I finished my first year of
teaching in early May. I hadn’t really rested in years. I had worked full time
throughout college, graduate school was no picnic, and first year teaching was
consuming. Teaching is one of the most rewarding things I’ve ever done – and
one of the most ever-present. Care for students and material infiltrated my
mind and my dreams. The all-consuming nature of my work made true presence in
my marriage a thing that required conscious effort – it was so easy to just
talk about work while I was at home. For the last nine years, deadlines and
to-do lists had defined me. A summer of free time was on the horizon, but I
couldn’t have anticipated the struggles and growth that were coming my way.
I had been purposeful about
setting goals for these summer months. I was NOT going to fritter away my time
with silliness. I thought I’d need about a week – maybe two – to catch up on
sleep before my energy would return. After that, I had goals in so many arenas.
Goals for exercise. Goals for housework. Goals for varied reading. Goals for
marriage. Within two weeks, I was going to have a sparkling home, a perfectly
reasoned cleaning schedule, a mind full of good ideas from good books, a plan
for the Fall semester, and a demeanor so pleasant that my husband would fall in
love with me all over again. At the end of the summer, I would return to work
thirty pounds lighter, fifty books smarter, hours of Bible study more faithful,
and exponentially more organized for my class load.
It is now July, nine weeks
into summer break. Today is Monday – the first Monday all summer that I didn’t
feel like going back to bed as soon as my husband left for work. The first
Monday that I didn’t lay down for a snooze to beat away the afternoon
drowsiness after lunch. The first Monday that I didn’t watch too many episodes
of White Collar on Netflix. The first Monday that I woke up to a house that
didn’t need to be straightened up after the weekend. I’ve learned some
valuable, slow, and excruciating lessons that have brought me to this place.
Character building takes time. It has been many years now that I have objectively
appreciated the value of a quiet life. I have bemoaned loss of “quiet time”
that has been imposed by our culture’s overemphasis on work. The forty-hour
work week is a thing of the past, and while I have spent the last nine years
spending anywhere from sixty to eighty hours per week on either scholastic or
vocational pursuits, I have wished for a return of a slower pace. I have longed
for time to sit and read, to serve my husband by creating a pleasant home, to
write letters and blog posts, to sit and watch the ants in my yard or to marvel
for several minutes over the beautiful intricacy of a flower. And yet, even
while I valued and longed for those things, my days were reinforcing habits of
mental multitasking, exhaustion, and a ninety-mile-an-hour pace that was
addicting in many ways. My practice was reinforcing the idea that productivity
meant never stopping to rest, always working toward a goal. I chose to break
that habit this summer, but I had no idea how difficult that would be.
At the beginning, I would
sit down to read a book and find my mind beginning to wander within just a few
minutes. Focusing on just one thing was nearly impossible. Repetitive tasks
like making the bed and washing the dishes seemed monotonous and purposeless. I
mourned the loss of the sense of satisfaction one feels when meeting a concrete
goal or beating a deadline. I felt undisciplined and lost, and the resulting
feelings of failure would lead to a despondent laziness nearly every afternoon.
But then, the next day I would try again. And again. And again. Discouragement
and guilt reminded me that the summer weeks were ticking by – perhaps I should
just give up. The school year with its busy schedule would be here soon enough
to distract me from my inability to be content with quietude and a slower
schedule.
Even in the face of
discouragement, tiny glimmers of hope held me faithful to my course. Ever so
slowly, I noticed that I could read contentedly for just a little longer every
day. I could find joy in a simple story. I could focus on a theological or
scientific concept and ponder it off and on during the day. I doggedly
continued to study the beginning chapters of Genesis (one of my goals for the
summer). Finally, an amazing thing began to happen. I began to focus on the
beauty of being made in God’s image, the concept of being God’s representatives
to the rest of creation. Characteristics of God to be mimicked in humanity
began to explode on my consciousness. Every time I brought order to chaos, I
was imaging him. Every time I was creative, I was imaging him. Every time I
performed a repetitive task, I was reminded of his sustaining work. Just last
week, a million ideas for my home began to take shape in my mind. Instead of
finding drudgery in housework, I began to see opportunity for creativity. Finally,
in the last few days I see the practical fruits of those concepts. Making the
bed brings joy to me as I smooth out the sheets and add a touch of order and
beauty to the room. A new decoration here or there adds personality to our
home. The repurposing of cast-off pieces of furniture is an exciting avenue for
creativity. I am, nine weeks into the summer, where I hoped to be three days
into the summer. And yet, I’m thankful for the journey. Mental habits take
time, but they are so rewarding.
Quietude is an undervalued virtue. We praise hard work that yields tangible results. We
also sing the praises of a well-earned vacation or a weekend Netflix binge.
Yet, I find that we undervalue consistent quietude and simplicity. I have read
about the value to be found in solitary quiet. Occasionally, you’ll hear of a
retreat to a monastery to tap into the value of silent meditation. And yet, we
seem to undervalue consistent quietness. What if, instead of either working
through lunch or emptying my mind with an absent scroll through Facebook, I
took an hour – or even fifteen minutes – out of every work day to read a page
or two of a good book, or to just be out-of-doors. Pulling back out of the
hustle of the day to re-center would do me good, I am sure. Doing so this
summer has been undeniably beneficial. Slowly, I feel a calmness creeping in to
sooth my harried thoughts.
Anything worth doing is worth doing
poorly. I feel as if this is my
life’s motto. I read it somewhere once, but I do not remember where. It gives
me hope in almost all of my pursuits. Science. Faith. Marriage. Homemaking.
Quietude. Reading. If a thing has value, it is worth the mistakes you will make
as you pursue it. Those mistakes guide us to a better way of doing things.
Failure should never cause cessation. I spent many earlier years only pursuing
those things which came easily to me. Graduate school ushered in a time of
grueling training about the value of failure. Marriage brought me face-to-face
with my sinfulness and forced me to try again, to repent when I failed, and to
determine to keep going, however imperfectly. This summer has carried me into
discouragement again and again as I woke up day after day to a sink of dishes
that I hadn’t felt like washing the night before. I have been forced to take
stock of my weaknesses, and to purpose to try again even if I fail.
I’ve readjusted my goals for
the summer. Instead of fifty books, I’ll read what I can. Instead of returning
to school thirty pounds lighter, I’ll continue to chip away at bad eating
habits and build good exercise habits. Instead of a sparkling home, I’ll fiddle
with my cleaning schedule and learn to give myself some grace. And, as far as
my husband falling in love all over again with my fascinating disposition, he’s
a champ and loves me through my failures.
