Adrenalized Days Need More Than Z’s.

Lord, my heart is not proud, nor are my eyes fixed on things beyond me, in the quiet, I have stilled my soul, like a child at rest on its mother’s knee, I have stilled my soul within me. - Come to the Quiet, John Michael Talbot

My wife awoke in a panic. Trembling. She had this question on her mind, “What’s the name of the guy who starred in Spenser for Hire?” Our nights currently are fraught with these terrors. Our sleep a strange dance; part jitterbug, part swim. Throw in the snoring, his/her alarms plus the occasional amber alert and it’s a wonder we don’t always face our days tired. Daily life pours into our pursuit of sleep. Adrenalized days need more than z’s. There’s a desperate need to find rest.

Like a seal basking in break of day sun, a friend rises early to greet God. Rest of soul and receptivity to God seem to come easier to them (I’m certain that’s not true). A cruciform life posture marks friend Kelly who finds easy repose on the breast of the savior.

Possibly posture. Maybe ebb and flow. Can’t get there most times. That child sitting on his mother’s knee squirms away. My coffee table chair, my Papua New Guinea arabica, blue enamel mug, Michael W. Smith melody, a glimpse, an open window to a place I’ve not arrived.

It’s as hard for me to know rest as it is for me to describe rest. A warm San Fernando summer night Mike and I pulled beach chairs onto his lawn after midnight. We sat feet from the sidewalk and dreamed dreams. Laughing, laughing; so loud the neighbors came outside to tell us to be quiet. As much a picture of rest to me as another summer day in the dry heat of Zion. Fremont cottonwood pollen blowing down atop cold canyon river, orange Navajo sandstone cliffs forcing me ever forward. Into the quiet.

That night with Mike, that day in the Narrows echo that famous line, “God made me fast and when I run, I feel His pleasure.”  Getting caught up and letting go; being safe and carried away. Rest is Kellys’ cruciform posture, the sea lion on a stone, a quiet canyon, a child on her mother’s knee.

Photo by Alex Azabache on Unsplash

So You Are

 For her and Him who gave her

Not one to dive in I wade in slow. The water is always too cold. Slow step by slow step. Easy misstep on green fungus or teetering stone. So you are. Jagged rocks had left a scar. Still you beckon. Slow swirl outside the mainstream. Wooing. Escape from the summer heat. Selah.

Sliver sun betwixt Birch. Rustling wind, shining silver. What’s around the bend? Quiet? Snow topped granite grandeur? So you are. Moving forward; both impetus and reward. A biting wind blows. To be alive!

Salt burns eyes. Burgeoning heat; the monsoon builds with no release. Heart pounding. Tympany beat on tympany beat, body jarring.  So you are. Breathing escapes me. Air-won’t-satisfy. Gasping. Rock steps pound knee and drive hip upward every stinking step. I’ve been here before. Reward will come.

Time tried, water formed, forged in fire. Standing white; river sentinel. Elements have etched a hammock in igneous. Shelter from biting wind; heat that’s been borrowed from the sun. Stretching out, safe and secure. So you are.

Finding Rest And Finding God

Finding rest is hard work.  Your mind and flesh will fight against you.  First you must overcome inertia; leave comfort and the known.  I had to return a bunch of phone calls from home this morning.  I have to fix a leaking shower head.  I want to hang Christmas lights.  Instead I got in the car to go hike.

Enroute my body told me it craves a hamburger.  I’d eaten lunch; didn’t need food.  I told it I would feed it later.  Once on the trail there came the jumble of thoughts.  I’d come to rest.  I’d come to just be; to experience time with Jesus.  The mind fights that.

Rest isn’t a thing the mind does readily.  Amusement—yes; the 10 hours the average American spends in screen time.  Quiet resting though is a discipline.  I found myself praying for stuff; planning my vacations, blocking out my work week.  I had to actively bring thought back to God; to meditation, to quiet the hum. 

I don’t think the rattle of thoughts is a bad thing.  Perhaps it calls attention to the state of your heart.  Having set aside being busy at home my mind was trying to busy itself with thought.  I found I had to focus on the now.  I told my lungs to breathe deep.  I stood beside a pool and noticed moisture on the sides of the bank; the dry leaves still clinging for it hadn’t been wet enough to wash them downward.  The thoughts continued as I strove to order them.

I saw no visions.  I didn’t find the perfect zone.  Still it’s amazing that as thinking creatures we can seek stillness---that we can wrestle with thought and gray matter to bring it into a place of quiet.  To order our thoughts around meditation and quiet; to focus on God and to listen for Him---and to Him.  Still most amazing is that an infinite God reveals Himself; and allows Himself to be found.

Recalibrating: Reading, Riding and Relaxation

I pulled the hands away from my throat. I moved my hands down and placed one hand inside my pocket. I pulled out my asthma inhaler and took a quick puff. I moved deliberately to avoid disrupting the people behind me who were focused on the players upon the stage. My enjoyment of the play was interrupted by the old lady sitting next to me layered in fur, polyester and perfume. Initially I presumed she was just vain. Soon afterward I would realize that she was suffering from depression.

Science proves that our physiology and our mental state are inextricably intermeshed.
Scientists from Tel Aviv University recently linked depression to a biological mechanism that affects the olfactory glands. It might explain why some women, without realizing it, wear too much perfume. Physicians such as Dr. John Sarno are convinced that significant back pain significantly correlates to deep repressed anger.

I observed my boss’ look of amused concern as he stood next to me and I asked my vendor if he knew “where in the hell my delivery was.” The angry reaction was out of character for me. I knew it and, apparently, my boss knew it. The anger had been percolating all week. I took it out on vendors, myself and other innocent folks that I had short-changed as I dealt with them from a base of anger. There is one other person who always gets the fully brunt of these emotional outbursts. That’s one of the dangers of being a Heavenly Father-your imperfect kids throw temper tantrums.

I stomped around life for some days lacking energy and zeal. Disconnected from God I focused one-hundred percent on myself, as opposed to good days when I focus on myself ninety-nine percent of the time.

This particular flare-up came up against a 58 mile charity ride on Saturday which motivated me to take Sunday off work as well. The ride went well though I still felt ambivalent without focus. Sunday morning I planned on church but ended up bowing to my pillow. I rolled over and looked at the alarm clock. Had I really slept twelve hours?

Taut and tired I was in need of rest. The pressures of the previous week; driving 6 hours to visit dad in the hospital, the dryer blowing up and stagnation at work had affected me. Vigilance failed and I’d let wariness seep into my bones and soak into my spirit. I needed to recalibrate.

When the ship I’m in consistently crashes against the reef I know that my anchor isn’t grabbing ground at (at least) three main points.

1) Reading. If I’m not spending time in the bible my focus will be off. Surprise, surprise; carving out the time to read allows a solid chunk of time for decompression.

2) Exercise. Adrenaline pours through my veins accompanied by caffeine. A dangerous mix when combined with stress, anger, depression and self-pity. Exercise casts those demon energies out of my system.

3) Rest. Deprive me of rest and I become a roaring monster. Running on five to six hours of sleep makes me a coward. I bend to every evil and succumb to every sensation that strolls into the unguarded castle of mind and emotion.

Like the scent of perfume from a fur encased lady the stressors of life will choke out peace. It is up to me to live on the qui vive against these marauders. I shouldn’t have to crash-and-burn only to be saved by the flashing red lights of my own emotions.