Summer, at the unbusiest of times, renders me stagnant.
To put it simply, I don’t like the season of stagnant.
Upon learning more about my personality this year– introverted extrovert, Enneagram type 2, ENFJ, prefers uncomfortable conversation over meaningless small talk, a passionate leader, unwilling to settle for second-best, spontaneous when appropriate, only competitive in the things that matter to me, and so on– I discovered I rather despise the act of sitting still. It is an art I have yet to master and fear I never will.
Part of my drive to succeed is fueled by the unsettling hum in my ear of Do this, Do that, Don’t nap when there’s so much day to be had. My mind has difficulty surrendering to rest. In fact, just a few days ago I stayed awake for twenty-four hours and barely slept a wink on my ten-hour flight back from Rome.
I’ve never been able to rest adequately with ease during the daylight hours. I find some excuse to stay awake, like work or going to the gym, or my pillow feels like a rock beneath my head, or there’s too much noise outside. Cop- outs and justifications galore.
I can’t seem to get it across to my mind that rest is entirely as vital as productivity.
We cannot succeed if we do not first surrender to stillness.
My hands desperately reach for anything– anything at all— to fill my long summer days with. Books. Movies. Music and podcasts. Designing my webpage. Working. Working out. Trips to the mountains or to Nashville or the beach. Whatever it takes to keep me distracted and entertained until August, where I then get to transition to leading and discipling a hall full of freshmen girls and attempting to convince them I have my life “together”, whatever that means.
All when in actuality, I’m avoiding the messy middle of my life.
I knew going into this summer that the Lord would stretch me to fit the res-life shoes He has awaiting me this year at Lee. Each time I try and convince Him He’s got the wrong girl, I am instantly met with blessed assurance that no, He has not made a mistake. He chose correctly.
But…why? Why me?
I feel so broken most of the time, the war against the Enemy continuing in my mind. Anxiety threatens to beat down my door and consume me once again, and my fear barricades the bolts. I cannot force myself to be still because if I surrender to this particular unhurried season of life, I worry I won’t be able to lift myself out from the weight of Satan’s horrendous labels and lies.
I feel as though I cannot win. How do I accomplish something fantastic when there’s physically not much I can do?
I think part of the reason I struggle to grasp stillness is for the aforementioned reason: Stillness requires nothing of me but to wait and rest. There is no need for talent, no need for connections, and no need for competition. There’s no scale to judge my stillness from anyone else’s, yet there are an infinite number of things I can learn and gain from keeping my mouth closed and my eyes above.
I keep getting this wrong, filling in the gaps of my story with things I imagine God would want to do and saving Him the trouble of doing it. But I tend to learn the hard way that my great God prevents the very things I wish to happen from happening for my own protection– not to withhold “good” from me.
I picture Him sitting beside me, watching as I fret about the future and plotting the fastest course to win what I want, all while slowly shaking His head. Daughter, you’re missing the point. You’re constantly looking for change when I have you in a season of consistency. Be here now, or you’ll miss so much of my blessing.
Even with this knowledge, I continue to face the stagnant, the stillness, the silence.
However, my mindset on my season begins to shift. I am awakened to the reality that perhaps the stillness is exactly where the Lord is leading me to live.
I recently read the book The Ministry of Ordinary Places by Shannan Martin. She writes, “Rather than spend my days scanning the digital horizon for a dopamine hit of false comfort, I want to keep my ear tuned to the groanings of my place. I want to stand ready, as Christ’s ambassador in my neighborhood, wearing grace, flesh, and skinny jeans. I want to belong, just as I am, and I want to get better at loving people for every good and puzzling thing they are.”
I couldn’t have said it better myself.
live wanderfully 