When Sitting Still Turns to Giving Up
How do you know when your fuel tank has reached “full enough” and it’s time to start giving again? And what makes me curl in when my fuel is dwindling? And what kind of fuel do I need to keep going anyway? And where am I trying to get to?
The last few weeks have been a blur. I want to grab my phone calendar and backtrack the days until I figure out where on earth I’ve been. I want to know where I crossed the line from giving in to giving up.
Giving in was an important part. I had to get real with where I was at and surrender to it.
From the first pill I took of the two week course of antibiotics I was prescribed, I was officially out-of-operation. Four hours after that first dose, I was reading the tiny letters printed on the paperwork that came packed in the boxes of medicine when I realized that I couldn’t remember why I was reading the packet in the first place (I remember now that I had been looking for the list of side effects). My thoughts became a pattern of dots that I couldn’t seem to connect. Words were making their way from my brain to my lips three beats too late. My whole face felt droopy and lifeless and my head was pumped full of sleepy fog. I just could not get a grip.
Though that was only my initial reaction to the medicine, and things did improve, life had come to a definite halt. The medicine, for lack of better words, knocked me on my butt.
I stopped going to cleaning jobs with Bobby. I stopped carrying water buckets to and from our tiny house (we don’t have running water). I stopped emptying our camp toilet (we don’t have a toilet connected to the sewer either). I stopped driving to visit family or run errands.
I stayed home, and for many days all I could manage was snoozing, drinking my medical shakes, and doing the dishes (I wanted to at least keep up on those, because dishes are the one chore that Bobby simply hates).
My sudden inability to participate in life as usual both terrified and relieved me. I was both afraid that everything would fall apart, and relieved that I didn’t have to hold it all together anymore. This made me realize that I probably shouldn’t have been trying to hold it together in the first place.
One thing that really scared me was that I didn’t have the mental capacity to study God’s Word. Studying the Bible is something I do because I truly desire to know God better, but I know now that I had fallen into the habit of spending time in the Word or in prayer to win His favor. I know this because when I temporarily lost the ability to read or study His Word or even to string prayers together, something in me panicked. For the first time in awhile, I was face to face with my Creator, just me, without anything to bring.
I was happy to find that He didn’t mind at all. I started to sit out on my patio just to be with Him. When the breeze flowed through the treetops above me, I imagined that God Himself was walking by, making the trees move. I couldn’t see Him, but I wanted to so badly that I started see Him in the living world that surrounded me.
This interest in sitting alone with God came from a sermon by Louis Giglio that I listened to that first evening of the antibiotic treatment. The sermon was on Psalm 23, and two points in his message stood out to me. First, Louis emphasized the truth that God makes us lie down in green pastures. The picture scripture paints is that we are sheep who don’t have the wisdom to know when it’s time to lie down. In fact, we might not ever lie down if our Shepherd didn’t make us. I certainly hadn’t noticed that I had been needing to lie down for awhile, needing to remember Who was in control — I was too preoccupied with trying to hold everything together.
The second point in the sermon that stood out to me was Louis’ description of the table set in the presence of our enemies. He explained that, yes, it’s amazing that God sets out a feast of good things right in the middle of life’s battles, but what’s even more amazing is Who is sitting at the table with us. It’s a wonder that I have the opportunity daily to sit alone with my God. This is what opened my eyes and caused me to seek out the wonder of sitting still in His presence. What was He like? What would He teach me? Is it really enough just to be with God without doing anything?
So I continued on and I gave in. I gave in to what God had for me at that time: being in His presence without trying to win His approval, being cared for by those around me without the ability to return the favor, and doing a whole lot of absolutely nothing.
But at some point I think giving in became giving up.
I became discouraged by my inability to participate in life as usual and somehow, without fully realizing it, decided I was useless and probably would remain useless for some time. I became impatient waiting on the Lord and said “see ya later” to the Spirit’s leading. What was I waiting for anyway? I wasn’t believing that Christ was still working in me and was going to work things out. I lost sight of my purpose. I lost sight of Christ’s power in me that was still able to make a difference in the lives around me even if it wasn’t in the exact way I had been waiting for.
I was waiting for things to go back to “normal” instead of waiting on Him to lead me in the “now.” I lost hope, gained confusion, and formed jagged edges to keep people from coming close to my mess. I wanted to put everyone and everything on pause until I could figure out what had gone wrong. Why was I feeling so lost?
My favorite author, Ann Voscamp, reminded me of my direction. I read page after page as she wove a clearer picture of the way I can choose to live — the most fulfilling way. And that’s to give yourself away.
I realize now that even though my giving to those around me won’t always look the same, I still need to press into the lifestyle of giving myself away. “There are two types of pain: the pain of self-sacrifice and the pain of self-destruction.” Giving up and curling in will never give me joy like giving in and giving away. Curling inward will only cause internal destruction.
During this illness, I don’t know what giving myself away will look like. I know part of the picture is to continue putting pen to paper. I know giving myself away can be as simple as giving my husband a back rub, or being sure to look someone in the eye as they tell me about their day. It can mean asking questions to better understand someone else’s heart instead of talking over them to be sure they understand me. Or spending time with people to get to know what the world looks like from where they stand.
And I know that it will never mean I need to hold onto my life so tight that I become the vice that squeezes what’s good right out of it. I’m free to give in and give away.
Thank you to Bobby and my Mum for reminding me that I should write. Thank you to my church family for reminding me of the Hope I have. And thank you, Jesus, for teaching me that it’s far more healing to understand than to be understood.❤
