Why you should just sit still – 2 positives of finding quiet

It starts with loud, annoying beeps across the room or an incessant buzz on the wrist. The fuzz of white noise and the whisk of the ceiling fan can't overcome this interruption. It's still dark and returning to sleep feels right. But the inconvenient truth remains. It's a new day and you have to get up. And go.

Sleepwalk to the kitchen. Pour the coffee. Grab the phone. Read the news. Check the socials. Up the stairs. Wake the kids. Down the stairs. Make the lunches. Up the stairs. Rewake the kids. Down the stairs. Pour more coffee. Take a shower. Brush teeth. Check email. Put on clothes. Up the stairs. Help the kids. Get yelled at. Down the stairs. Make breakfast. Text Dina about dinner. Text Cass about soccer carpool. Feed the kids. Hug the kids. Push kids out the door. Grab your breakfast. Grab your crap. Kiss your spouse. Leave your house.

And that's just the morning. The day tends to go similarly.

When, in life, do we ever have a chance to be still? And what would happen if we tried it?

Being alone

Stillness is sitting alone quietly doing nothing. Consider the obstacles that will prevent this from ever happening.

Do you find it hard to get away from people? If you live with your family, it’s a challenge to be away from them. They probably need you for things, like emotional support or your ability to drive a car. You probably need them for things, like keeping their spaces organized and putting the dang ketchup back.

That’s if your family likes you and wants you around or vice-versa. If not, you still can’t completely ignore them. Eventually you’ll have sign a paper, put some bread in the pantry, or fix a hard-to-reach lightbulb. You’ll be around and it’s unlikely you’ll be alone. You’re there for the grunts, the unpleasant faces, the face-offs, and the weight of life experiences from all around.

If you live by yourself, you’re probably around other people the rest of your day, in school or at work. Those people may feel like family sometimes, for better or worse.

Being quiet

If you’ve managed to get away from people, you may still find it hard to get away from noise. Even as I sit here typing early in the morning, sounds abound in my kitchen. There's the scratchy rustle of food being packed, the electric hum of the microwave, and even the beeps of coffee maker, alerting everyone that the coffee is no longer warming. (This coffee maker beeping is the epitome of an over-alerted culture. Is my life better for this solution to a tiny problem?)

It's hard to find places in this world uninterrupted by sound. Our minds are constantly presented with noise. And we must evaluate if the noise is worthy of our attention.

Doing nothing

If you've managed to get away from people and noise, then you've found a rare opportunity to truly be still. Then, stillness is a choice. Most of the time, we choose not to be still.

We're prone to having an active body. Sitting still is lazy. We need to be moving, working, exercising, and producing. Few things get accomplished with inactive bodies.

In the rare moment we're not moving, we're either asleep or we choose to activate our mind. We need to watch a show, read a book, make a plan, or look at our phone. With phone time, you can be by yourself, with complete silence, with little movement, for hours. And it's nowhere close to being still.

The point is that true stillness is so rare, we can go hours, days, weeks, months, and even years without it. So what?

What stillness gives us – Two potential outcomes

In the contemplative tradition, stillness was viewed not as a nice-to-have, but a necessity. Mystics like St. Teresa of Avila, Thomas Merton, and Richard Rohr have learned they can't live without it. So what has stillness given them?

Access.

Stillness is a way of accessing our own consciousness or perhaps a consciousness beyond ourselves.

This stillness can be like a hike to a river or a drive to the dump. Either can guide you to better outcomes than if you hadn't become still.

The good

Sometimes being quiet reminds us of the good stuff. We think about how our child or grandchild made us laugh that day. We can smell the apple pie cooking in the kitchen, reminding us we have food. We hear the soothing chirps of crickets, a cat's purr, and a dog's snore. We can take a minute to smile at life.

The bad

Yet, stillness doesn't always leave us in a state of bliss. Stillness is where we connect with our inner thoughts, and that can be a messy place, a landfill of our thoughts, even.

When you visit there, you may find the garbage of contempt you have for this world. You may see the litter of hatred towards others strewn about. You may sift through the trash heap of your own self-loathing. Unpleasant, but with the potential to purposeful.

What to do with it

There are many emotions, thoughts, and outcomes we can have when we become still. There are thousands of practices in stillness, meditation, and contemplation that can be learned.

Whether our stillness results in positive, negative, or neutral thoughts (and while the following practices are not exhaustive) there are a couple of helpful paths to consider.

Practice gratitude

If your stillness brings you to a positive place, there's a simple way to respond: gratitude.

Expressing thanks to God or to others is great for your mind and emotions. If you hadn't stopped to take a minute to be still, you might've missed the best reflection of your day.

