Fountains are kind of mysterious, aren’t they? To someone not trained in the pump/electrical situation, there’s this sense of wonder every time water comes spewing up from a pretty little patch of water. I’ve had lots of time to ponder this, and my lack of water-electrical knowledge, on our vacation in Vegas. (Hubby had a work thing. I tagged along and called it a vacation.) We ended up with a room with a view of the Bellagio fountains, which spend most of the day and night dancing and twinkling just 35 floors below me. It’s nothing short of magical.
This view means I get to see the fountains at night when they shine and sway, but also at 9 am when the maintenance crew appears. They drive out into the water in their funny looking boats and they toodle around doing *insert important fountain terminology here* to make the fountain work properly. And that evening, we’ll be treated to a slightly different version of the fountain, one with all the bulbs working or all the sprayers spraying evenly.
I even saw a diver in a wetsuit wandering between the fountain lights. Who knew that was a job?
I’ve felt a lot of guilt about taking this vacation. It’s hard to up and leave our little brood at any time. A lot of work and a lot of man-hours go into covering childcare and keeping their lives running while I’m away. The husband has worked his booty off since we arrived, making me feel even more guilty and excessive as I loll about the hotel room with a book.
However, I knew when I got here that I had heart work to do. That in the great silence of a week ahead of me, there was a chance to sit and listen, to have some Holy Spirit work done on my heart. But, as we sinners are wont to do, I fought against it. I had a stack of books I wanted to tear through, important Netflix to catch up on, and there was a definite nap in my future. I still had to check in on the kids every few minutes, monitor their school work, their device usage… So I was not still. And I could not listen.
Fortunately, about mid-week, I visited an area of the hotel where cell phones were not allowed. I handed off “emergency text duty” to my husband and locked my phone away.
I spent several hours wrapped up in my cocoon of silence. And there, finally, the Spirit and I had words. And when I left, having wrestled with my own distractible spirit and guilt-ridden heart over taking this time away, I felt like the Spirit had challenged me to 15 minutes of stillness a day. Not for meditation, not for journaling, not even for praying. For utter, total stillness. No doing.
Becuase I tend to rely on my own efforts. I trust God is at work, I know I can’t do it without Him, but I feel a need to do my part. To contribute my own little offering. And that’s not what He wants from me in every. single. moment. of the day.
Further, the only way to get any heart work done on me is to have me be utterly still and listening. A mama of seven does not often get that luxury. But here’s what I realized the next day as I sat (with a timer set for 15 minutes, so I could be disciplined about it *eye roll*) and watched the boats cleaning the fountains. All human-made items, and all humans, need maintenance. It’s part of our fallen state.
Old Faithful at Yellowstone National Park doesn’t need maintenance to blow its top every thirty minutes. Sure, it needs park rangers to protect it from human interference, but God set the geyser up to do its thing without “scheduled maintenance downtime.”
And listen, somebody in biology will probably email me and tell me that there is a natural maintenance window for the geysers and I believe that our God is definitely creative enough to do it. I’m sure there are thousands of examples in nature I’m not thinking of because I don’t do biology.
But stick with me. In order for those Bellagio fountains to sparkle and shine and fairly HOLLER out glory in the evenings, they need maintenance. Regularly. They need a moment where the water goes still and the fountains power down. Sometimes it’s awkward and involves a wetsuit. Maintenance is the unpretty part of creating.
In order for me to radiate his glory, do the work He’s given me to do on this earth, to create and mother and love the way He wants me to, I need maintenance. I need heart work. I need stillness. To avoid taking this time would be like taking a hammer to my mainframe. At some point, my system would cease to work.
A good vacuum cleaner, if well cared for and if you avoid sucking up entire lego creations and hairballs on the regular, will last you for 20 years. But if you never take it in for maintenance and you let your five-year-old vacuum the cat with it, that machine may last you two years at best.
So – I took myself into the shop for maintenance this week. Nothing drastic. No major body work, just an engine tune-up, a re-training of my ears to hear His quiet voice. A stilling of the mind and heart. No wetsuit required.
Maybe you can’t get away to Vegas for a week (that doesn’t happen often for us, either), but maybe we all need to give ourselves permission for regular maintenance. Be totally quiet. Be totally still. Cease striving. Cease doing. And ask Him to do the maintaining.
I know an entire herd of unicorns.
