I’m surveying my new, and entirely empty, living room. Empty kitchen cabinets and a sparsely outfitted bedroom. My soul aches for my comfy couch where I love to do my quiet time. My back also aches from sleeping on an air mattress for the last week. I also really want a cup of coffee, but my Keurig, couch, and comforter are on a moving truck somewhere between Kentucky and Kansas. I’m so spoiled that just a week without my creature comforts, and I’m close to losing my mind.
My husband has been in the army our entire marriage, so you’d think (after several moves) I’d be pretty used to this in-between period. But this one is hitting differently for some reason. There’s no structure right now. It’s summer, so my daughter and I don’t even have school to dive into to get us on track. The days feel like a void — and we don’t have all our stuff, our books, our games, our toys — to fill that void. We are just existing in the in-between. Even a notebook and pen are hard to come by right now.
When I walk through the white-walled, white-carpeted, empty living space to take my dog to the backyard, the sound of my voice echoes through the empty house as I call the pup outside. But, I know that soon my whole world will get delivered, and things will slowly start to fall into place. I’ll be able to curl up on the sofa with my Bible and coffee with my dog at my side. I’ll be able to focus my mind on the projects I had planned for the summer, the stories that need to be written and edited. Lessons that need to be planned and adjusted for the new school year. But the summer days are fleeting, so I also worry that the time I waste in the in-between will put me behind on my goals, causing anxiety and task paralysis to creep in.
Without clutter in my house, it seems odd that there is so much clutter in my mind. The lack of comfort in my surroundings creates a deep restlessness within me. It’s hard to remember how blessed I actually am. No, I may not have my cozy bed that’s adapted just for me, but I have a soft and safe place to sleep. I don’t have a hot cup of coffee waiting on me in the morning, but I am not scrounging for food. Maybe, I can reframe this the lack of clutter and let it help me pause and remember just how much I actually have.
Even when my stuff is nowhere to be seen, I still have so many blessings. I have my family — my husband, my daughter, my pup — to share this transition with. I have food in my belly, even if it’s not made with all the kitchen implements I’d prefer. I have a warm bed. I can shower, and I have access to clean clothes — even if getting them clean is less convenient right now. I have my Bible, and I have nothing calling for my attention in this in-between. So I can pray.
I can pray for peace, for purpose, for presence. In the emptiness, I can ask God to fill my new home with Himself. So that when my things do arrive, they enter into a home filled to the brim with His goodness. In the quiet, I can listen and connect — after all, the stillness is when He speaks
So I will sit on my white carpet in my empty living room and open my Bible. And I will spend time in His word — in his presence. Make the most of this in-between before the world gets busy, before schedules demand to be followed, before I have to create the quiet that I have now in order to hear Him speak. The white walls can become a makeshift sanctuary, so I can get quiet and work on the tasks He sets for me. The ones that simply require His word and showing up.
My Bible is open now, and I can dive in. No, I don’t have my comfy couch or fuzzy blanket. No coffee to sip between the pages. My favorite notebook is packed in a far off crate somewhere. The floor is a little hard beneath me, and my arthritic joints don’t adore that. They ache for the comfort of my couch as much as my soul does. The carpet is scratchy against my sensitive skin. My water bottle doesn’t give nearly the same comfort as a sweet vanilla flavored cappuccino. But my loving pup is still happy to occupy his spot next to me, a definite creature of comfort to calm my restless soul.
But God has a true answer for my restlessness. He says to “be still and know that I am God (Psalm 46:10 NIV).” He doesn’t say, when things are comfortable, then you’ll know. It simply says “be still and know.” It doesn’t say find stillness. It doesn’t say wait for things to feel settled. It says ”be still.” And in this stillness —that is more still than I want it to be — I do know.
For He is with me in this in-between. Right beside me. Even without all my creature comforts, perhaps this time isn’t so much a struggle as it is a gift — a chance to connect. He is meeting me right here, in the stillness. Right here inside these four white walls and on this scratchy white carpet. Now I just have to show up and listen. I have to remember that the trappings of comfort are nice, but it is God who sustains and not coffee or comforters. He will meet me in the in-between.
Leave a Reply