A Life Stirred

A Few More Thoughts on Stillness

on April 2, 2014

I love the friends God has placed in my life.  I love how I can share something I’m working through, and you, my friends, reply and respond and trigger even more thoughts and a new perspective and much needed encouragement.  It’s a beautiful thing.  It’s what community and friendship should be.  It stirs my affections for the Lord.  (Thank you.)

And inspires a follow-up post about stillness.  You’re welcome.

So, it seems like there are some lies that we buy into about stillness and rest.  We equate stillness and rest with laziness.  And we don’t want to be lazy.  So we must. keep. busy. at all costs.  I’m not sure I consciously recognized this lie, but it’s there.  I feel like I need to do everything in order have value and/or deserve rest.  Never mind the fact that God Himself rested and certainly wasn’t lazy.

As I thought about that lie, I realized an even deeper root of this particular issue.  Not shockingly, it was the exact same root that’s at the heart of nearly all my struggles.  Pride.  Pride and fear of man.

While my constant busy-ness is draining and exhausting, it does actually produce some decent results.  And least externally.  My house is clean(ish).  My dishes are done.  My laundry doesn’t pile up.  My kids are bathed and dressed.  I look good.  I look like I have it all together.  Hello, Pride.  You are an ugly part of my heart.

It reminds me of Jesus’ description of the Pharisees, who were like the Kings of Pride.  He called them “whitewashed tombs” (Matthew 23:27).  They “outwardly appear beautiful, but within are full of dead people’s bones and all uncleanness.”

Yeah, that’s gross.  And that’s me.  Pretty on the outside, but not so much on the inside.

Because in my busy-ness, I certainly am not making time for the Lord and stillness with Him.  Heck, I couldn’t even just sit still for 15 minutes with a cup of coffee.

So I will keep practicing stillness and rest.  I was encouraged by someone a bit further along in this journey that it does get easier.  So there’s that.

Also, this poem describes my life.  Anyone else?


If You Give a Mom a Muffin
By Beth Brubaker

If you give a mom a muffin,
she’ll want a cup of coffee to go with it.
She’ll pour herself some.
Her three year-old will come and spill the coffee.
Mom will wipe it up.
Wiping the floor, she will find dirty socks.
She’ll remember she has to do laundry.
When she puts the laundry into the washer,
she’ll trip over shoes and bump into the freezer.
Bumping into the freezer will remind her she has to plan supper.
She will get out a pound of hamburger.
She’ll look for her cookbook
(How to Make 101 Things With a Pound of Hamburger.)
The cookbook is sitting under a pile of mail.
She will see the phone bill, which is due tomorrow.
She will look for her checkbook.
The checkbook is in her purse,
which is being dumped out by her two year-old.
Then she’ll smell something funny.
She’ll change the two year-old.
While she is changing the two year-old, the phone will ring.
Her five year-old will answer and hang up.
She’ll remember she was supposed to phone a friend
to come over for coffee.
Thinking of coffee will remind her that she was going to have a cup.
She will pour herself some more.
And chances are,
if she has a cup a coffee,
her kids will have eaten the muffin that went with it.


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