Practice confession

If your stillness brings you to a negative place, there's also a simple way to respond: confession.

It can sound like a religious word, but it simply means agreeing with the state of mind you're in. Admitting you don't love your crappy thoughts about people or yourself is a start to changing that, if you want to. Confessing your thoughts to God or someone you trust has the potential to start changing your mind, or even your way.

Take the risk

Stillness, whether it leads you to positives or negatives, can be worth the risk. Gratitude and confession are potential outcomes that can positively shape you.

The point is not to let busyness distract you from the quiet places that can enrich your soul.

Are you a nobody or a somebody? Why it matters how you see yourself.

Listen to this post

Are you a nobody or a somebody?

Of course, how you answer that question is subjective. It's all in your head. Each of us have different ideas of how we identify people, and ourselves.

While the exercise is destined for subjectivity, our definition of these types of people still matters. We attach value to the definitions and they influence how we see ourselves and how we engage with others.

Who’s a nobody?

A nobody is a person who isn't important. By "important" is to say they don't rank high in society, or they aren't well known, or they don't add value to the world that's worth noticing. A nobody is disregarded while they're here and forgotten when they're gone.

Who’s a somebody?

A somebody is a person who has societal value. They've made a name for themselves and have influence. Their actions matter and people care about what they do.

The majority of us don't want to be nobodies and hope to be somebodies. The majority of us hope to make some positive difference in the world and would like to think our existence matters.

This is where what's in our head and our hearts can make or break us.

Because how you perceive yourself—as a nobody or a somebody—will determine your actions and the path of your life.

It’s not all bad being a nobody

There's good news if you're a nobody. Most people don't bother you. They're not watching your every move.

Nobodies can go to the store and spend uninterrupted hours feeling out perfectly ripe avocados. Nobodies can hit the gym and lift nothing but clipboards and no one bats an eye. Nobodies can sleep in and go as long as they want not putting on pants. Nobodies can enjoy an entire day in public and might as well be a fire hydrant or a squirrel, practically not even worth noticing.

It’s nice to be somebody

We all know the good news for somebodies.

Sombodies are connected and get invited to dinners, dances, and these things called "galas." Somebodies are noticed and everyone wants to be their friend, to buy them a drink, to shake their hand, to tell them about their business plan, and get a selfie they can post on their socials.

Somebodies have money, the kind of money that gives them the premium-level car wash. Somebodies are confident and can wear sunglasses at night. Somebodies seem to live the good life.

Bad news for nobodies

If you see yourself as a nobody, you may find yourself in a dark place. If no one cares what you think and nothing you do matters, you could be at that dangerous place where you question your existence. Anybody who has internally identified as a nobody knows this empty feeling.

The problem for somebodies

But seeing oneself as a somebody has its own burden. Somebodies have something to say and someone to be. But if they don't say it, do it, or accomplish it, they fear they may lose their somebody status. They may be in danger of becoming a nobody.

How to judge if you’re a nobody or somebody

So what are you really, a somebody or a nobody? It may excite or offend you, but you’re both.

First the bad news (or maybe the good news).

You’re a nobody

You’re a nobody. That is, if you evaluate yourself on the grand scale of everyone who’s ever existed and everyone who will ever exist.

No one knows about anyone who lived 100 years ago. I have a picture of my great grandfather in our home. What do I know about him? One thing. He was kicked in the face by a mule.

He might have lived a great life, been the best-known man in town, or had the greatest corn crop in eastern North Carolina. He could’ve been a real somebody.

Today, to almost every person who exists, even his great-grandson, he’s a nobody. Because he doesn’t have value to my life. Not that he wouldn’t have. We’re just a century apart.

Old somebodies

Let’s take it a step further. Do you know who the greatest harp player was of the 19th century? (If you do, will you be on my trivia team?) While debatable among the 4 other people who know this, Elias Alvers was the greatest harp player of the 19th century. He was very well known among people who played the harp and listened to harp music. Still, most people in the world didn’t know the dude existed. He was a somebody among some in the 1800s. He was a nobody to everyone else then and now.

New somebodies

But there are somebodies in your community and network today. It’s possible you envy them for their status. Maybe they’re a successful business owner, the mayor, the thought leader in your industry, or the family with all the stuff that does all the things. Somebodies.

But most people outside your community and industry have no idea who these people are and never will. They are nobodies to most of the world.

Even celebrities, the greatest somebodies, are mostly nobodies. They’re known for a period of time by a large group of people, only to fade into obscurity when they lose their sexiness and stature, and the world is no longer interested.

