Don't leave me alone at this time; for I'm afraid of what I will discover inside (M&S)

As the season of Lent approaches, I have found myself sort of slipping out of the mindset I want to be in when preparing for the death and resurrection of Christ. I’ve been on such a “God high” for the past few months, thanks to some incredible spiritual retreats and thanks to God working through certain people in my life. I know from experience that those highs don’t last long (not for me, anyway). I eventually find myself settling into a routine, spending less and less time seeking God’s presence. It hit me toward the end of this week that I am coming down off of my high, and that realization resulted in sort of a blah week. I can feel myself aching for the nearness of God. But my crying out for him has been halfhearted, at best. This is where that whole “not at peace” thing comes into play. I have a hard time setting aside time to be with God when I know there are other things that need to be done—more accurately, other things I want to do, and other things to distract me.

But God created me; he created all of my attention-deficit, fast-talking, multitasking ways, and he loves me. He knows that I have a hard time being solitary or focusing for a long period of time, and he is helping me find a way to just be still. To just be, in his presence, in conversation with Him; step by step I can see myself moving toward that kind of relationship. As I reflect on the week, I can tell that this is starting to happen.

Last Sunday, I planned to spend an hour in prayer for a friend. I sat down to pray, and when no more words would come to me I began to get restless. Honestly, it was not an ideal environment for an hour of solitude; I typically spend Sunday afternoons at my parents’ house, where there are three other people and two puppies constantly causing some sort of commotion. (On a side note, I had to laugh at the absolutely baffled expression on my dad’s face when he walked into the room and saw me praying.) So I did what any normal, distracted person would do; I baked cookies. I just felt like if I wasn’t going to sit still then I might as well be productive. There was something so calming about going through the steps in a process I have done a hundred times. I measured, I stirred, I rolled the dough. And with every step, I prayed for my friend. I can’t really explain it, but there was a rhythm, a balance between what I was doing and the prayers I was repeating. Being in motion made it easier to keep up a conversation with God.

As the cookies baked and cooled, I washed all the dishes (my family had dirtied the majority of the dishes in the cabinets making pancakes earlier) while enjoying the breeze from the open window above the sink. Again, I can’t explain it, but there was something about going through the familiar motions, with the sound of the faucet drowning out everything else, that made it easier to focus on my thoughts and prayers. 

So maybe the first step in learning how to be alone with God, for me anyway, is learning to use those solitary routine-ish times as an opportunity for reflection. 

There were other times during the week when I felt God calling me to spend time with him. As I said, it was not a great week, for no particular reason, and I was getting frustrated with myself for not being the joyful, cheery person I usually am. I guess everyone is entitled to be a grouch every now and then, but I think part of my frustration stemmed from the fact that I knew I needed to take time for spiritual renewal and I just wasn’t doing it. Just being stubborn, I kept thinking, “I can snap out of this on my own.” By Thursday, I acknowledged that that wasn’t going to happen. I was to the point where I was getting angry with people for stupid reasons, for things that weren’t their fault, and I finally conceded that it was time to work on getting to a better place. So Thursday after work, I took a walk. No music, no headphones; just me and the sidewalk and God, and I told myself that I wasn’t going to head for home until I had worked out exactly why I was in a funk. Four miles later, I had come to terms with what I was doing wrong, and I felt like I was starting make things right. I returned home and finished my reflection time with a bit of prayer doodling around James 1:19-20, which says, “Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to become angry, because human anger does not produce the righteousness that God desires.” I just kind of stumbled upon this verse, and it was one of those moments where I read exactly what I needed to read, exactly when I needed to read it (God’s just amazing like that).

Saturday morning, I felt myself sort of slipping back into that angry, grouchy state of mind. I knew a little more solitude was in order, so I spent the early part of the day cleaning. Like, serious elbow-grease cleaning. I scrubbed my shower until it gleamed, even using a toothbrush to clean the grout, and that inspired me to just go ahead and give my whole bathroom a good deep clean. I even scrubbed the bathroom and kitchen floors, which I hardly ever do (thanks to the invention of the Swiffer). And as a result, I’m a little sore today. 

My mom loves cleaning because she says it is one of the few things we do that produce instant results. Cleaning and cooking—you see the fruits of your labor right away. I like it because it is a reminder that I am part of something bigger than me. How many mothers have taught their daughters how to bake cookies? How many people before me have labored over the grout in their showers or a sink full of dishes? How many times in my own life have I gone through those motions?

As much as I whine about being sore, those achy muscles are a blessing because they are a reminder of the time I spent in conversation with God this week; of the time I spent baking and washing and scrubbing, repeating routines that have been done for generations; and of the thankfulness I feel now, knowing that I have identified an aching for God’s presence in my life and have begun to find new ways to draw myself closer to Him.