Sometimes the only right decision is to stop making decisions.
When we’re in a state of crisis, we often try to fix things with certainty. We want answers.
But this state of being is akin to quicksand: The harder we try to climb our way out, the lower we sink. The only way to survive is to make no sudden movements, to get comfortable with the discomfort, and to find peace without answers.
We can never glimpse the end of a path, but if we squint hard enough, we can see the next step. We squint by being still and quiet for a few minutes every day, through prayer.
We ignore the big decisions, knowing that they’ll make themselves, and we focus on the small ones. The ones right in front of us.
Crisis comes from the word meaning “to sift”. During times of crisis, if we let it all fall away, we’re left with what matters. What matters most cannot be taken away.
And maybe what we don’t know, we’re not supposed to know yet. More will be revealed. So we just do the next right thing, one thing at a time.
Learning to sit with conflict and uncertainty is a skill, much like riding a bike.
When you feel like you’re falling, steer into the fall. Lean into it instead of away, and you’ll be alright.
Have you ever tried making decisions when you’re upset or uncertain? It’s extremely trying.
Sometimes, the best thing we can do for ourselves is to stop making decisions altogether. To learn to just sit and listen to the still, small voice that’s says don’t run. Don’t lean away. Take each day as it comes. One at a time. Lean into the not knowing. Carry on, because everything is going to be okay.
Have you ever noticed how your greatest moments of personal growth occur?
There’s a pattern to it, I’m convinced.
First, a challenge. A challenging life circumstance or situation. Something comes at us sideways when we least expect it. A loss. Break up. Health problem. We don’t feel equipped to handle it, yet somehow we do. We’re faced with an obstacle and we pull through.
But we haven’t grown yet.
Next comes vulnerability. We share our experience of this challenge with another person. In all of our raw honesty, we open ourself up to another. We share in our weaknesses and by doing so, we experience vulnerability.
Then we reflect. Only after a difficult challenge and shared vulnerability, can we pause to really reflect about what exactly we’ve just been through. What we’ve grown through. How we’ve grown. And in our reflection, finally, our great moment of personal growth arrives. Clothed in compassion and humility. Void of all judgment. An “Aha” moment.
Challenge. Vulnerability. Reflection. In that order.
I believe that all of our greatest personal growth experiences follow this pattern.
The other day, I sat quietly by a stream watching the water flow, birds taking dips, and tiny fish swimming together. The beauty of it all was breathtaking. Nothing about the scene at the stream was rushed, forced, or controlled. It just was.
If God can make this tiny stream and the life surrounding it flow so effortlessly while simultaneously pointing back to His own beauty and perfection, can’t I assume He is doing the same in my own life?
That’s when it occurred to me.
If we could truly grasp God’s love for us, all of our prayers would be praise.
When faced with a choice, for example to stay or to go, listen to yourself. You can usually distinguish a spiritually inspired idea from a will-driven or ego-driven idea by how quiet your head is whenever you think about it. The spirit’s voice is quiet yet strong.
Nature does not hurry, yet still everything is accomplished.
Why are you so scared to be still?