“Most people’s souls are buried beneath mounds of activity, excuses, comforts, noise, addictions, laughter, small talk, romance, therapy, and entertainment. We are like passengers on a subway, moving quickly from one obligation, relationship, or activity to another, seldom stopping to wonder who and where we really are. Sometimes it seems like the church is trying to save souls without talking about them.”
~ Steve DeNeff

The pink curtains sway in the air from the air conditioner vents. Soft light filters through. Rays radiate off the sink of dirty dishes and bounce around the kitchen. I need to find the soap and create a sink of suds.

The ceiling fan hums with the occasional rattle to accompany the harmony.

An incoming text causes me to open my calendar app and consult the dates. 

Hmmm. An early morning appointment on Tuesday. Late afternoon on Thursday already scheduled. Tentative notes scribbled across Friday. Could I squeeze in something else on Tuesday?
Do I want to book on Wednesday or did I want to keep that day free?
I consider. 

How do I want to spend my time?
Because spend it we do, in one way or another.

Where do I want to invest? What offers value?
What feeds my soul rather than depletes it?

What are my desires?

Out the window, framed by the fluttering pink curtains, Theodore and Jackie lounge by the garden bench. Theodore gnaws on his bright-colored triplejack chewy toy. Every now and then he gets it to squeak and Jackie’s ears prick.
I laugh at them. They make life look uncomplicated. Easy. 

They savor sunshine. They offer love. They bury bones rather than becoming buried by calendars and demands.

Their agendas never seek the next experience of elation.
 Although their agendas might hold the next sunny spot for a nap. 

When the FedEx delivery van arrives, their day is made.
Our kindly driver always leaves them a treat of some sort. A large Milk-bone to munch, a sunny spot on the porch, all’s good with the world. Jackie and Theodore know how to savor.

Our dogs love us all, but they especially brighten when my daughter’s Pathfinder pulls into our driveway. She’s their person and they follow her everywhere. No distractions or subway stations pull them away. They give her their full attention. Watching them follow her as she heads to cut wildflowers in her secret garden brings me profound delight. The trio knows how to revel in living a quiet life and working with their hands.
{Or paws, whichever the case may be. Also, worthy of note, is the canines’ perchance to bouts of boisterous barking on occasion. Otherwise.}

 ^“Make it your goal to live a quiet life, minding your own business and working with your hands, just as we instructed you before.  Then people who are not believers will respect the way you live, and you will not need to depend on others.”
~ 1 Thessalonians 4:11-12

I pull a few soiled dishes from the right side of the sink and place them in the left. I need to empty before I can begin to fill with hot water and soap. 

The trio is out of sight and I begin to ask myself questions. 

What do we identify ourselves by? Who do we say we are?
What do our agendas tell about us?

What gives us identity or validation?

What “stations” of the subway do we find ourselves entering and exiting?
Do we look around? Do we notice? Do we pause for beauty?
Or do we rush in and out with frenetic, furious pace, faces focused on the next important agenda we’ve assigned ourselves to? No time for napping here. 

Is there space to savor? Do we want space for solitude? Do we allow silence?

Or does it become too deafening? Too disconcerting? Too disarming?

The thing is, the activities, comforts, laughter, small talk, romance, therapy, and entertainment?

They aren’t wrong or bad or shameful. Truth is, many of them are truly life-giving.  Soul-filling.

They stifle and suffocate souls when they become our salvation. When we value them above other souls.

When we expect them to supply our strength. When we overschedule them and scramble to keep up. When our children and our spouses and our intentional sentiments become lost in the shuffle.

I glance back at the calendar.  The ceiling fan continues its rhythmic time. The sink is still sudsless.

I’ve found consideration is a good practice. Deliberation and examination, good companions.

Every yes is a no to something else, whether we note this with acute awareness or simply dash along.

Every no creates space for intentional yeses.

Our lives do not allow for every good thing to receive a yes.

The reality would look like a breathless chase in and out, in and out, in and out, from one subway stop to the next to the next.
In the door. Right back out.
Out the door and right into the next car over.
Truly, when viewed from a distance it’s a senseless cacophony of tumultuous energy.

I’ve observed people caught in this frenetic fast lane. I’ve frequented it.
Bought the season pass so I can whirl in and out of the turnstiles.
I’ve been bowled over by people rushing by on to the next yes and the next yes and the next very good yes.
Not necessarily the next right thing, but the next good yes.

Why is this I wonder? There’s a mighty difference, I know.

I love technology. I have best friends I’ve met through social media. I appreciate the ability to text instead of call. My introvert self avoids phone calls more often than not. 

I love writing and blogging and Instagram. The internet has given me a cohort group and a spiritual director. Because of Zoom, I meet with my writer friend from South Carolina every Thursday morning to mirror each other as we work.
I love the writers and books and shops I’ve become acquainted with because of the internet.
All this to say, I also see how our phones create another complete complex of station doors to exit in and out of.

