Kia ora from New Zealand: Week Six Update

"Let him who cannot be alone beware of community. Let him who is not in community beware of being alone...Each by itself has profound perils and pitfalls. One who wants fellowship without solitude plunges into the void of words and feelings, and the one who seeks solitude without fellowship perishes in the abyss of vanity, self-infatuation and despair."

-Dietrich Bonhoeffer

I spent this week largely in solitude. I knew going into the summer that I had this week free. I could have done something touristy perhaps. But I am not generally into doing touristy things and besides, the adventures this summer has brought have been pretty cool and a tourist trip would likely pale in comparison. So I decided that I would stay at home and spend it in solitude. I gave myself few parameters for the week, only that I start and end each day in prayer and journal at least a page a day. And I had a basic layout of the week. But other than that, I was careful not to schedule every hour of the week, lest that become a distraction in itself. This week had its ups and downs; its moments of boredom and loneliness and its moments of shalom and wholeness; its moments of fear and its moments of feeling utterly safe and secure, resting in God. Here are some of my reflections on the week.

By my second hour alone on Sunday, I wondered how I was going to possibly get through the week. I already missed the presence of others. Yet I had a sort of curiosity about what the week may hold.

On Monday, I went for a walk all day along the stopbank and the surrounding trails, taking opportunities to stop and reflect along the way. By Monday night, I realized that this week had the tone of our finals on wilderness trips. That is when the instructors leave and the group is left to hike out by ourselves. On final, everyone is aware of the choice we have to make; we can either fall apart as a group, doing whatever we feel like...or we can choose to continue the way of life that has been established on the trip. I began to recognize that I had the same choice to make this week. And I chose the latter. In fact, I enjoyed continuing all of the rhythms that have been established here, from lighting a candle at dinner to keeping everything tidy to praying the same prayer before meals that Moana prays to taking intentional breaks to play. Maybe I felt less alone in establishing these rhythms.

On Tuesday, I went for a long run in the morning. In the evening, I began an intentional time of "solo" that continued through Thursday morning - 40 hours of just me, God, a glass of water, my journal, and a pen. On Wednesday afternoon, I wrote the following in my journal:

"Why am I doing this? I have thought about this at times today and wondered about my answer. Because I could stop at any time. Is it about achieving something? Is it about waiting for something profound to occur? Is it about an emotional experience? Is it just an attempt to create some sort of meaning out of this week alone? I guess my best answer is that it is a practice, no different from softball practice or practicing my viola. It is a practice to curate my heart, to cultivate my sense of my belovedness, to cultivate a posture of listening to God, to inform my way of life. I am doing it far from perfectly. I am becoming distracted easily; my mind is often wandering. But that's what practice is for. It is intended to be regular, not some extraordinary experience. There isn't a task at hand (maybe that's why it can be so difficult for me). It is a rhythm of being with God and God being with me. So God, give me eyes to see and ears to hear whatever you may be trying to show me."

Later that afternoon, I was reminded of a reflection I had meditated on earlier in the week about the command "Be still and know that I am God." The reflection presented multiple translations of this verse, forcing readers to not just rush past this profound command. The one that stood out to me most reads, "Cease striving and know that I am God." I realized how much I had been striving during my solo. Striving to come up with some insight. Striving to hear something. Striving to do my solo "right," to ensure that it was "productive." I felt compelled to cease this striving and to finally be still. I realized that God didn't want me to "do" anything, achieve anything during these forty hours; He had been waiting for me to finally listen to this command to cease striving and be still.

This realization set the tone for the remaining hours of my solo, and I came out of that time feeling refreshed and at peace.

On Friday, I went for a walk on the Kaiapoi Island Trail to the confluence of the Kaiapoi River and the Waimakariri River (the Waimakariri runs close to the house, hence the stopbank that I run on most everyday). It was another peaceful and rejuvenating day.

And finally, yesterday, I caught up on some work that I needed to do in preparation for my fall classes and went for a run. I even stopped to take a play break between some hours of my work, consisting of jumping on the trampoline in the backyard for a solid forty-five minutes. I realized that I may not have made that choice six weeks ago - taking an intentional opportunity to play and let go, pausing my achievement-and-task-oriented mindset. Perhaps it was a glimpse of how my time here is transforming me.

So it was a good week, a refreshing and rejuvenating one. In his book Life Together, Dietrich Bonhoeffer discusses the importance of both being alone and being in community. He writes, "After a time of quiet we meet others in a different and a fresh way...It is not necessary that we should discover new ideas in our meditation. Often this only diverts us and feeds our vanity. It is sufficient if the Word, as we read and understand it, penetrates and dwells within us...It is not necessary that we should have any unexpected, extraordinary experiences..." I think I better understand what Bonhoeffer meant after this week of solitude. I hope to meet others in a "different and a fresh way" after the growth that has occurred during my week of solitude.