Since my book, Alive on the Inside, came out in December, I’ve hardly said anything about it. Like a lot of writers, I am mildly allergic to self-promotion. I don’t care much for marketing, or even to have others do it for me. Something about the whole endeavor seems inauthentic, probably because I’ve seen so much of the kind that descends into hype.
I’m aware that my radical attitude can easily turn into self-sabotage. The book’s content, so central to my spiritual life and labor, and which I spent so many hours preparing for presentation, might end up neglected. That would be counterproductive in the extreme.
I think I’m going to run a couple of related posts the next few weeks that intersect with Alive–fresh content that complements the subject of spiritual inner life.
Some of us find the term “inner life” off-putting. It sounds a bit meditative and static, more ideally suited for introverts. But we do a grave disservice to spiritual life when we distill it into mere isolated feelings of stillness and quiet. Don’t get me wrong. I’m a huge proponent of “Quiet Time,” “Morning Watch,” “Daily Devotionals,” or whatever you wish to call that regular, personal pursuit of Christ. There’s nothing like peaceful hours with the Lord, free of the tyranny of the urgent.
And yet a life in motion enriches our inward state too, though differently. Noise, and yes, even drama, completes us in ways we never would have asked for. I think of the Apostle Paul–his trials, experiences, disappointments, elation, joys. His was a life moving forward, whether up a mountain or down into a valley. The juxtaposition of his experiences in 2 Corinthians chapters 11 and 12, serve to display both of those directions.
Chapter 11 lists a dizzying descent into suffering. Chapter 12 reveals a breathtaking ascent into spiritual revelation. Regardless, movement never subsides for him. While outward circumstances felt vastly different, with some being grievous, others being happy, the apostle’s fellowship with Christ continued to develop into a certain fullness.
I think of the whole picture like a jug of milk. If it sits still in a refrigerator for a period of time, the inactivity will cause a separation between thick and thin. Only shaking it up keeps it rich throughout.
Honestly, I would rather have one long, peaceful, status quo, but that’s the surest way to stagnation. Intimacy with Jesus seems to benefit from three-dimensional circumstances.
Even human relationships thrive in the hyper-contours of life. I recall, for instance, the several cross-country trips my family mounted over the years. At times they were epic for all the wrong reasons. I don’t recall much about the Badlands of South Dakota, except that my tiny daughter, who was tired and hungry, screamed most of the time we were there. Oh, and in Nebraska, she decided to sit in a mudhole. I froze in Idaho. Oppressive desert winds almost tore our tent up by the stakes in Utah. On another trip, a storm in Kansas threatened not only to rip the tent up, but carry us away. I got forty-five minutes of sleep that night.
But then I also remember washing Elizabeth’s baby feet in a wild trout stream. Listening to coyotes as the sun went down. Studies of the Bible with my wife, Aleisha, on long straightaways in our car. The smell of burgers cooking in the wilderness on the world’s cheapest Walmart grill. Both the pleasant and unpleasant combined to form a texture of life simply unforgettable.
No doubt, we need seasons of reprieve where we aren’t being endlessly stimulated. God Himself built those breaks into life through commanding regular rest. But I don’t want to be the guy who can only enjoy Jesus with the perfect cup of coffee, and warm slippers.
