Be

Be. This is both a passive and an active word. It speaks of being still, but anyone who has ever just been knows that it also takes an active effort to reach that state of being.

Most times, I am far more of a doer than a be-er. Though I am an introvert, and appear quiet, calm, and slow on the outside, my mind is always moving and planning. There is the white noise of an inward dialogue going on in my head nearly all the time. Movement? Don’t even go there. It is an effort for me to just be still. I need and crave to forever be doing something—typing, reading, baking, pacing, running, dancing, thinking, dreaming, planning, writing, rocking, singing… And when I am forced to stop—it is like hitting the breaks on an icy Minnesota road. I spiral out of control, and reach and grasp at whatever fragment is left to cling to, just needing something to do.

To be is to be. It is not concerned with doing, and doing concerns me.

Multiple hour-long meetings in SE Asia nearly did me in. Okay, so most meetings are not me. Unless, of course, I’m able to be doing something at the same time—taking notes, thinking, or getting stuck on a topic from 10 minutes ago or finding myself 10 months ahead of everyone else.

Just be. How does one like me even do (catch that?) this? How do you just be still, silent, and patient? How does one be fully engaged while not doing anything? I have no definite, complete answers for this. Only the times of being that speak loudly to my heart and soul.

For me, the only times of really just being have involved a complete, dedicated focus on God. It is actively choosing to be still, silent, and just stop doing whatever I’m doing to be with Him. It is breathing deep and saying, “I choose You over everything else I feel like needs to be done.”

It is determining to listen in silence to the movements of the Spirit, rest in the Treasure that Jesus is, and focus my heart on the God who both works and rests. A God of doing and being. A God who creates and sustains everything by His powerful words, yet came as a man who slept in a boat, went up a mountain to get away from it all to pray, and told His disciples to go on a retreat.

It is forgoing the preparations of an eight-course meal to sit at Jesus’ feet. To listen. It is deserting the time-consuming peach pies, to instead, soak up Jesus. It is choosing to just stop. And be.

Be with Him. Stop trying to do and be everything. It is realizing that I am not enough. I will never be enough, especially so long as I am seeking to fill my lack with more and more doing. It is rejoicing in the fact, that Jesus is enough. More than enough. He fills up what I lack. He calls us to rest in Him, invites us to a feast that He is serving at. He knows that He is the only thing that satisfies. And we will never find Him by hurrying and worrying through life.

Doing is fine. But it has to be balanced by being. Just being with Jesus, resting in all that He is for us, listening to His Spirit, waiting for Him in silence.

Being involves the recognition that He is God and I am not. That His words are worth listening to. That I need to hear His heart, and I will never hear Him, if I’m constantly rowing my own boat in the rushing waves of doing. Or if I’m losing myself in the very place I expected to find Him: in service to others. Service in the name of God does not equal or replace a relationship with God. He does not need me to work for Him. He doesn’t need me forever doing for Him. He doesn’t need me. Period.

He loves His glory and delights in the Trinitarian beauty of being God. And He wants us to experience His joy. Over-flowing, unspeakable joy that flows from the gracious heart of God. He wants us to know Him and live in relationship with Him. But this can never happen if I do not spend quiet, red-light moments with Him. Where He has my full attention. Where He truly is enough.

Do I see Him as so much more than enough that I will just be with Him?

Be.

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