In Search of a Cure for “Busy”

As a kid I was fascinated by anthills.  I would hunker down by a busy one and watch the ants go marching one by one, hurrying with their load so they can deposit it only to turn around and do it all over again.  I wondered what it would be like to be part of such a productive machine that never sleeps…
always marching, marching, marching,
always doing, doing, doing,
always going, going, going onward…to what?

And then after I grew weary of pondering the busy lives of the ants, I would lay back on the grass and stare up at the clouds and daydream until my mom called me in for supper.

Those days are long gone.  Nowadays we don’t have to wonder what it feels like to be part of an anthill, because we live on an anthill.  Our always moving, always achieving, always emailing, texting, working world has given us lots of luxuries, but it has stolen the one thing that we need to enjoy it all: Time.

So I am in search of a cure for “busy.”  I am in search of long-lost Time.

“Teach us to number our days so we can have a wise heart.” (Psalm 90:12).  These words are attributed to Moses, the courageous man who brought his people out of the anthill of slavery.  As slaves in Egypt they were Pharaoh’s productive machine…
always marching, marching, marching,
always doing, doing doing,
always going, going, going onward…for what?

Nobody should have to live like that.  So God freed them from the curse of the anthill.  God wanted them to know something very important: God did not create them to be human do-ings; God created them to be human be-ings.  God wanted to free them from always doing so they could enjoy being.  Being with God.  Being with each other.

That is true freedom.  And they couldn’t find it until they left the anthill.

So I am in search of a cure for “busy.”  I am in search of freedom from the anthill.

Have you noticed that being “busy” is a badge of honor these days?  The fuller your calendar, the more successful your life.  Sometimes I wonder if we are all just being lured back to the anthill of slavery, but this time we are enslaved to our culture’s definition of success.  Unlike our Hebrew friends of old, it isn’t Pharaoh who is giving our marching orders.  No, it is our own vision of “the good life.”  And like any other slavery, we will never be compensated for our marching, marching, marching.  The anthill will never truly satisfy.

I don’t want to live like that.  More importantly, I don’t think God wants me to live like that.  And most importantly, I don’t think God wants my kids to live like that.

But the trouble is, I don’t know how to escape the anthill.  Before I know it my kids will be in elementary school, where opportunities for extracurriculars will multiply and our already busy lives will get even busier.  But the anthill will look so harmless, so normal.  So much so that I fear I won’t know when enough is enough, when we cross the line from being involved to being consumed.  And I fear my kids will love the anthill because they will want to give their best to whatever they are doing, be that ballet or soccer or band.  And what’s wrong with that?  But it will demand their all, so they will sacrifice Time to the onward march of the anthill’s promise.  So we will be…
always marching, marching, marching,
always doing, doing doing,
always going, going, going onward…for what?

And I’ll be left wondering when in the world we’ll have a family dinner.

“Teach us to number our days so we can have a wise heart.”  Moses prayed his newly freed people could learn to number their days as gifts to be cherished, not as endless hours to fill with doing all. the. things.  Moses wanted them to be free of the anthill’s shadow.  It is always for freedom that God sets us free.

I don’t know how to escape the anthill.  But I know I want to.  I want to put my phone down and quiet my ever-marching mind and be comfortable with just being.  I want to lay in the grass with my kids and watch the clouds go by.

“Teach us to number our days so we can have a wise heart.”

Last Saturday Kevin and I took the girls on a hike.  The trees were in full autumn splendor, and we left the busy world behind to be immersed in a sea of reds and yellows and oranges.  It was good for my soul.

There, in the peaceful quiet of the woods, I found my old friend Time.  As we meandered down the winding trail, Time slowed down to match our unhurried pace.  As we sat and snacked on crackers, Time sat beside us and never tried to rush us on.  As we balanced on felled trees and searched for the brightest fallen leaves, Time encouraged us to linger just a little longer.  There, in the beauty of God’s creation, we escaped the anthill and discovered the breathtaking wonder of just. simply. being.  Together.

“Teach us to number our days so we can have a wise heart.”

Maybe the cure for “busy” begins with a search for beauty.  Maybe it is the search for beauty that teaches us to number our days.  Because in the search for beauty we have to stop shuffling along with that ever-marching-onward line of ants.  The search for beauty invites us to stop and take stock of what really, truly matters.

And what really, truly matters to me is that my kids can sit by a busy anthill and wonder with childlike innocence what it’s like to be part of a production machine that never sleeps.  What really, truly matters to me is that they can lay in the grass and daydream with their friend Time as they watch the clouds float by, until I call them in for supper.  What really, truly matters to me is that they know they are lovely and beloved not just for their doings, but for their very being.

So I am in search of a cure for “busy,” because I’m starting to suspect that “busy” is a sneaky form of slavery.  It hurries up my friend Time and hides the beauty of this beautiful world.  It locks us into a rhythm too fast for dancing, and sweeps us along on a pace that we can’t sustain.  And most importantly, “busy” keeps me and my kids from hearing God’s life-giving whisper:

“I don’t love you for what you do.  I love you for who you are.  So stop for a moment and just simply be…with Me.“

Maybe the cure for “busy” is simpler than I suspect.  Maybe it is embracing Time to be with God, who calls us away from the anthill, if only for a little while.

I don’t know how to cure my “busy” but I do know where I’m going to start: I am going to sit here with God and just. simply. be.