I saw a lady in the supermarket last week. She was sauntering around the meat aisle, examining large pieces of brisket. Musing on them and no doubt planning to cook them slowly and with great care.
I on the other hand, was scuttling around said supermarket, harassed, holding a pizza in one hand, some unappetising quick fix dessert in the other. My child hungry and tired, trailing behind.
As I passed the woman in the meat aisle, I felt a gulf of separation between myself and her. She wasnt in a rush. She had time to muse on her food and now go home, I made up, cook a big roast dinner with all the trimmings. Slowly. A glass of red wine in one hand, music on.
Reflecting on myself, i wondered how had I become this too busy, harassed, pizza brandishing woman?
A day later I was reading Genesis and it said:
Early in the evening, Isaac went out to the field to meditate..24v63
…and there was my answer.
Isaac was a man who knew what was good for him. He took time to step away and be solitary. To meditate.
And this is, I realised, what I had lost. Which was sending my head spinning, heart racing, as life seemed to be dragging me along kicking and screaming.
True meditation…not passively leaving the mind open random or even harmful thoughts. But an active, deep, prayerful considering and reflecting and thinking. About my own heart, the good and the bad. The people around me, the good and the bad. Dreams and visions and purposes…
I started in the garden.
I found it telling and significant that I couldn’t see a thing on my phone outside in the garden. The screen looked dead and unappealing in comparison to the sky, the trees, the potential in the ground before me. I put my hands in the soil and started to prepare the ground. Tugging at roots and making space to allow plants to grow, bear fruit and flower. In time. All the while meditating and listening. Repenting and turning back to God over and over.
I didn’t want my time in the garden to end. But other tasks had to be done inside and the cold snap came and pushed me back indoors. Yet I will remember that lesson. When each day pushes and pulls. That I need time. To be still. And know.