Today was a day in which I imagined it to be one type of day—quiet, simple, restful, and one to catch up a bit in. The husband is off at Men’s retreat for the weekend, and with the exception of a lovely afternoon neighborhood stroll with a friend this afternoon, I have been “alone” for the last 24+ hours. As I sit here, deep in the evening in a quiet apartment, that is the sentiment I took away from today.
Yet, as I really think about it—even the very definitions I applied to today really aren’t true to the fullest sense of those words. It was quieter, yes, but I had two skype calls and walks through crowds of people. It was restful, yes, but it was still a day where I had to put in some time for work. It was simple, yes, but how I chose to be simple today was to stick around my neighborhood—and in doing so, I walked along blocks of history with street fairs and festivals, combining the generations. I walked into neighborhood cathedrals built 150+ years ago, for worship that seems now of another time. I walked beside the waterfront park, another pier of recreation and views added to it, and what seemed to be a melting pot of ethnicies, walks of life, and ages all enjoying a common scene. The swings cradling adults reliving childhood joy, the open air courts with hard-core basketball players and the friendly “adults on kids” pick-up game, the benches lined with couples enthralled in love at dusk; the tables filled with ketchup and hot-dogs and soda with smoke, fire, and laughter pealing the air as the groups clustered.
Was this really a simple day? A quiet one? Even restful? It seems to defy my logic that it was, with all that today brought. But it was—for it was within “my world,” my neighborhood, my home.
Those things here, in their own essence, constantly press against the seams, waiting to be stretched into yet another redefinition, another perception. So little remains the same here. So much changes in life now—whether it comes by the subtle rise of hide tide and then its eventual receeding, or if it grows so rapidly like the new high rise building in development that gains a floor a day, changing how you have always viewed a horizon, and it will no longer be the same.
I’ve always been one to invest. To invest where I am, with whom I am with. I have a high sense of personal responsibility as well as the underlying drive of “this is the right thing to do.” In most seasons, it comes out clearly and obviously, in all areas of my life. These are the seasons where I am committed, fully engaged, and eventually run myself to the ground. And you know what the funny thing is?
I still don’t feel or think that I am doing enough.
I wish I could do more.
To do more than just working (though I forget I am running my own business); to do more than being and making a home and refuge for my husband and myself, to do more than meeting with people and listening, speaking love and truth when and where it is needed; to do more than being part of a church community and the various things it entails; to do more than just having passing conversations with my neighbors; to do more than going to appointments to take care of things; to just do more…
And for me—it’s hardly ever been about other’s perception or expectations of me. It’s because I believe so deeply in these things, or at least the principle of doing them, that it drives my thoughts and actions. In this doing more, I desire the good news of Jesus Christ to go forth, that it would be a natural overflow and output of my own actions. I want Him to be known and for others to know Him. That doing more=more abundance of the gospel. Yet I continue to be humbled in that I physically cannot do more. I’m having to reconcile the truth that He must become greater; I must become less. And in that, in my limitations, that I would seek Him for His abundance of grace and power—for the presence of His Holy Spirit. For Him to move when and where I cannot.
Because ultimately—it is Him who moves, Him who gives, Him who leads, Him who takes away.
I come back to this passage often; every time I do, I am reminded of His sovereignty and presence, His glory and power, and His intimate love for his people. And when I walk this city, even just my own neighborhood where reality continues to defy logic or the possible amount that one could absorb—this brings me back.
So Paul, standing in the midst of the Areopagus, said: “Men of Athens, I perceive that in every way you are very religious. For as I passed along and observed the objects of your worship, I found also an altar with this inscription, ‘To the unknown god. What therefore you worship as unknown, this I proclaim to you. The God who made the world and everything in it, being Lord of heaven and earth, does not live in temples made by man, nor is he served by human hands, as though he needed anything, since he himself gives to all mankind life and breath and everything. And he made from one man every nation of mankind to live on all the face of the earth, having determined allotted periods and the boundaries of their dwelling place, that they should seek God, in the hope that they might feel their way toward him and find him. Yet he is actually not far from each one of us, for “ ‘In him we live and move and have our being’; as even some of your own poets have said, for we are indeed his offspring. Being then God’s offspring, we ought not to think that the divine being is like gold or silver or stone, an image formed by the art and imagination of man. The times of ignorance God overlooked, but now he commands all people everywhere to repent, because he has fixed a day on which he will judge the world in righteousness by a man whom he has appointed; and of this he has given assurance to all by raising him from the dead.” —Acts 17:22-31
It says all that I struggle to. It is the truth that I know deep within my heart, and it is the truth I see this world needing. It reminds me that He seeks us, He seeks those who do not yet know Him, and that He has abundant power over the world—He is not a raw image or being sculpted by the wills of our imagination and nature—He is Creator, Savior, Redeemer.
And when all of my definitions for other words that define my days continue to take on new meaning that I adjust to—I am thankful He is constant. When all of my desires and efforts, whether present or absent, continue to fall short of what I hope they would bear—I must remember He does not need me. In this crazy city we live—I trust He has determined this allotted period of time and this boundary of our dwelling place. In this life and breath and everything—may I continue to seek God, know Him, bear His image and be ready to speak, for He is not far from each of us, and He desires us to feel our way toward Him and find Him.
To remember, that in these seasons where I feel incredibly quiet with not much to say, to trust that He holds it all and I can become less as He becomes greater. That is a needed redefinition.