My name is Leura, and I’m a chaos addict.
I got my first taste of it as a full-time college student
working two jobs. By the time I became a working mom, I was hooked. My identity
was sealed, and I loved it as much as I hated it: I was the Queen Juggler. The
woman who hauled her breast pump into the office, her babies to out-of-town
conferences, and her coworkers to ad-hoc meetings in the McDonald’s play area.
The woman who squeezed in one last important interview 12 hours before her
C-Section. The woman who edited the better part of a book with a pen in one
hand and the other hand secured to the swimming suit straps of her one-year-old
who toddled around the inflatable backyard pool.
Today there is no more job, there are no more toddlers, and
the juggling balls have come to rest, at least to some extent. As activities
director for a family of six, the juggling act is still alive and well. It’s
just that my shift has changed, and now I find myself with seven chaos-free
hours a day. Unnerving! I kept those balls in the air for so long—thrived on
them, even as I cursed them—that I’m not exactly sure how to live life without
them.
I’ve entered this still-and-quiet sort of phase, a place
that’s foreign and awkward for a chaos junkie. Every part of me wants to keep
up the juggling act, to just swap my old balls for new ones. That’s what a lot
of chaos addicts do. But it’s not how God is leading me. While I’ve got lots of
good ways to fill my time—Bible study, freelance work, volunteering, helping
people in need—I believe God is telling me that I also need to embrace the quiet
and to discover Him in it. The monks were probably onto something with their
silence, solitude, and contemplation, and while those things scare the
bejeebers out of me, if they are of God, how can I ignore them?
It’s becoming more and more clear to me that busyness is an
idol, and I have been one of its chief worshipers. Even worse, I’ve been proud
of it. I’ve worn my busyness like a badge of honor. Busyness makes people think I’m important. It makes me think I’m important. My ego takes a
serious blow every time I realize that no one’s expecting me anywhere, no one
needs me anywhere. Busyness keeps me from true intimacy with God and other
people. For years, I’ve been the last to arrive and the first to leave—because
I was busy! Lingering just wasn’t something I did, yet lingering is often the
gateway to true fellowship with others. More significantly, it’s often the door
that leads to deeper intimacy with God, if only we will linger with Him and
silence the voices that beckon us on to other things.
“Be still and know that I am God.” Ironic that this chaos
addict has always loved that verse. The time has come to stop merely reciting
it and start practicing it. Off I go. To be still.
