The Lord is my shepherd, I lack nothing. He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters, he refreshes my soul. He guides me along the right paths for his name’s sake. Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me. (Psalm 23:1-4)
In
Soul-Keeping, John Ortberg asks a scandalous question: “How good are you
at doing nothing?” As I think back over most of my days, I think I’m pretty
good at doing something. Not a day goes by that I don’t do something. At the
same time, I think I’m even better at doing nothing because while I manage to
do something, it’s nowhere near the Something that I think I should have
accomplished. But the truth is, I’m not good at doing nothing.
In fact, one of the reasons I like to
take walks is to escape from the need to be doing something. Yes, I do
something in order to not do something. And when I am doing that something in
order to not do something, I have my dog on a leash, my camera dangling from my
neck, a bottle of drinkable in one hand, and maybe a garbage bag in the other. Right
there, my “doing nothing” involves exercising, walking the dog, looking for opportunities
to take pictures, replenishing my water level, and (possibly) taking out the
trash. Oh – and prayer time.
Yes,
my walks are meant as prayer times, but more often than not, they’re neither
doing nothing nor praying. They are lecturing people who aren’t there, worrying
about something, being the Pennsylvania state bird (Ruffled Grouse) about something, whining, growling,
wallowing in self-pity. I don’t seem capable of shutting up.
Or,
when I’m in the truck, I’m listening to a book while driving. At home, I listen
to music, watch British mysteries, working on writing, or housekeeping, or
research, or gardening, or…or…or….
For
some people, the thought of being alone is traumatic. I guess my equivalent of
that is that I want a dog around. I don’t want the dog to be demanding my attention,
but it wants its presence in the house. But activity and accomplishment, ideas and
words – not doing them is hard because when there’s nothing but you and God,
it can get uncomfortable.
But all of that noise and all of that drama gives us a comfortable separation from God. We may say we’re doing good for Him, but are we? When He makes us lie down in green pastures, do we just enjoy being there? Or do we start thinking about how some other sheep isn’t lying down, or about how the pasture needs to be tended, or about anything but nothing. We don’t want peace. We want stimulus, and if we can’t have stimulation, we’ll fall asleep, which is doing something, too.
I don’t know that I can do nothing, or just lie in green pastures. But I think that for this next week, I’m going to try to take some time to “be still and know that [He] is God.” And I think that part of that may involve dealing with things quickly instead of chewing on them over and over.
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