Specifics of Stillness

By the end of summer, I’ve usually eaten so many hot dogs the suggestion alone triggers an involuntary look of disgust. It’s the go-to party food for large crowds, specifically kid-and-teen parties, feeding bottomless-pit stomachs and energy-consuming metabolisms. So, it’s understandable that after a few months, I’m so over hot dogs.

Summertime is our time of year. The time of year we pack our pool with the people we do life with, filling our backyard spaces with games and giggles, building bonds and making memories. We find fulfillment in the warmth of relationships. We find joy in the company of friends and family. We find fun in the laughter and activity of visitors.

But this summer there has hardly been a hot dog grilled. Not enough for mentioning anyway.

There hasn’t been a pool full of people. No crowds of company. No moments to mingle.

This summer has been quiet.

This summer has been empty.

Navigating life during a pandemic is something we could have never imagined possible. While there are occasionally some difficulties we watch people face, thinking to ourselves, I’d do this, or I’d do that, or perhaps we watch in astonishment not even knowing what to think; I can say, a pandemic is nothing I ever considered. Even in my most irrational moments of imagination this is something that never occurred in my mind. Regardless of however naïve that reveals me to be, the fact of the matter stands, I could have never fathomed how we’d respond or how we’d decide to conduct life. No way.

All of this played out to be a party-less summer for these Meadows, a family that lives for summer get togethers (and Disney trips too- but that’s an entirely different blog post).

It’d seem that the silence would be depressing.

It’d seem that the emptiness would be overwhelming.

But surprisingly, it was a full and fruitful summer. Different, but still good.

Good in the sense that through the quietness the things overlooked, the things even ignored and neglected, have been brought front-and-center, demanding to be confronted. And no, I’m not referring to the dust on my ceiling fans or the clutter in my closet, although rest assured, like many around the world living in a pandemic, we’ve been utilizing much time toward tidying up at home. However, the areas in our house are a bit more seamless to tidy than the internal messy spaces of our hearts; the things bruised and broken; the things wounded and weeping.

I never intended to power-down from my actively full life. I never considered what could be received in pulling away from the commitments of my calendar. It’s a pause I never knew I needed, an unplanned pause, still without an end-date in sight. Such a reality would normally rattle my mental desire for a mapped-out way of living, and yet, in the process of this unplanned pause, my heart has crawled up in the lap of God, soaking in His healing, His peace, and His presence.

Sometimes what we’d never want is an ingredient we need most.

Sometimes what we naturally avoid contains a great gift.

The specific ingredient of stillness.
The specific gift of stillness.

This isn’t about a yearning to rush back to my old life. It’s about navigating new waters, and being changed through the experience. Some blessings are baked in the vintage Crock-Pot of patience, not the modern Instant Pot of gratification. I’m learning the beauty of those realities, and I hope being back with you in this space of my online home will be a door to share them.

I’m so thankful you’ve spent a few moments hanging out here today, please come back next week and join me as we continue in this discussion on the specifics of stillness.