I’m not sure I can name a time when I sit in conversation with a friend for more than thirty minutes where we aren’t interrupted by our phones, pick up our phones, or glance often at our Applewatch or Fitbit or Samsung Galaxy Watch or whatever digitalness we wear around our wrists.
I am not sure if it is even possible to have a few-hour visit or conversation without exiting out our digital doorways.

Why is this? What does this do to our souls?

Are we selling our souls to the disillusionment of distraction?

And often, as we race off the subway train onto the digital landing, we apologize.

“I’m sorry. I need to reply to this one thing.”

“Oh, just a minute. I need to check on this one thing.”

“My apologies, but I really need to take this call.”
“Excuse me. ____________ has a question.”

And the question hovers. Do we REALLY need to?

Have we trained ourselves and trained others to our instant availability?
Our always availability?
Have we tricked ourselves into sacrificing soul-rest by seeking the next shot of distraction, the next surge of dopamine?

Would it really be so bad if questions went unanswered for a few hours? If we did a bit of prior planning?

If we articulated meeting times in person or made it known we wanted to buck against the tyranny of a pocket-sized device? 

I love Google. I love the ease of information. Of searching for song lyrics. Of tapping in a question instead of looking through a heavy encyclopedia at my local library.

But again. Would it matter if we come upon a question in conversation and instead of hauling out our phones, we just went on not knowing for a few more hours and actually enjoyed the company of the people we were with?
And listen.
The irony is not lost on me that even as I type these ponderings and musings, I’ve searched a thesaurus online several times and tapped some search words into Google to help me articulate my thoughts.

And still I wonder.

Have our phones trained us to sit by the subway door waiting expectantly for the next, more exciting station to show up? Trained our peripheral vision to seek the next incoming train?

Hear me. I am not cancelling my internet or tossing my phone into a river.

Yet. Hmmm. I wonder.

Through the curtain pink, I can see the edge of the fountain spray. The water runs up and around, up and around, again and again. Unrushed, tranquil, peaceful, playing a symphony of gentle water song. Focused on its one task, the fountain bubbles and gurgles and holds steadfast. It doesn’t bend and flop feverishly, seeking another source or searching for a better exit. It sings its melody with merry encouragement and peaceful chords.

I glance again at the sink. Still devoid of water and suds. Still full of dishes with dried-on bits and soiled surfaces. I tap the faucet and water begins to flow into the right side of my stainless sink. 

As I watch it fill I switch from the age of digital and turn in my contemplation to a facet of my own personal human experience.

I am a Hobbit through and through.

I love cozy and comfort. Coffee and conversation.  Crackling fire; a couch to curl on.

Give me a good book, a cozy blanket, a bit of chocolate.

Find me a compelling movie and pop up the popcorn! Let me crack open a notebook, pull out pens, grab a journal. Throw in second breakfast and pack me an apple.

These are lovely gifts. Good items on a gratitude list.

But when they become my focus to the detriment of service to others, and activate the instinct to isolate, then I’ve exited too often at the wrong subway station.
When I frown at interruptions, {and believe me, I often do} turn selfishly inward as my natural inclination, seek satisfaction in a deluge of comforts to dally in, I’ve deluded myself, duped myself as to what really satisfies.

For Jesus is what fills. Apprenticing under Jesus is where true soul formation begins to shape and satisfy. 

Yet here’s the question that always hangs over me. How do I truly live that out in my human-embodied life?

Here’s the answer I’ve settled on for now. Will my answer be different in twenty years? Perhaps. But right now the answer is:

I don’t.  I don’t truly live it out. I think it is beyond me. Beyond us. And perhaps this is part of the secret. We cannot in our own strength.  If I begin to believe I’ve attained it perfectly,  I begin to separate myself from Him.

Part of living in Jesus is daily clasping His hand.
Every morning embrace the day and embrace Him.

Jesus is here to redeem every detail of our lives and desires to be invited into all of them with us.

“It would seem that Our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased.”
~ C.S. Lewis

Here’s my challenge to us friend.
Never condemnation.
Simply a challenge if we want one.

Seek space for your soul. 

Silence something. And see what may emerge in the cultivated space.

As my friend Allison says, “There’s always opportunity to share, but never an obligation.” 

This would be my own invitation. A challenge to link arms as we find our way forward, as we stay put on the subway toward a solid destination.

Not coercion. No pressure to jump on my bandwagon. No shaming of souls.

Simply space to stop and wonder who and what we really are.

Simply sunny afternoons to wander by the sea.

Simply space to move from being far too easily pleased to space where we deeply see, are deeply formed.  Where shy souls can step forth in joy and delight and breathe deeply the air of contented space.

“There are very few places where the soul is truly safe, where the knowing, the questions, the longings of the soul are welcomed, received and listened to rather than evaluated, judged, or even beaten out of us.”
~ Ruth Haley Barton

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