I'm deep in a really good book right now; it's called "The Rest of God." I have found this book is refreshing and convicting, directed to the busy life. It's all about pointedly choosing a more peaceful, God-oriented pace of life by honestly resting in Him, instead of allowing the immediate things of the world to fill your plate and cloud your attentions.
I bring this book up, not to brag about the new-found time I have over the summer (although it is quite nice!), nor to advertise for the book (although you really should read it!), but because the author makes an interesting point that got me thinking...
In one portion, the author tells a story of an over-worked friend who wanted to be a better writer. To improve her skills, she enrolled in an evening poetry class. Although skeptical, the author's friend fell in love with the course and the material after the first night. She attributed it to the teacher's charisma and perspective:
"[the teacher] had an infectious love, not just for words and poems, but for life itself. He relished mystery and simplicity, the quirks of the human heart, creation's whims and flukes and feats. He was childlike with wonder, exclaiming over ordinary things that, for the most of us, have become familiar to the point of invisibility."
I frequently find myself rushing to the next thing, neglecting the moment, and missing what really is meaningful in the here-and-now. The lesson of this chapter is simple: in what you do (work, rest, pray, eat, socialize, worship, play, etc.), be all there. Be attentive. Pause. Rest. Enjoy. Take it in. This day is a gift, gosh darn it! Sometimes God intercepts us in the going and speaks into our lives, but other times He wants us to sit and wait - really wait - on Him. It takes being still and shaking of the dust of the world.
One way to make this mindset a habit, as the author suggests, is to reflect on the moment with words and poems. Poetry can be a way to cognitively focus on what's around us, a choice to be
really here. He shares one of the first poems his friend wrote for her evening poetry class. And
guess what? It's about a thumb tack. Not an uber-deep or profound topic, but through her words the short blurb about a metal pin becomes alive with rich meaning and suspense.
The author proposes that poetry is one of the earliest art forms, and that we are all born poets. "The real question is, when did you stop being one?" As worshipers of God, this makes sense. We're created to make God's glory known, and to be full of awe. And mind you, being awestruck means paying attention.
This is even as simple as enjoying the things He's created: Consider the rain racing on the window, or the weight of the humid air on tree boughs; note the folds in your shoes, and the stories each scuff tell; listen to the sound of the dog breathing, and the lingering stink of your hand after petting it ... (I'm rambling, but you get the point).
It's at this juncture in reading that I had a further thought. These descriptions the author writes of the seemingly mundane begin to sound a lot like an instagram picture feed. I think that this is where a lot of our poetic nature has been funneled: to capturing our surroundings with artistic angles and filters. There's nothing wrong with photography (frankly I love it!) but I think it can be argued that, when always used in place of words, it might be a cop-out.
It sure is convenient to snap a shot in a matter of seconds, and while it may take some thought, it pales in comparison to capturing that same moment with words. Words take thinking. And thinking takes attention.
So this is my challenge to you: amidst the snapshots and hashtags of sunsets and dinner dishes, mix in some time-considered words as well. It's a discipline I'm going to try to incorporate into my life more often, and I hope you will join me. I desire to be a better thinker, and for my words to have more meaning. Ultimately, I hope to be more present, wherever I am (but especially in my times with Him), and more considerate of the things around me.
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