A few weeks ago, I sat in a living room in Colorado with women I’ve known over 6 years. We’re internet friends. We do not make sense on paper. The list of things we don’t have in common outweighs what we do. And yet, each year, we show up in person to encourage, cry, and laugh. We show up for each other throughout the year, too, mostly on Facebook. Sometimes we send care packages or texts, sometimes we speak Truth in love, cluck in sympathy, or share silly gifs. I don’t always understand why we work. But when I sat in a cozy room with them, I felt the safety and sanctity of Community. It feels a little like magic.
That kind of community, it’s elusive, like a unicorn. It’s hard to find in The Wild and difficult to hold on to if discovered.
I hear more and more about a new type of community – one that is centered around a podcast, a particular blog, something that unites people in a shared interest. A friend who runs one such community says that people feel so safe and welcome there (the tone is carefully monitored and full of respect for others) that they never want their in-real-life friends or family to find it, lest they ruin the safe space it provides.
Since when did we need hall monitors to remind us to be nice to others? And why don’t people feel safe living in their own IRL?
I heard an interview recently discussing the intense relationship of communities connected by a certain podcast and the response was, “Well, yea. Podcasts are what you do when you’re alone – you can’t do that in a group setting. If it’s something you choose to do in your free time, it matters to you. And when you find other people who like to do the same thing, there’s an immediate kinship.”
It stands to reason, then, that when Community is at its best, it lets us be our Alone Version of ourselves. Not the person we put on for others to see – but the person we are when nobody is looking. And when we let others look: behold the mess, behold the funny, behold the Real, and they respect us and we respect them, Community grows.
Cue rainbow sparkles.
Despite the fact that we are connected by our computers and our Secret Groups and our private forums, I know that there is no substitute for the comfort of actual Presence. I talk to my internet friends weekly, but in Colorado, the gift of sitting beside a buddy while she knitted, or leaning my head on the shoulder of a wise woman while she patted my head, that felt like cool, refreshing water. Humans will continue to seek out actual skin and bone, will reach to press hands, even if the internet builds the foundation for the relationship.
So for a Bible-believing Christian, why isn’t the church creating this sort of Community? I read my Bible and pray and have a Real relationship with Jesus in my alone time. Why isn’t this bonding me to my local body more? Why are people leaving the church in droves, finding their Tribe elsewhere?
The thing that unites the groups I call Real Community in my life is that I’m comfortable enough to say: This is who I am. This is my struggle. This is what I’m good at. This is what I really like to talk about. I’m a Person. See me – the good and the bad. I’m a work in progress, thank you for excusing the mess and loving me while I grow.
Sometimes it seems like there’s a real “Imma be me” lacking from the community in the church. There seems to be this high standard that we all know we can’t reach, but we have to look like we’re all Above Average anyway. And if we’re not ok, we risk people looking at us and saying, “You can’t be one of us anymore.”
Listen, I’m all about some telling the Truth in Love where rebellion exists. If a fellow believer is running toward a cliff, I want to go after them and call them back. Because it is the gentle and loving thing to do. But someone wise recently told me, “People in the church are guilty of kicking the wounded while they’re down.”
Being a hot mess is not always an indication that there’s a cliff ahead. But sometimes fellow members of the Body are quick to point out flaws, to demand adjustments, to name and judge. People at church are not always a safe place to BE. Too often, church is the place where we snap on our Spanx and announce to anyone who asks, “I’M FINE! JUST FINE!”
I’m not fine. You’re not fine. We need Jesus. And we will keep needing Him right up until He comes to get us. So why can’t we admit that to fellow sojourners? Why do I need facebook and social media to help me find secret groups – mutual interest squads – where I can feel safe enough to let my hair down?
In this age of extremes, why isn’t the Church the one demonstrating the extreme Love? Why isn’t She the loudest voice of hope? Why doesn’t She feel like the safe place to run anymore?
I don’t have many answers, but I think the Truth lies somewhere in my willingness to show up, to be honest, and to respect others. Community doesn’t happen without those three things, in abundance, from every member. So start hunting for that one other person who will look you in the eye and say, “I’m not really ok.”
Grab their hand. Activate some unicorn power by being Real with each other. And let your Herd grow from there.
So, let’s start fresh, shall we? Hi, I’m Lora Lynn. I love Jesus, my family, and singing in the shower. I write fiction, I listen to stand-up comedy to quell my anxiety so I can fall asleep, and I can recite most episodes of the West Wing from memory. I stink at math, I love doing dishes, and I laugh hardest at gifs of people falling down.
*There are smart people who have written many wise words on this subject. Paul even had to remind the early church to play nice and Be Real. 1 Timothy comes to mind. For a great sermon series exploring this book and the local Church, go here.