I blew it. And I’d like to apologize. On January 6th, as the capitol was under assault, I posted what was happening in my Facebook feed. I posted while I was pissed. Never a good thing to do. We know this, right? And yet, watching what was unfolding, I was incensed. I won’t go into the reasons now because it’s not helpful, and it’s not the point. I posted my opinion because it’s America and we can. And then I blew it.
I’ve had it. I’m over it. I’m empty. Or at least that’s how it feels. This pandemic is taking its toll, and my bounce back is no longer bouncing. I feel more like a deflated balloon.
Part of the problem is, well, life. Because the things of life that might feel manageable--you know, when we’re not in a pandemic--just keep piling on. Uncertainty. Loss. Grief. Conflict. Care for children and elderly parents. (I am dealing with the latter.) Decisions feel nearly impossible to make, because what we know today will most likely change tomorrow.
And life is loud right now. So loud. Protests and the urgent need to listen, to learn, to stand against injustice. The divide over basics like masks and the protection of life. (Why this is debatable escapes me completely.) The divide over defunding and reforming law enforcement. Oh, and the very loud divide over a certain upcoming election. Which will only get louder. The fear mongering. The misinformation. I am only stating the obvious now. And the obvious is enough to send me straight to bed for a nap.
I need the quiet desperately these days. Stillness. Rest (and not just the nap kind, although that can help). In this kind of space I remember. I remember the goodness of God. I remember Christ in me. I remember I am held in an unyielding embrace with great tenderness. And I can start to breathe again.
What an honor to be invited to write for the Global Leadership Network! Here’s a brief excerpt from my blog post. Click here to read the full article.
As leaders, it’s imperative that we craft a way of life for ourselves that is responsive to body and soul.
Jesus observed this rhythm, withdrawing often to lonely places after productive ministry seasons (Mark 6:31). Sustainability was more important than their stories of success.
What does practicing moments of stillness look like in your organization?
Perhaps you could take time in meetings, at the beginning and at key junctures, for prayer. Or you could establish a norm for you and your staff to take a day of solitude each month. Or consider scheduling regular periods for personal silence during your work week. Or perhaps you could make it normative to take all vacation time and completely unplug.
During strategic planning days and retreats, it is a regular practice for our Roots&Branches team to begin with an extended time of quiet. We each pray silently and listen for the ideas, thoughts and priorities that rise in our minds and hearts. When we come back together, each person shares what they’ve sensed in this time.
Without fail, we begin to see themes arise. Clarity comes. And we have a unified sense of direction.
This place of connection is the place where truth and wisdom break in. So I lifted a question. Why is connection so important to you, God? Connection with you, with ourselves, with others? The response came—every point of connection is a connection with him. God in us. God in others. God in everything he’s made. Not in a pantheistic, the tree is God, kind of way. But in a sacramental, seeing and touching the holy, kind of way.
