Life has been insane of late, an excuse that has served me well for a long time. After all, when are we not busy? I struggle to remember a day that I spent in true rest, without anything "productive" to focus my hours. Without cleaning. Without exercising. Without reading an "intelligent" book. Without writing. Just resting, in the knowledge that it is acceptable to just sit and breathe.
For the Festival, I was honored to host Carey Wallace, author of The Blind Contessa's New Machine (which I highly recommend). For her first session at the Festival, she discussed the Discipline of Rest. Humorously, I was too busy to contemplate the possibility of that concept being oxymoronic in any way. I nervously introduced her and took my seat in the front row.
I don't know what I expected; I rarely do. But I didn't expect a challenge of my way of life. In fact, I hadn't really considered how busyness is my way of life. Yes, I complain about the insanity and yearn for the inanity. Yes, I stretch myself thin. I am (for the time being) a full-time student, a part-time worker, a writer, a job hunter, a friend, a daughter, a sister, a believer, and a human being. Not necessarily in that order, of course, but you catch my drift. There is never a moment that I don't feel obligated to fill one of those roles. To be less active would to deny myself part of my identity.
But is that really the case? Are we really meant to be busy all the time?
Samuel Johnson writes, "It may be laid down as a Position which will seldom deceive, that when a Man cannot bear his own Company there is something wrong. He must fly from himself, either because he feels a Tediousness in Life from the Equipoise of an empty Mind, which, having no Tendency to one Motion more than another but as it is impelled by some external Power, must always have recourse to foreign Objects; or he must be afraid of the Intrusion of some unpleasing Ideas, and, perhaps, is always struggling to escape from the Remembrance of a Loss, the Fear of a Calamity, or some other Thought of greater Horror," (Rambler No. 5).
I read Rambler No. 5 soon after the Festival, and right before a period of great anxiety and stress. This low point forced me to look at my life squarely and honestly. There was no way to squirm out of it, because I already felt terrible. There was no possible way I could feel worse, (Dear Lord: That was not a challenge. I repeat, not a challenge) so introspection didn't particularly frighten me. So I started asking myself questions.
What is it in my life that drives me to be productive even when it isn't required? Is it because there is some "Tediousness" or smallness in my life? Or is it because I'm trying to run from "unpleasing Ideas?"
I wrote this:
"When did my selfish nature decide on deprivation of pleasure? When did adding, rather than removing, burdens become a point of pride? Is my life so empty that it requires such depressing and oppressing adornments?"
High self esteem and self worth, while encouraged by modern culture, isn't supposed to be the priority of a believer. After all, as sinners, our worth is decidedly low, hence the overwhelming gratitude with which we should receive grace. On my own, I am not worth anything, and intuitively, I know that. I seek to prove to God, to myself, to my friends, to my family, to the entire world that I am worth their time, effort, and love. And that is why I try so hard and stretch myself so thin. To prove something.
But God does love us, deeply, purely, and perfectly. And, by choosing to love us, He gives us freedom from that constant need for proof. We, and I heartily include myself in this, need to take that freedom. When we do that, we can practice the discipline of rest without fear or misplaced guilt.
Now, it will be interesting to see if I can put that into practice right before finals for my last semester of college...
