by Jill Bodden

Prologue

Strange coincidence. I wrote this article before the Covid chaos came to town. These thoughts are not a reaction to the madness of our new reality of social distancing and stay-at-home orders. It is simply a response to what I have been pondering over the last several months. But now, the art of balancing being and doing takes on a different meaning amidst the current crisis. 

Please don't misunderstand, I don't think God has shut down the world so that we will rethink our time management. There is so much more going on here than lessons learned. There is fear and frustration. There is grief and loss and pain and sickness. I don't want to minimize anyone's circumstances by suggesting we do an analysis of our calendars while we are sheltering in place. Rather, this is an invitation to explore with me. Explore the twenty-four hours given us that fill up so quickly. Some of our time is used. Some of it is left over. Who am I kidding, as if I have left over time. Even still, for what are the remains of my time reserved? If I'm not DOING something, what else is there? 

Twenty four hours. For what? My time? But is it really mine, to begin with? I tend to fill up my time with DOING. But is DOING more the goal? I heard a song the other day. One phrase stuck out to me, so much so that I can’t even remember what song it was. The few words that caught my attention that I have been mulling over for days are 

“the remains of my time.” 

Remains...leftovers. 

As if there is ever much of my time left over. Still, for what are the remains of my time reserved? If I’m not DOING something, what else is there? 

The D.R.

I remember my first trip to the Dominican Republic. 

My husband and I took my then seven and nine-year-olds to El Mango Limpio, a village up in the mountains in “rural” Dominican. By “rural,” I mean outhouses, no running water. Who needs Disney, right? Our connection to this particular village is a little church there in which our local, mid-western church partners. 

We spent about ten days with the locals in the village to experience their way of life. 

This was not a mission trip. This was a hang-out-in-the-village-with-the-people-trip. 

The pastor and his wife and a handful of others from El Mango Limpio played tour guide for us. They helped us to experience daily life. 

They showed us other parts of the island, including the capitol, Santo Domingo. It is a very large, very busy, slightly overwhelming city. Our friends showed us the historical sights and the local shopping. Later that day, we were to meet our ride in the city square; for a reason I never figured out. The most my Spanish picked up was that he had something to do in Santo Domingo while we explored, and he would pick us up in the city square later. We were given no specific time. There was definitely a language barrier. (In fact, it didn’t dawn on us until after we got home that we took a ten day trip into the depths of a small village in a foreign country without a translator - but that’s just how we roll.) 

So, here we are in the middle of the city square of this bustling, unfamiliar place, waiting on our ride for hours and hours and hours - well, maybe it was like two hours. Nonetheless, we waited with no agenda, nothing to do, half wondering if we had understood correctly that our ride really would come back to get the crazy Americans. Just waiting. No phone to occupy our time. Nothing but my hubby and myself to occupy our restless children. At first, it was nice...for like 6 ½  minutes. Sitting outside, people watching, not needing to do anything, be anywhere, be responsible for anything. 

But then, I started having flashbacks of the last time I went to the DMV to renew my driver’s license, and my anxiety took over. I began thinking of all the things I could/should be doing other than waiting. In my American culture, waiting feels like a punishment, especially when not given an end. Biding my time is something I must suffer through, endure, tolerate, bear. Surely I wasn’t meant just to sit and wait. Or was I?

I came to a conclusion that day, sitting in the city square with my family, waiting for our ride. I had no choice but to wait. 

I could bide my time like I do at the DMV and ENDURE it. OR I could “a-bide my time.” 

Abide is an action word meaning to remain, to stay, to wait. But it is a different kind of waiting - there is beauty in its perspective. To abide is to be content in being, to quiet our souls. It is sustaining, satisfying, secure. Maybe the “remains of my time” are reserved for abiding.

Abiding

Fast forward several years and add the experiences of a few more trips to the same village in the D.R. This time, I was helping the Dominican women in the village prepare lunch for our mission team from the U.S. We had a bunch of people to feed, and a mountain of veggies to chop. Keep in mind that we cook in an outdoor “kitchen” with very few conveniences...and we use knives that vegetables just bounce off of.

