"Every single day I try to figure out something I no longer agree to do. You get to change your mind—your parents may have accidentally forgotten to mention this to you. I cross one thing off the list of projects I mean to get done that day. [For example,] no woman over the age of 40 should ever help anyone move, ever again, under any circumstances. You have helped enough. You can say no. No is a complete sentence. Or you might say, "I can't help you move because of certain promises I have made to myself, but I would be glad to bring sandwiches and soda to everyone on your crew at noon." (Anne Lamott)
Back in the 80's Time magazine ran a cover story on time. They described life in the 80's as a rat race that was "wearing everybody out, wrecking families, and destroying marriages." How much more have we busied our lives since then! Exhaustion has become the norm. We have become deceived into thinking that fast moving, hurried, full lives will provide the significance we desire.
The first official day of summer was only last week, but I'm going to go ahead and claim that I've found my favorite summer book. I'm reading "Gift from the Sea" by Anne Morrow Lindbergh with a group of friends and I'm finding it challenging, inspiring and just lovely.
In Chapter two, titled "Channelled Whelk," Lindbergh plunges into the topic of simplification. "Life today in America is based on the premise of ever-widening circles of contact and communication. It is not the life of simplicity but the life of multiplicity that the wise men warn us of. It leads not to unification but to fragmentation. It does not bring grace; it destroys the soul."
She urges us "to ask how little, not how much, [one] can get along with. To say - "is it necessary? - when [you] are tempted to add one more accumulation to your life, when you are pulled toward one more activity."
We have just kicked off a year of talking about rest, considering what it means to choose moments of solitude in the midst of busy, noisy, chaotic life. I'm no genius, but I'm finally getting the hang of addition and subtraction when it comes to my calendar. If I want to add something, I must take away something else. There are only so many slices of pie. (Anyone's mind jump to Mama Ricotta's Nutella Pie? Me neither.) We must learn to say no. "You say it by placing the tip of your tongue on the ridge of your mouth right behind your front teeth, then verbalizing the vowel "O" through your nose. NNnnoooo" (Max Anders).
Lindbergh recognizes that certain practices are more conducive to a simplified life: "There are techniques of living, there are even techniques in the search for grace. And techniques can be cultivated." Those of use who were at the retreat this spring heard Danetta, the speaker, urge us to become excellent at saying no. She even dared us to never say yes without praying about it first. This technique does not come easily, it must be cultivated. Danetta urged us to practice, as she spouted off a string of creative ways to say no, such as:
I love that you thought of me! Will you ask again another time?
I need some time to pray about that.
I'll call you when I'm able to do that.
I'll call you when I'm able to do that.
I'm focusing on other things right now.
I'm not sure I'm the best person for that (project, etc).
I don't want to hold you up, so feel free to ask someone else.
I'm not taking on anything new right now.
I can't do that, but I'd be glad to do (this other thing).
I can't give you my best right now, so I'll say no.
Now's not good, let's look at a different week/month/season.
I can't because I am trying hard to carve out times of solitude.
Jen Wilkin wrote a great blog post this week about rest:
"Here is a remarkable thing about the Christian faith: we have a God who commands us to rest. Our God commands us to hold still, to cease from labor, to actively enter into repose – not merely as a means to regain our strength, but as an act of worship. The gods of other religions and the god of self, these demand ceaseless toil. To please these gods, worshippers work incessantly at the business of self-denial, approval-seeking, pilgrimage - repeated rites that strive to prove the worth of the supplicant and earn the favor of the deity. Those who seek the approval of lesser gods commit themselves to a course of utter exhaustion. But not the Christian. In our obedient observance of rest, the work of our Savior is understood most clearly. We rest not as an attempt to earn his approval, but as an assent that his approval has already been earned in the sun-going-down, Sabbath-initiating work of Christ on the cross. Christ worked that we may rest. He, in a gathering dusk, exhaled the first note of a blood-bought chorus of infinite rest."
Lindbergh concludes this chapter by reminding us that "simplification of outward life is not enough. It is merely the outside. It is only a technique, a road to grace." We can begin with the outside. We can ask the challenging question - Is it necessary? We can create space and time to still our souls and connect with Jesus. But He alone can provide the order, peace, significance, transformation and freedom we long for. The invitation is there. His offer of rest is available.
Daughter of the king, he is calling your name. He is waiting. Look at the dozens of things clamoring for your attention today. Life will try to demand one more thing of you, stealing your solitude, gobbling up the time He desires to spend with you. Put on your big girl face, look that demand square in the eye and ask, "Is it necessary?"
written by: Libba Armenta