“As we begin to stop, look, and listen to our lives and what God is doing in them, we begin to uncover the plot of our life’s story.”
Frederick Buechner
I want to stop going through the motions. I step off the treadmill and walk to the house, plopping my sweaty self on the floor beside my husband. Ready to be awakened once again to the invisible layers beneath the surface of this crazy season.
We sit together and the silence births the language of the supernatural. We let it escape from our soul. We speak with our eyes closed and the words feel like they’re coming from somewhere else entirely.
Jolted from our slumber, it’s as if we can grab a hold of the golden thread woven through the people and places and decisions we’ve made over the past years.
We are stunned by how easily we become entangled by our need to survive, caught up in the drudgery of the daily, stuck in our usual grooves, and immersed in a culture of consumerism.
There’s nothing wrong with going through the motions, putting one foot in front of the other is sometimes all I can do to keep from curling up back in bed and losing my momentum.
I glide carelessly along, flinging my life, energy, and time around without reflecting, reorienting. I am casual about every interaction I face in my day, plugging my ears to any potential for a greater purpose. Gradually, this lackadaisical mindset dulls me to the magnitude of each moment.
There’s a button on the treadmill I can’t wait to push after I’ve finished doing a speed or interval session, and it’s called STOP.
Immediately, the spinning track comes to a screeching halt. I lurch forward always surprised by the sudden change in momentum.
In seconds, I become aware of just how hard I was working, the contrast is startling. Without the steady hum of the treadmill beneath my feet, I heed the invitation to stretch, to silence.
There’s words and other worlds waiting to emerge from within us, but only when we stop.