Did I mention an entire mountain range of veggies to chop? As I volunteered to help my new  friend, Rosa, cut vegetables, I thought fondly of every one of my beloved kitchen gadgets at home that make my life easier and faster. Instead of my shiny, sharp chef’s knife, I carried the itty-bitty, blunt paring knife I was given with the colossal bowl of veggies to the shade to start chopping with Rosa. I love a good gadget, a gizmo to make life more convenient. It’s the American way: achieve maximum productivity in everyday activities. But what are we losing? There’s always a trade-off.

Rosa and I sat and chopped vegetables for hours and hours and hours - well, maybe it was just AN hour. Nonetheless, we had conversation while we worked, limited because of the language barrier. But in that beautiful hour of working with Rosa, we experienced connection. I learned that Rosa is a single mother raising two girls, and it is difficult for her. I learned that she is out of work, and that is worrisome to her; it is hard to find a job as a woman. I learned that she is praying for both employment and a husband. And ya know what? I am so thankful for that teeny-tiny, dull paring knife. With my handy dandy chef’s knife, my conversation with Rosa, the connection we made, and the experience of relationship would have never taken place. Rosa and I made a friendship that day that has spanned across years - she still lives in El Mango Limpio, and I see her every time I return to the village. Not only Rosa but Rosa’s mom and daughters as well.

In the Dominican culture, women engage one another in everyday work. And there is much work to be done in the villages. Relationship happens in the most ordinary activities every day in El Mango Limpio. Every time I work with Dominican women, I cultivate connection with them in something as commonplace as chopping vegetables. 

Back in the U.S.

In my life in the U.S., I have to schedule relationship on my calendar in the form of coffee dates and lunches. In fact, anymore, I have to schedule phone conversations on my calendar if they last more than five minutes. Relationship doesn’t happen naturally in everyday life in the West. We have to schedule it during the extra, leftover time that we have so little of….the “remains of our time.” 

So, why wait for leftover time? Time never really remains anyway. Rather than be intensely focused on results, I can look for God in the waiting. Abide. God IS in the midst of the waiting. I must train my eye to see the beauty in the ordinary, the mundane, and even the menial. 

“More and more, the desire grows in me simply to walk around, greet people, enter their homes, sit on their doorsteps, play ball, throw water, and be known as someone who wants to live with them. It is a privilege to have the time to practice this simple ministry of presence. Still, it is not as simple as it seems. My desire to be useful, to do something significant, or to be part of some impressive project is so strong that soon my time is taken up by meetings, conferences, study groups, and workshops that prevent me from walking the streets. It is difficult not to have plans, not to organize people around an urgent cause, and not to feel that you are working directly for social progress. But I wonder more and more if the first thing shouldn’t be to know people by name, to eat and drink with them, to listen to their stories and tell your own, and to let them know with words, handshakes, and hugs that you do not simply like them, but truly love them.”            

  -Henri Nouwen

I long to find a balance between the worlds of doing and being, of biding my time and abiding. I don’t want to be so busy that I can’t see the beauty in the everyday, that I can’t invite interruptions into my life. I long to indulge in the simple, the ordinary. To draw out the beauty that already exists deep in the nature of the everyday. As I craft this simple “art of presence,” I wonder how relationship happens naturally in my convenient, fast-food, microwave culture. I often feel torn; no, I feel stuck between intentional and present. 

Can the two meet? 

I have to believe that where being and doing meet, where present and intentional intersect, we will see that the mundane isn’t so mundane after all. Here we will find something truly extraordinary and beautiful and awe-inspiring in the most ordinary and mundane and commonplace things of life. Here we will experience the wonder and beauty of the mundane. The miracle of the mundane.

Resources

We’ve created a free downloadable PDF to explore the article deeper. It contains discussion questions about the topic in general terms that will give you a jumping-off point for beginning a conversation.

The second page contains a way to see the topic from a biblical perspective.

And finally, to go deeper into the subject, we have chosen a few curated resources to explore from other authors’ and thinkers’ research or perspectives.

Read. Engage. Enjoy!

WHAT DO YOU THINK?

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