While driving one day this spring through the hills of upstate New York, the reflections of pastor and author Pete Scazzero grabbed my attention as he shared three markers of transformation in the life of the believer. They so resonated with where I am in my spiritual journey that they have served as a framework for how I think about how God is calling me to be in this season of my life.
1. Relax into the presence of God
I have a confession…. I can’t swim. Learning to swim has been on my bucket list for a long time, but every time I try to learn to swim, I get panicked. I have to practice deep breathing and repeat reassuring thoughts. Every time a friend tries to help me learn to swim, they say that I need to relax in the water. I need to learn to float and trust the water to carry me. It makes logical sense and yet it feels ridiculous to my body. What? I don’t need to relax. I need to do something to keep myself afloat.
It’s not just in the water that I feel the need to strive; to perform; to be enough. I’m realizing that I have an addiction to perceived control. And one of the first principles of control is that I can’t just relax. I must stay on top of my game. I must juggle all the balls. I must spin all the plates. I must not just sustain; I must gain. For if I don’t, I might just realize that I’m not in control at all.
It is only as I slow down that I realize that I’ve lived so much of my life with a low-grade tension. A tension that stems from a desire to be safe; to be enough. A tension that is complicated by a need to please everyone. A tension that is evidenced in my body through increased heart rate; shoulder and neck pain, and headaches.
Jesus has been inviting me to lay it all down. To learn to relax into the presence of God. To bring nothing except for the fragmented pieces of myself; and to expect nothing except for His Sovereign Goodness. To truly trust that God is good and that he is big enough that I can simply rest. The invitation of Matthew 11:28-30 (MSG) has been a constant refrain for me over the past few months:
“Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.”
There are multiple modalities that embody how I’m attempting to live into this value.
Deep breathing. Simply becoming more conscious of my breath and seeking to invite Jesus to fill me as I breathe in the air that he gives me.
Contemplative prayer. Learning to sit in silence, instead of continually feeling a need to talk while in prayer.
The One Minute Pause. I learned this through John Eldredge’s book, Get Your Life Back. He encouraged me to stop throughout my day and take one minute to repeat a simple prayer — “God, I give everyone and everything to you.”
2. Detach from everything that is not Jesus
I’ve been drawn over the past few years towards the older practices of Christianity that I’ve not learned as much about within my faith tradition. One of those practices is detachment or surrender. It’s the practice of letting go. It’s the place of realization that I might enjoy a position, relationship, or possession, but that I can still be content without it. This has been such a hard and painful practice for me, because it’s revealed the multitude of attachments that I build to try to insulate myself from pain and rejection.
The strange thing that I discover is that it’s actually through detachment that I can actually enjoy what I am given because everything that I receive can be viewed as a gift. The look of love in a friend’s eye. The meal shared with my chosen family. The hug from my niece or nephew. The money to purchase new shoes. The taste of freshly roasted and brewed coffee. When my line of contentment is only Jesus, then my gratitude for everything else becomes greater.
Now, before you think that I’ve got this mastered, let me just tell you that I don’t. Most of the time, I feel like a baby taking a few toddling steps and falling flat on my face. But every time I fall down, I feel God’s gentle arms picking me back up and inviting me to try again.
3. Listen to Jesus
One of the practices that I am most grateful to see modeled in my parents was a deep prayer life. Most every morning, I would wake up to hear my Mom and/or Dad praying. But not only did they know how to pray fervently, they also knew how to listen to God. As I grow into myself, I learn more of how rare that is to find in this noisy world.
Far too often, I accuse God of not speaking, when the reality is that I haven’t created much space for him to talk to me. I want him to fit into my schedule — to distill his guidance in convenient ways that don’t interrupt my life, when he longs to overhaul my way of life and how I live the life that he has entrusted me with. I expect him to shout above the noise of my life, but that’s just not his way.
To be able to listen to Jesus, I’ve been trying to quiet the noise that swirls around and within me. I’ve been seeking out physically quiet spaces to spend time in with God. I’ve given up social media. I’ve tried to limit my time on electronics and prioritize other forms of communication and connection. As I try to do this, I’ve had to confront my addiction to noise and activity.
I realize how much I use noise to camouflage the brokenness of my heart. How I use activity to inflate my importance and protect myself from my own frailty. But the more that I turn off the noise, the more I hear the Voice of the One who calls me beloved. And it’s in that place of listening, that I experience the joy of true belonging.
These three markers of transformation are what I’m feebly attempting to focus my attention upon during this season. I see an invitation in the Gospels to a beautiful and whole life. Though I don’t know fully what it looks like for me to contextualize good news for this season of my life, I’m taking baby steps. And it all comes back to simply relaxing.
Detaching.
Listening.