Hello World Changer!
I have always struggled with empty space.
An empty space in a painting must be filled with marks or brushstrokes. An empty wall needs a powerful painting. An empty shelf needs a stack of books. An open weekend must be filled with projects and activity.
Whether it is time or space, I feel anxious, ungrounded, suspended, off-kilter, desperate in that moment of quiet and stillness before a growth spurt.
The Pain of Stillness
Through the years, I have learned that just before my life gets catapulted into a new level of growth, I hit an extremely uncomfortable stall—days, sometimes weeks, of silence and stillness.
This doldrum of lifeless placidity grinds against my soul that craves movement, activity, and forward motion. It feels agonizing to hold ground and simply stand still. To rest. To wait.
I crave the comfort of busyness.
Before the Wave Breaks
I sense the finger of God gently pulling on the collar of my shirt as I attempt to leap forward.
I have nowhere to go. I feel cornered, trapped, halted against my will. Unable to move.
But I have learned that this uncomfortable empty space, this stillness before the wind kicks up, is necessary. Crucial, even, for the upward movement that is coming.
Some call it the quiet before the storm.
The empty space possesses an incredible, indescribable energy that builds within itself. I think that building pressure is what grips my bones and makes me so uneasy.
It feels like the drawing back of the ocean before a massive wave crests and crashes over me. As I endure the pulling back, I crave the crash.
Holding the Tension
It feels like the drawing of an archer’s bow. Fingers pulled taut to the ear, holding, holding, the tension threatening to break the string. The arm aches under the pressure of stored energy about to spring forward.
My heart races for the moment the fingers release and the arrow finally shoots forth.
This moment of quiet, still tension is sometimes more than I can bear.
Everything in me wants to create a storm. I thrash and kick and provoke. I swirl around inside myself, creating an inner tornado that desperately needs movement.
But I’m learning.
I’m learning to breathe. To hold tight. To resist my impulses.
I tell myself:
Everything is okay. Soon it will shift. This can’t last forever. Lean into it. Embrace the peace that is here. Talk to God about it. Don’t get out of step. The longer you can sit with tension, with the building of this energy, the farther you will go. You have grown now. You can wait. Be patient.
It still feels miserable, though.
Inside the Empty Space
I’m here now, inside the empty space, eyes closed and breathing deeply.
This is my last week of re-filming the Mastery Program. It is a project I have invested the last year and a half of my life into, nearly every day, preparing lessons, planning, filming, refining.
At the beginning of this year, I ended an important lifelong relationship and now sit in the space of what comes next.
Our business is also in that place of tension. Quiet stillness. The place where I know something deep is brewing beneath the surface.
Even the world itself feels suspended right now. Breathless. Like ships sitting motionless in the doldrums, waiting for the wind to return.
But this is often when God speaks most profoundly.
That still, small voice can suddenly sound deafening in the quiet.
Held in the Waiting
The absence of noise and activity pulls us close to the very presence that gives clarity. By remaining still, we can be positioned just right to catch the wave building in the distance.
Listening. Waiting. Breathing in.
This is my position before being set on course again.
And when the tension becomes unbearable, I tell God:
Hold me. Don’t let me go. Don’t allow me to resist You. Quiet the tornado inside of me. Teach me how to rest.
If you are in a quiet season too, maybe the tension you feel is not failure or stagnation. Maybe it’s just the bow drawing back before something powerful catapults you forward.
How do you handle seasons of stillness?
