—Jesus (Matthew 11:28-30, emphasis mine)
Didn't know what to do with myself for a time last night. Happens to me sometimes; honestly, probably not as often as it should—I usually flit from one distraction to another as a way to avoid the possibility of silence and emptiness. Read for a while, but had trouble sitting with Fellowship of the Ring for than twenty minutes at a time (imagining Tom Bombadil was too much work for my head after a while), and didn't really have the inclination to read anything else. Looked at the television schedule and didn't see anything that looked worthwhile (checking the schedule rather than flipping channels is something I need to do more regularly). Didn't want to talk to anyone or go anywhere. Didn't want to settle into the Word or prayer, at least prayer as I understand it.
In those times, I want to get caught up in something bigger than myself. I think I'm designed for that, but my flesh has grown used to finding ways to deaden the longing rather than living with it. Am I the better for having experienced it, for letting that space exist even as I pace the floor a bit? I am unsure, but I know it felt more honest than running from it.
The other part, concurrent and contributing rather than separate, is that I don't know how to rest, to be still, to be. There are times I experience rest, deeply, yet it isn't something I know how to enter purposefully. It's a gift. Yet there's something to learn from Jesus about rest and in it, and that's something I want to submit to and pursue with greater intent.
What I'm not willing to do is continue to slide into our culture's demand for entertainment and relief from boredom. Boredom is indeed a problem, but its widespread nature and our universal discomfort with it leads me to believe it is symptomatic of some other malady, and by its rate of growth I conclude that we are continually addressing it incorrectly.
What should I do? I don't know, but no more running.