December 4, 2012 by Erin

The Hush of Advent

Yesterday I spent 45 minutes staring out the window, just letting my mind wander. It was glorious. I guess the idea of sitting in one place with only your own thoughts to occupy you is a nightmare to some, but I’ve learned that I need intentional times of doing literally nothing in order to live well. (I actually happen to be an expert in sitting and staring. By the way, if you’re one of the countless people who’ve thought I was staring at you, forgive me. I promise I was just lost in thought.)

I don’t function well (read: at all) at a frenzied pace. If things get too chaotic, I just shut down. I need regular rhythms of rest. I need unscheduled time. I need quiet, creative space. Some of this is my own quirkiness, like my firmly-established “introvert Fridays.” But I’m convinced there lies in each of us a driving need to find “the still point of the turning world.”

I just came from a study on the book of Isaiah, and I was stuck by one statement the teacher made. In chapter 18, Israel and the surrounding nations are in a flurry, and God says this: “I will quietly look from my dwelling like clear heat in sunshine, like a cloud of dew in the heat of harvest” (Isaiah 18:4 esv). Tonight we talked about a God who is not flustered by our chaos, who stays quiet as the nations rage. A God who invites his people to be still in order to be saved (Isaiah 30:15). And the teacher said this: at the very heart of reality is rest.

See, in rest, we remember who we are. We remember we are not machines, and our personhood is not the sum of our productive hours. Most of all, we remember we are not in control—we are not God. We need that, in large and regular doses.

The call to be still may be especially poignant in December, a month virtually defined by its constant stream of activity. And yet, amid all the bustle, the very Person we’re celebrating slips in as a baby. The story of Christ’s coming is one of quiet, of sleep even, of Peace Himself on earth.

So this month, my aim is to embrace the hush of Advent. To spend more time staring out the window or into a flickering fire. To create the quiet space I need to make room in my heart for Jesus—and in that space, to remember who I am, and be saved.

___________________________

Written with: Cinnamon Life, Christy Nockels, a half-lighted Christmas tree