He restores my soul.
He leads me in paths of righteousness
for his name's sake.

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil,
for you are with me;
your rod and your staff,
they comfort me.

You prepare a table for me
in the presence of my enemies;
you anoint my head with oil;
my cup overflows.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me
all the days of my life,
and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord
forever."

- Psalm 23

By the way, I don't place any blame for my exhaustion and irritation on the friend in the car.  They are near and dear to my heart and always will be.

How to Stay Calm in the Midst of Chaos

Have you noticed the trees lately?

A lot has been happening in the world around us. Much of it has been invoking quite a bit of passionate discussion and argument from many people. There seems to be noise on every side. But trees are not bothered by any of it.

They watch and wait and stay stoically quiet as the world carries on around them. They do not waver. They do not falter. They cannot be provoked and never seem arrogant. They are like silent, wise and patient giants.

In a sea of uproar the trees hold their tongues, waiting patiently to be noticed, and--if given enough attention--heard. For if you listen long enough, you might find that the trees do indeed speak. They whisper with the wind as their branches wave to and fro in a slow, elegant dance.

The trees have seen much; plenty more than you and I. Some have been seeing since before we were born. Some, perhaps, since before our ancestors even set foot in our respective countries. They are waiting. They long to tell us their stories--for they have many. Tales of wisdom, tragedy, terror, and beauty are written, etched, and scribed into their bark.

If we would but sit and notice.


Be still.



Muzzle our minds and quiet our hearts.




We may hear the trees breathe.





Softly, gently, ever so gently, they may choose to share with us legends of old.







Harken to the trees. Heed to the sway of their boughs. Pay attention to the rustling of their leaves. They are waiting for us to listen and learn.








Have you noticed the trees lately?

The Scratching

It is as if my body were a coffin in which the holy spirit lay.  I am six feet separated at least from all manner of people.  Yet the holy spirit within me is alive and vibrant and full of a ferocious love.  It is clawing, biting, scratching and gnawing at the insides of my coffin-body.  But it can never break out, for I alone have been given the keys to the coffin, and the walls at which the holy spirit scratches are of its own design: impenetrable by none other than myself.

I feel the holy spirit throwing itself against my lid: it is desperate to escape.  Not for its own life or breath or safety, but for the life and breath and love of those who walk six feet above.

I know this because at certain instances I have opened the lid of my coffin.  I have never felt such joy as I have on those occasions.  I have never known elation like that of allowing the holy spirit out of my coffin and into the hearts of others.  Yet I have also never known such discomfort.  The hearts of others are six feet separate, after all; held apart from me by dirt and rock and root.

Have you ever dug a six foot hole by hand?  It is gruelling.  By the time you are done, your hands are bleeding, blistered, and raw.  Your shoulders ache.  Your arms feel like weights and your back screams in protest.  All for the joy and elation of love from the holy spirit working through me?  Surely not.

Must it not be better instead to simply endure the constant sound of fingernails on wood?  I am finding it is not.  The scratching is not only endless; it increases in volume with each passing day: building on itself with the momentous force of an orchestra that has no foreseeable crescendo.

To release the relentless force of love is like releasing a wild beast.  The energy used to contain it is suddenly free to run with it.  I know this, but whenever someone treads close to my coffin I endure the frantic scratching and attempt to quiet it with reason.

"Settle down"

"I'm sure she's fine"

"If he were really in a bad way he would ask me for help"

"Someone else will do it"

"If I ask about their day I'll have to have a conversation"

"I might upset them"

"They don't look friendly"

"They will think me strange"

As I let them walk away I feel a heart crack within my coffin.  I frantically begin to dig, suddenly realizing my foolishness.  What could have been a wonderful interaction is awkward and stilted as I leap, bloodied and aching, from my grave.  I shake the hand of the person the spirit desires to love and I walk away shortly after, thinking that it might be best to simply leave the coffin open forever.

"But not today" I think as I pour a shovelful of dirt back over my coffin-heart.