The trees sigh every so often, a deep casting down of its branches with the wind, temporarily bowing to the strength greater before arising again in stillness. Firmly rooted, their extremities flutter in response to the freedom around, catching and beading the rain that falls from above. It is just one color here—green—showing the vibrancy of life well nourished as it weathers the storms and relishes the sun.
…
Within the first year of living in Brooklyn, I asked a good couple friend of ours how they built a sustainable life in the city. I had observed them being well invested, having deep community, and creating longevity here (they have since had a child). As I awaited their answer, an expectation grew of wise, sage advice coming my way. They thought for a second and simply responded, “we get out of the city on a regular basis.” I was taken aback by both the simplicity of the answer and how confounding it was to hear from those well invested. I don’t know what answer I expected. It likely was one along the lines of “you dig in deeper, you do more, you invest well,” etc. If I were to share that with them now, I think they would agree to that statement in part, but there has been a growing understanding of the need to retreat and rest to balance out the demands of investing well.
And so today, we find ourselves here in Vermont. The trip was prompted by meeting family to spend time with them, but it also created a space to retreat and rest. To be still while the rain falls and the trees flutter. To remember the need to be firmly rooted in the One who gives life and breath; drinking of the kind of nourishment only He can provide.
I overall don’t rest well in the city and daily life. I value being on top of things so that I do not fall behind and create a growing mound of tasks to catch up on. However, the pace of staying on top of things has both its rewards and pitfalls. Being on top of things generally ensures that things are planned, food is bought and made, the home has what it needs, my clients have their projects in a timely manner, that I am being intentional at talking and spending time with friends, that I am able to contribute my time and efforts to our church, that I could love my husband well, and more. This is an indefinite daily labor itself. Yet, I recognize a lie that is easily spoken to me in this daily labor—“you should be doing more things”—as if more striving will amount to more. The thing about buying into this lie is that the outcome appears true for a while. More is done, more is accomplished, things look as if there is greater achievement on the outside. But the longer this lie is bought into, the greater price is paid for believing it, because in living in this false truth, I do not do well the things that really do matter. There has to be the time and space to love others well out of the overflow of the heart, not out of a task-based obligation or a rush to fit others in. And to love others well out of the overflow of the heart means that I must take the time to be still—to catch and bead the rain that falls from above—that nourishes my soul.
The men in my life continue to speak truth into this. My husband does daily, reminding me to stop and be still. Our pastor exhorted me not to neglect the one discipline that will give far more than it requires—daily time in the Word and with the Lord. A friend in our community group spoke to the importance of not relying on our logic or feelings to make sense of what we experience in a given day, but instead to turn back to the Word and trust that the Lord can speak through it to our daily circumstances. Over the span of a couple months, I realized that I had been neglecting the Word for a long time because I was resisting both its authority and its relevance to my life; I bought into another lie that if I could just think through things and pray through things, that the Lord will give me something of an Oracle status of being able to suddenly be all wise and knowing about what is going on. It’s just not true.
In the last year of college, my best friend and I came to the conclusion that the more complicated that things and life become, the more simple the answer is—that answer being Jesus. This still proves to be true, and I believe it always will. Yet, to fully embrace the provision that answer brings, it means a full surrender to the One who holds that answer. In the simplicity of that surrender, we do not need to make it more complicated than it needs to be, but rather trust in His infiniteness to be Who He is. Lord over all. Lord in all. Lord through all.
“For the word of the cross is folly to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved, it is the power of God. For it is written, ‘I will destroy the wisdom of the wise, and the discernment of the discerning I will thwart.’ Where is the one who is wise? Where is the scribe? Where is the debater of this age? Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world? For since, in the wisdom of God, the world did not know God through wisdom, it pleased God through the folly of what we preach to save those who believe. For Jews demand signs and Greeks seek wisdom, but we preach Christ crucified, a stumbling block to Jews and folly to Gentiles, but to those who are called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God. For the foolishness of God is wiser than men, and the weakness of God is stronger than men.”
—1 Corinthians 1:20-25
Therefore, today I cast down my branches with the wind, yielding to bow to strength in the One greater as I arise again from stillness. When it is time to return, may this retreat with Him reflect the vibrancy of life well nourished, rather than weary, as it weathers the storms and relishes the sun.