Create space in your life to think and ponder

My view the first morning at the lake

Several years ago, a friend allowed me to use his river cabin for a week to study and write. During that particular season of my life, the pressures of ministry were heavy and unpleasant, and I very much needed a moment of respite. The use of the cabin was a welcomed gift. I was thankful for the opportunity for the respite, and I was thrilled by the opportunity to enjoy this particular place. My friend’s river cabin had been the place of many church events and gatherings during my childhood and thus held happy memories for me. These memories, along with my awareness of how much I needed the opportunity to momentarily step away from the difficulties of ministry, filled me with hope, that the week I would spend there would be a blessing to me. 

Looking back, I think I was in a more precarious situation mentally, spiritually, emotionally, and even physically than I realized at the time. The particulars and causes of why ministry was so burdensome during those days are no longer important. What is important is that every area of my life was being consumed by these burdens without any relief or space for other things. Though others contributed, the fault for this lay with me. I had not actively created healthy boundaries and space in my life. Having dangerously neglected my own need for these things, I was hopeful that a week alone at the lake would provide a lifeline that would allow me to persevere. The use of the cabin was a gracious gift. Even the timing of the week I would spend there was ordered by God’s grace. I arrived late in the afternoon of Labor Day. This is the last day of summer fun on the lake for many who have houses there. Not only did I have the cabin to myself, but because there were so few there after Labor Day, it felt like I had the whole lake to myself.

When I arrived, I brought in my bags and supplies. Among the items that I brought for the week were pens, legal pads, and my laptop computer. I hoped to use the uninterrupted solitude to do some writing and planned to do most of it on my laptop. However, when the week ended, I had only opened my laptop for a few specific tasks, while I had filled the pages of the legal pads almost completely. My handwriting is very poor. To write legibly enough for me to decipher my own writing, I am forced to write slowly. The laptop allows me to write with much more speed. Yet as the week unfolded, I discovered that the imposed slowness of writing in longhand had a benefit that I did not expect. The slowness of the writing process provided space for more deliberation and critical thinking as I wrote. The low-tech analog nature of pen and paper set me free from the distractions of electronic notifications and the temptation to give my attention to other things. I discovered the joy and blessing of embracing the space afforded by the slowness of writing in longhand.

A few years later, I read an article about C. S. Lewis and his writing style that helped confirm this need for space in my writing and thinking. Lewis famously never learned to type. He relied on his brother Warnie, who typed his books and his letters. C.S. Lewis was not indifferent to typing, rather he actively rejected it. For Lewis, the typewriter was too fast, too loud, and did not provide the appropriate rhythm for writing. He instead used a dip pen. A dip pen had to be dipped into an inkwell every four or five words. Other pen technologies were available, and apparently, Lewis used a fountain pen while he was a student at Oxford, but he eventually made the decision to give up the fountain pen and return to the dip pen. 

The dip pen is messy and slow. Yet, it was this slowness that attracted Lewis to it. When he wrote, he would whisper the words aloud. The rhythm of writing a few words then pausing to dip the pen in the inkwell provided the space he needed for his ears to hear the words and his mind to think about what he wanted to say. Lewis recognized his need for space and time to think while he wrote. For him, the rhythm and slowness of the dip pen provided just what he needed.

Making space and room for thinking is not natural to the always connected and constantly busy culture of our time. The promise to previous generations was that technology would set us free from the mundane tasks of daily labor and give us the freedom to enjoy leisure and rest. However, what modernity’s technology provided was not the utopia it promised. The ability to stay continually connected has robbed us of the opportunity to enjoy moments of being uninterrupted. The free time we do enjoy has been commandeered by the availability of unlimited entertainment. Quiet moments to reflect and think are forfeited to the multitude of video screens that fill our lives and seem to demand our continuous attention. 

The celebration of busyness, efficient production, and overly filled calendars create a culture that elevates the quick over the good, the immediate over the mature, and activity over deliberation and reflection. I admit that sometimes I feel guilty of not being adequately productive when I take the time to read a book slowly or write in longhand. When writing sermons, I often feel pressure (self-imposed) to move to the writing of the sermon rather than giving more time to study. Writing feels more productive than the labor of study and reflection. 

Creating space in our lives is not only related to academic pursuits such as writing. It is also needed in other areas of our lives. I have noticed that it is generally in moments when my mind is idle that ideas come and resolutions to concerns are worked out. I do not mean idle in the sense of doing nothing or being lazy but rather, in the sense of doing activities that allow space for my mind to ponder and think. Such activities might be physical labor like yard work or exercise like running. Several years ago, I started rising early in the morning to run. I have found these predawn moments that I spend alone, making my way through the empty streets of my neighborhood more valuable than just for the physical benefits. I spend this time praying for people whose houses I run by. I spend this time crying out to the Lord about the concerns of my heart. I sometimes just enjoy the time alone with no demands for my attention other than putting one foot in front of the other.

Here is my point. Honor and value the space to think and ponder. Do not discredit moments of inactivity. Do not believe the lie that frantic activity is more important than opportunities to quietly think and reflect. Intentionally plan for and guard opportunities for such space. Go for a walk. Read a book. Write in a journal. Have a cup of coffee and watch the rain. Turn off the TV and your phone. At first, you may find such things uncomfortable. You may not be sure what you should do or worry that you are missing something that you should attend to. Making space in your life to think and ponder is a discipline. Plan for it. Embrace it. Enjoy it. It may be a challenge for you at first, but I am confident that you will not regret it.