The Struggle to Sit Still
I was beginning to think that moments like these, sitting at a red light on the way to work, were some of the few moments of quiet and peace I could get each day. The sky was gray and rain misted my windshield. My radio was playing softly as cars drove monotonously through the intersection. Here at this red light, I could choose not to think about the chaos that work would soon present to me.
And then a sound like a gun shot ricocheted through my car. I jumped and spun around in my seat in time to see the young driver of the truck behind me throw his hands into the air and then cover his face, confirming that yes, indeed, he just hit me.
Ten minutes later, I stood in the rain on a side street, investigating the damage, failing to get in touch with anyone, and trying to calm the teenage boy and my thumping heartbeat. Neither one of us really had a clue what to do. Finally, the driver's mom answers her phone and pelts the distraught boy with questions. How old is she? Is she filing for insurance? Did you call the police? And finally, Is she ok?
He turned to me and repeated the question. I did a brief mental exam, "Um...yes, yes I'm fine."
And I truly thought I was. But... time said otherwise. Over the next three days, a persistent ache set up camp in the base of skull, and sometimes decided to shoot arrows at a target behind my eyes when the light was too bright or the sound too grating. I woke up one morning feeling like I had done two hundred push-ups in my sleep and battled inexplicable nausea two days later.
And of course, I didn't say anything, attributing these symptoms to goodness knows what kind of nonsense. Finally, four days after the wreck, I told my mother about the headaches. As any good mother would, she glared at me, scolded me, and forced me to go see the doctor.
Who diagnosed mild concussive symptoms and neck strain, and then instructed me to take medicine and rest...
Rest? I didn't have time to rest. I had a wedding shower, church band to play in on Sunday, and never, ever ending school to get done. Not to mention my job that was ever on my mind. How am I supposed to sit here and do nothing?
But that wasn't the real question, was it? It wasn't how can I rest, but rather, why won't I rest? Wreck or no wreck, I'd been driving myself into the ground for months, forcing myself to meet impossible goals, to be the smartest student, the hardest worker, the most spiritual leader. And it's not because I enjoy it, but because I think that I can find my purpose in it.
Finding my value in work, in what I do for others, in how good I perform, has always been a struggle for me. And I wonder if there is anyone else who has believed the same lies I have, that taking a day to rest, depending on another person, or admitting you can't do something is a weakness.
You see, these lies really have nothing to do with how busy we like to keep ourselves, and everything to do with how we want to be perceived. As the strong one, the capable one, the go-getter, and never-quitter.
My friend, that is pride. And God has to show me again and again where I let pride define my life. How terrified I become if I feel like no one needs me. How desperate I am to perform to perfection.
Maybe I'm the only one who thinks like this, who desperately needs but will not take a time to rest. Pause. Listen to the truth Jesus shares.
You never have to be defined by how good you are at your job, how chock full you keep your schedule, or even how involved you are at church. Your spirit, your character, and your ability to love, that's what ultimately ends up defining you.
And that's really what the world needs, isn't it? Not more marathon sprinters, on the fast track to burn out and exhaustion. We need those who are walking slow enough to notice the flowers of the field, to listen to the broken heart, to offer a hand to the one who stumbles.
The world notices, even if it doesn't understand, the humility, brokenness, and love in us, because it stands out like color on a canvas.
Don't just say you're fine and keep on keeping on. Ask the Lord for the rest your soul really needs and don't be afraid to take it.
And then a sound like a gun shot ricocheted through my car. I jumped and spun around in my seat in time to see the young driver of the truck behind me throw his hands into the air and then cover his face, confirming that yes, indeed, he just hit me.
Ten minutes later, I stood in the rain on a side street, investigating the damage, failing to get in touch with anyone, and trying to calm the teenage boy and my thumping heartbeat. Neither one of us really had a clue what to do. Finally, the driver's mom answers her phone and pelts the distraught boy with questions. How old is she? Is she filing for insurance? Did you call the police? And finally, Is she ok?
He turned to me and repeated the question. I did a brief mental exam, "Um...yes, yes I'm fine."
And I truly thought I was. But... time said otherwise. Over the next three days, a persistent ache set up camp in the base of skull, and sometimes decided to shoot arrows at a target behind my eyes when the light was too bright or the sound too grating. I woke up one morning feeling like I had done two hundred push-ups in my sleep and battled inexplicable nausea two days later.
And of course, I didn't say anything, attributing these symptoms to goodness knows what kind of nonsense. Finally, four days after the wreck, I told my mother about the headaches. As any good mother would, she glared at me, scolded me, and forced me to go see the doctor.
Who diagnosed mild concussive symptoms and neck strain, and then instructed me to take medicine and rest...
Rest? I didn't have time to rest. I had a wedding shower, church band to play in on Sunday, and never, ever ending school to get done. Not to mention my job that was ever on my mind. How am I supposed to sit here and do nothing?
But that wasn't the real question, was it? It wasn't how can I rest, but rather, why won't I rest? Wreck or no wreck, I'd been driving myself into the ground for months, forcing myself to meet impossible goals, to be the smartest student, the hardest worker, the most spiritual leader. And it's not because I enjoy it, but because I think that I can find my purpose in it.
Finding my value in work, in what I do for others, in how good I perform, has always been a struggle for me. And I wonder if there is anyone else who has believed the same lies I have, that taking a day to rest, depending on another person, or admitting you can't do something is a weakness.
You see, these lies really have nothing to do with how busy we like to keep ourselves, and everything to do with how we want to be perceived. As the strong one, the capable one, the go-getter, and never-quitter.
My friend, that is pride. And God has to show me again and again where I let pride define my life. How terrified I become if I feel like no one needs me. How desperate I am to perform to perfection.
Maybe I'm the only one who thinks like this, who desperately needs but will not take a time to rest. Pause. Listen to the truth Jesus shares.
You never have to be defined by how good you are at your job, how chock full you keep your schedule, or even how involved you are at church. Your spirit, your character, and your ability to love, that's what ultimately ends up defining you.
And that's really what the world needs, isn't it? Not more marathon sprinters, on the fast track to burn out and exhaustion. We need those who are walking slow enough to notice the flowers of the field, to listen to the broken heart, to offer a hand to the one who stumbles.
The world notices, even if it doesn't understand, the humility, brokenness, and love in us, because it stands out like color on a canvas.
Don't just say you're fine and keep on keeping on. Ask the Lord for the rest your soul really needs and don't be afraid to take it.
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