The sparse grass is moist from the spring rains. It seeps into my back as I lay staring up at the clouds and swaying branches. Exhaustion pours out of me. In its place damp, moist, earth soaks into my clothes. I should get up. I have so much to do. I don’t need to add “spray my dirty clothes” to the never ending to-do list.
The ground, however, is like an unrelenting magnet. It holds me here. Half of me relishes the peace of nature that is seeping into me right now. The other half resents the fact that I have fallen to exhaustion, yet again. The familiar question bounces around my brain: “when will you learn? When will you get it figured out?” In a weak voice, I murmur to the holder of the clouds, “I am sorry for failing again, for not remembering the lessons You have taught me.”
As I wrestle with these thoughts, I realize I am gripping tightly to shame, not grace.
Last week, I still had enough energy to keep running. My mind was turning with ways to refuel without stopping. I have heard running is good for ones health. I thought maybe I figured out how to run well. But as I lay here on the wet ground, I realize I have been running in the wrong way. Emotional running and physical running are two different things. As much as I want to will them into being the same, I am facing the fact they are very different.
I have found physical running to be good for anxiety. In this moment, I realize emotional running is bad for anxiety. In physical running, I eventually stop. I grab a drink of water, I sleep. Yet, for some reason, I don’t think I need to stop running emotionally. There is a blur between the physical and emotional realms. I know I am limited in my physical abilities, yet, I think I am unlimited in my emotions. The ironic thing is, when I run emotionally, I physically tax myself out without even knowing it.
In my emotional running, I run to ideals. I structure my day around ideals instead of reality. In my attempt to be enough I try harder instead of accepting my life.
I run from reality to ideals. All. Day. Long.
My weary body rushes to accomplish what is only possible in my ideal day. I push and run and shove and find myself flat on my back watching the clouds roll by, wishing I too could amble through life without a care. I watch the sway of the branches above me. I see the tulips bending, showing off their brilliant colors. In this stillness, I remember this feeling as a kid.
I loved watching the clouds roll by. The fresh spring wind on my face. I didn’t care that my clothes were damp and dirty. I was in awe of the big earth around me. I lay there in peace, not in exhaustion. I didn’t feel the need to frantically shove more things in my day. I ambled through life enjoying, not exhausting.
And as that realization settles over me I exchange my anger at the exhaustion, for gratitude. I need this exhaustion to remind me of what is important. I need this exhaustion to see I am running from reality. That this kind of running isn’t the healthy kind. Instead of being hard on myself because I can’t move one more inch, and my clothes are getting dirty, and my to-do list isn’t getting done, I thank God for giving me a wake up call once more.
As much as I don’t want to get confused and blinded, it seems to keep happening. Instead of running to the ideal of fixing it, today, I let myself lay exhausted on the ground and let nature be a teacher. A gentle reminder of the way God wants me to live–peaceful, not exhausted.
It’s not about trying to push forward relentlessly. It’s about accepting you can’t always do one more thing. That sometimes we need a moment to just be still, to let the gentle sway of nature teach us a thing or two. To let the dampness of earth seep into our clothes in a way that ushers peace into our soul.
The longer I walk this journey, the more I see I won’t ever get it completely figured out. When I take rest stops on the way, God fills me back up again. He teaches me.
Take a moment today to lay on your back and look up at the sky. Let God refuel you with His slow, unconcerned creation. Nature can be a really kind teacher, it has a way of reminding us of what really matters. As I watch the bark flap on the trees, the flowers sway in the wind, and the birds chirp from the trees I am reminded how little control I really have. I am reminded how God delights in, and takes care of these things, just as He does me. Just as He does you.
Those brilliant tulips? I want to be like them. Dancing in the breeze of life. They let their Creator take care of them instead of striving to get their growing done.
It isn’t wasteful or selfish to do nothing but stare at the clouds for ten whole minutes. I promise, the world will keep spinning. It may be the most productive thing you do today.
“So why do you worry about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin; and yet I say to you that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. Now if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today is, and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will He not much more clothe you, O you of little faith?…Therefore do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ For after all these things the Gentiles seek. For your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. But seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things shall be added to you. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about its own things. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble.“
Matthew 6:28-34
[…] After I picked myself up off the ground and sprayed my clothes, God continued to press lessons on my heart. With each aching beat, I remembered. I couldn’t see crystal clear yet, but I knew there was a lesson trying to break free to dance in front of my eyes. […]