It may feel crappy to think of yourself as a nobody. But take heart. Most of the billions who have ever existed are nobodies, just like you and me.

You’re a somebody

Our identity doesn't end at being nobodies. In fact, it starts with us being somebody. Now, you're probably not a celebrity or even well-known in your community. You may not have an important job. Your trophy shelf might just be a shelf.

But to someone, you’re somebody. You’re a dad or mom, you're a wife or husband, you’re an aunt or uncle, you’re a mentor or coach, you’re a boss or co-worker, or you’re a friend. And to those someones in your life, you have immense value—more than you know.

Even if you live in a desert by yourself with your camel, you have value to your camel. And even if you don’t have a camel and no living thing knows you or depends on you, you still have value. You are still known. As the psalmist credits his Creator, “You have searched me and you know me...You knit me in my mother’s womb. I am fearfully and wonderfully made.”

To be a nobody and a somebody

If you find this dichotomy of nobodies and somebodies to be perplexing, if it's difficult for you to imagine them as coexisting identities, then you're wrestling with the fundamental question of who any of us are and who we'll always be.

For it's true in this tension that people may not be who they seem. Jesus said those who exalt themselves (somebodies) will be brought low (nobodies) and the low among us—the poor, the obscure, the unknown, the unimportant—would be the ones to inherit the earth. The nobodies become the somebodies. And for all eternity, those somebodies are known.

So look up, nobody, and give other nobodies your time. Look around, somebody, and know that you matter to someone. And they're counting on you.

Listen to this post

Beauty and pain: What 6 days in a developing country can teach us about humanity

How much can you learn about a place in a week?

The skeptics among us may say "very little." When we visit a foreign place, we're strangers popping in to have a look, grab a bite, get a feel, and be on our way.

We fly by like a plane taking off, where we have a few minutes to see things before we can't see things anymore. We experience the place in a flash. And while we can see some of its history, we can't experience it.

While it may be true you can't learn a lot about a place in a week, you can learn something. The looks you take are still snapshots of that present reality. The feelings you have are real, too, as the events in that place leave you happy or sad. And the people you meet are the real teachers. Land, birds, and buildings speak a little, but your hosts speak a lot.

If you observe your hosts, if you listen to their words and even more, their hearts, you can learn enough about a place to change the way you see the world.

A visit to South Sudan

We were on a mission. Not a dangerous one, though from the world’s perspective, the destination was dubious.

Our team of seven Americans headed out for a week to visit a seminary in Kajo Keji, South Sudan. To us in the West, that sounds like a place in Africa and not much else. After all, the entire continent is omitted from our news unless something catastrophic happens there. Sadly, sometimes that doesn't even get coverage.

What to know about South Sudan

Before leaving for our trip, we were briefed on this country. South Sudan is the youngest country in the world, gaining its independence in 2011.

While it's a blessing to be free, freedom comes at a cost, as the South Sudanese know all too well. Sudan, the country South Sudan freed itself from, has been rife with conflict for decades. They've experienced ethnic, religious, and political struggles that have resulted in displacement, war, and genocide.

While South Sudan has become its own proud nation, conflict and tensions persist. It's been through its own tussles for political power, strife among ethnicities, and a civil war that claimed the lives of hundreds of thousands and displaced even more.

Today, South Sudan is the poorest country in the world according to GDP, and has the world’s worst access to healthcare.

And while the nation is technically at peace, it's not a place one just goes to. It has a Level 4 travel advisory, which suggests the nation's instability makes it problematic for foreign visitors. If one found themselves in a bad spot, it might be hard for our homeland to do much about it.

This was the backdrop of the dubious destination. South Sudan was a place you probably wouldn't visit unless someone told you to go there. Thankfully, we had a trustworthy partner organization that informed us of all the great things about South Sudan you wouldn't find on Wikipedia.

The beauty of a lush African landscape

Whatever ignorant notions I had of the country beforehand were quickly dispelled once we arrived. I had been gearing up for sweltering sun, relentless mosquitoes, and dry, dusty lands, because that's just what to expect of equatorial Africa, right?

Instead, we were greeted with one of the most beautiful places any of us had seen. It was wet season, which meant the weather was cooler than where I'd come from. The land was the opposite of dry dullness. It was fertile and green, verdant and vibrant.

As we drove along the red clay road toward Kajo Keji, we passed plots of farmland growing cassava and maize. Further off the road stood tall fruit trees of mango, lemons, and papaya. Further still were rolling hills and valleys that comprised the African bush, the raw wild seemingly undisturbed by modern civilization.

