Frost has sparkled the tips of the grass and the eaves of the rooftop for the first time this season, and I’ve caved and turned the furnace on. The undulating pillow-top forest canopy is morphing from a study in verdant tones to one of quilted reds, oranges, and greens. School buses roll by at regular intervals in morning and afternoon. The mornings hold a distinct crispness that makes hoodies and shackets exceptionally cozy, and apple cider doughnuts are (finally) available for sale.
Fall is arriving, and with it, a reflection on the summer gracefully exiting.

It’s been ten weeks since I walked out of the open timber framing SPTW clinic for the presumed last time, carrying a box of peer-reviewed journals, an elaborate sword (thanks, M.A.), and a heavy heart as Beethoven’s Eroica played my farewell over the speakers. This departure was the most dramatic step in a series of many – a journey from frenetic flurrying to purposeful and intentional presence. 

“Burn out” is an ubiquitous term in our 24/7, full speed society, and I was reluctant to carry it, but my frazzled spirit needed to take the opportunity to pause: embracing slower, smaller, and simpler in a world that insists that bigger is better. I recognize that it is a privilege to be able to pause, and I have intended and strived to make the best of it.

When I left the clinic, I wasn’t sure if it would be the last clinic I ever worked in. I was so worn, so drained that I didn’t know if I could ever again manage the blistering pace of an outpatient physical therapy clinic or the emotional investment into caring for the needs of those who are hurting. I counseled with colleagues, talked to friends new and old, visited with family, and retreated to the solitude of the woods to hash out what I wanted to do. I researched a career in biomedical engineering, interviewed with a post-professional doctoral education program, toured camper vans, fan-girled in environmental education courses, and pursued a lifestyle medicine certification. I deep cleaned my kitchen, organized my garage, walked 100 miles and slept under the stars. I read some really profound and enlightening books. 

Here’s what I’ve been learning:

I Find Joy in RELATIONSHIP

Friendship is born at the moment when one person says to another “What! You too? I thought I was the only one.

C.S. Lewis

Concept

Investing time and engaging in any experience that builds relationships feeds my soul. The older I get, the more firmly I believe that the Gospel is the story of relationship: God relates to us with untold depths of love and compassion (Ephesians 3:17-19), and through that experience we learn how to relate with others (I John 4:7-21). I have been afforded the time to connect with new friends, college roommates, work colleagues, former patients, and high school besties, and the return on investment never fails to exceed my expectations.

Cure

I endeavor to prioritize activities that build relationships. Let’s go to lunch, take a hike, weed the garden, paddle a river, play a game – together.

I need to follow SPEED LIMITS

If the devil cannot make us bad, he will make us busy.

Corrie ten Boom

Concept

John Mark Comer’s The Ruthless Elimination of Hurry has been a providentially timely read. It has brought clarity to the concept that terms like faster, higher, bigger, so prevalent in our society, tend to be associated with the devil’s style of living (Isaiah 14:13-14). Christ’s countercultural call to abide, draw near, and be still grates against our entrepreneurial and consumerist tendencies (John 15, James 4:8, Psalm 46:10).

David Zach is credited with coining the term hyperliving – skimming along the surface of life, not truly engaging in it. We power through life so fast that we never experience it. We buy the house and furnish the room with the couch we never have time to sit upon. We’re encouraged to fill our plates to overflowing, then to take Instagram-worthy pictures to show how great it looks, but never to share how top-heavy and imbalanced our plate has become, nor the bloat that inevitably follows overindulgence. 

Cure

To combat hyperliving, I intend to listen to the still, small Voice that encourages me to breathe, be, abide (John 15). I will institute margin in my life: a space between my load and my limits, a buffer between my tasks and my capacity to complete them. I will aim to fill my schedule to 80% at most, including time to simply “be still and know” (Psalm 46:10), for I believe that margin is an example of divinely gifted self-control (Galatians 5:22-23).
I will aim to be present, not allowing myself to worry about the future to-dos or to dwell on the mistakes of the past, for God meets me in the present – He grants me peace where I am now, with who I am now. 

Growth comes in SEASONS

Though I am not what I ought to be, nor what I wish to be, nor what I hope to be, I can truly say, I am not what I once was… By the grace of God, I am what I am!

John Newton

Concept

I do not expect my tomato plants to produce a harvest in February. Nor do I expect the maples to drip sweet sap in June. But somehow, I’ve grown to expect myself to produce in all seasons. 

This season of my life is very rich, but comparison is the ever-present thief of joy. It is easy for heartache to creep in when I watch my peers journey into marriage, becoming mothers and growing their families. But each season holds its own highs and lows, and I am learning the secret of contentment, through Christ (Philippians 4:12-13). Flying solo affords me an enviable degree of flexibility and freedom.

There are many, many good things to cultivate, but not enough resources to pursue all of them. In a beyond-midnight chat with a dear friend (and it takes an extraordinary feat to keep me up past midnight), she shared the analogy that we all hold a set of cards in our hands, but we are limited to just three cards. We can choose to focus on being many things – an employee, a sister, a house keeper, a musician, a church member, a community activist, a student, a social coordinator – but we can only excel at three of them at one time. We must discard before we can draw another card.

Cure

I’ll take a lesson from plants: Growth requires space and time. Life is not perpetual summer or harvest; winter rest is important, too. And a reminder to myself even in springtime: not every flower fruits. I can accept the natural tendency for some endeavors to fade and fall without producing.

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What have you been learning?