The country's striking landscape was further accentuated when we arrived in Kajo Keji. It was the golden hour and the African sun was setting in the way you've seen in the nature shows. The bright, orange sphere looked bigger there, and its rays cast a mesmerizing glow on a large church building while painting the clouds it nestled in pink.

All I knew of South Sudan was formed in an hour of observation. All I knew was what its nature had told me, that it was one of the world’s most serene places. But one can only know so much about a place in an hour.

Who were its people? How did they see it?

The beauty of a loving African people

To feel welcome in a foreign place is no small thing. There’s apprehension in leaving what you know, with all its familiar faces, and going somewhere you’re the outsider.

What will people think of me?

How will I come off to them?

What will it take to move from strangers to friends?

Some places in the world are so big, when you arrive you’re barely noticed. You might as well be a car or a lamppost. Other places are so insular, when you arrive you’re unappreciated. You might as well be a mosquito, some unwanted creature occupying their space.

But in this tiny town of Kajo Keji, we were greeted as favored guests. The moment we stepped off the bus, we were met with warm handshakes and loving smiles. There is a difference between being noticed and being seen, between crossing someone's path and someone approaching you. As foreigners in Kajo Keji, we were always seen and lovingly approached. Our hosts wanted to know us.

As the week progressed, we went from strangers to friends. We shared meals, we learned and even laughed about the others' cultural norms. We sang aloud and danced to drums, we got to know about each other's families, passions, and sorrows.

The country was beautiful, and more beautiful still were its countrymen.

Pain in the past and in the midst

Joyful people have a way of sheltering you from their pain. It's usually not purposeful, but simply the outpouring of their optimistic spirit that outshines the shadows.

It also takes time to build trust to share pain. Life’s hardest moments aren’t divulged to just anyone, but hearing is earned over time.

Before we arrived, we knew something about South Sudan's painful history. But news articles and secondhand accounts only tell the tale so well. While the land's beauty was apparent when we arrived, there were signs of hardship. As we drove through town, we observed the odd assortment of buildings that flanked the road.

Some buildings were active, with a storefront, items on display, a roof over top, and people managing it. Next to it were piles of bricks, waiting to be used. The bricks sat in front of building foundations without roofs, remnants of the recent war responsible for their demolition. We Americans had arrived a few years late to see that.

We missed the images of trucks and armed soldiers sweeping through town, of townspeople hastily evacuating to the border. We missed the political and ethnic conflicts that resulted in shootings, even massacres, of innocent and peace-loving civilians. We missed how the destruction and displacement led to a humanitarian crisis, where poverty, famine, and sickness became a reality, and the norm.

Sadly our South Sudanese brothers and sisters hadn't missed it, but lived it. As our week with them progressed, they shared more of their stories. Of course, revisiting tragic things isn't pleasant. Some were understandably guarded about what to disclose. Some mentioned the sad things without the details. Perhaps, they wanted us to know the truth, but also wanted to focus on their present joy.

In walking with these people in this place, one couldn't ignore the juxtaposition of their magnificent home and spirit with their experience of being buffeted by the darkness of the world.

How do we sit with this contradiction? How do we make sense of a world so compelling, yet so cruel?

From pleasure to pain to...?

The British theologian and author C.S. Lewis experienced his own share of pleasure and pain in life. He was a decorated professor and one of the most respected writers of his time.

He also had the joy of marrying his love, Joy Davidman Gresham, only to lose her to cancer three years later. He wrote about joy and suffering, beauty and pain, in his classic book "The Problem of Pain." In it he writes:

God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks to us in our conscience, but shouts in our pain: it is His megaphone to rouse a deaf world.

This begs the question: What is a deaf world being roused to?

The response to pain

Every human experiences beauty and pain in varying degrees. When suffering comes, the megaphone of pain is clear, yet also frustratingly unhelpful. Without hope or beauty in the present or the future, we're roused to despair. We can disappear into the darkness.

Yet some, who've experienced the beauty of life and been crushed by its pain, are roused to look for the beauty again. It may not come naturally, or immediately, but the human heart is destined to hope that beauty can be restored. That a lovely landscape, with its scars, can become Edenic again. That a beautiful people, with all their tragedy, can be healed and restored.

The hope for beauty

When we witness the joy of people who've experienced significant hardship, we’re moved to understand that beauty can have the final say. That in some complicated, slow-moving, profound way, the beauty of the world and its people is being restored.

As humans, we share the paradoxical experience of beauty and pain. We can learn a little from those who know it deeply, who joyfully pursue the return to beauty, and even help to restore it in others.

This is the life lesson a group of South Sudanese Christians is teaching the world.

Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of God. Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.