I love knowing what to do. Let me be clear, that doesn’t mean I’m known for following instructions well. I find myself putting together IKEA furniture without reading the manual and prepping chicken without looking at the recipe. Better said, pausing to stop is not my strong suit.
But when it comes to instinct and advice, knowing A + B will give me C, I couldn’t be happier to follow along, to soak in best practices. It’s simple. I’ve learned that a hard conversation with someone I love shouldn’t happen when I’m tired or hungry. A day of hydration should proceed a long run. A stain comes out better when I pretreat the clothes. See? Nothing crazy.
When I began following Jesus, you can imagine the thrill I felt when I was introduced to the concept of quiet time as a way to grow with God. Many Christians practice quiet time, and while the contents vary, the intent is the same: to spend time with God, to pray, and to learn from and about Jesus. We retreat to be with God just as Jesus retreated to be with God. Throughout Scripture, Jesus went away from the masses—the people tugging on his clothes and begging for healing—to be alone in prayer.
After Jesus feeds the five thousand, we see him seek solitude:
Immediately he made the disciples get into the boat and go before him to the other side, while he dismissed the crowds. And after he had dismissed the crowds, he went up on the mountain by himself to pray. When evening came, he was there alone.
Matthew 14:22–23 ESV
In Luke 5, after Jesus cleanses a leper, the crowds grow and he’s more sought after, but again, he goes away to pray:
But now even more the report about him went abroad, and great crowds gathered to hear him and to be healed of their infirmities. But he would withdraw to desolate places and pray.
Luke 5:15–16 ESV
This is one of the drumbeats of Jesus’s life, regularly withdrawing and praying. As Christians—Christ-followers and worshipers and lovers—this pattern is a model for us as we follow Jesus.1 What I also notice in Matthew is Jesus performing miracles, serving people, and attending to the masses, then leaving to be alone with the Father—to hear from God and to pull on his strength to continue his work. We cook ourselves dinner or feed families, go to work and take endless calls, attend to our own version of masses or demands, then we . . . turn on the television?
Maybe we don’t. Maybe we call a friend, read a book, or go for a run. Throw in laundry, mow the lawn, or tend to our relentless to-do list. None of those things are inherently bad and, hey, they must get done. They bring us joy. But when we see Jesus, God in the flesh, retreating to be alone with the Father and fulfilled by his strength to keep going, we should watch and learn. We should follow.
I’ve been to churches where they advise the 5-5-5 in the morning—five minutes reading Scripture, five minutes praying, five minutes worshiping. I’ve tried reading my Bible in the morning and at night, literally giving God the first and last word of my day. I’ve prayed out loud with friends, switched from my Bible app to my hardback to avoid distractions, and gone to a tool—a sermon or devotional—when I find my well dry.
For more than a decade, I’ve spent my time with the Lord, but I don’t always leave feeling like I heard him. I find myself sitting down with an open Bible reading a passage with sleepy morning eyes. Then rereading it when I realize I didn’t retain anything. And then, it’s time to get ready for work.
Or I find myself in my strong suit—writing and talking to Jesus. I’m a prayer writer and an external processor, so I take my feelings to God, my desires and heart, and write write write them. And suddenly, it’s time to get ready for work.
So, I expanded. I don’t just talk to Jesus during these closed-off quiet times, but I bring him into my day. Sometimes, I feel like the psalmist, crying out to the Lord when I need something. I’ve taken encouragement from Psalm 18:6:
In my distress I called upon the LORD;
Psalm 18:6 ESV
to my God I cried for help.
From his temple he heard my voice,
and my cry to him reached his ears.
Lord, help me through this run. Move my legs; give me energy, please.
God, give me the wisdom I need for this meeting.
Oftentimes in my practice, the writing and reading, speaking and crying, I’m prone to miss something: God’s voice. I read his voice through Scripture, hear it playing through music on my HomePod while I cook, but it doesn’t always feel personal. Have I not been listening? How do I hear him?
So, like many throughout Scripture, I asked God for the desires of my heart. I prayed to hear the Lord’s voice more, to learn how to listen.
And then, over coffee with a friend discussing her week, I sat there nodding, watching her intently when Jesus whispered to me, “This.”
When we listen to our friends across the table or our spouses in the kitchen, two very specific things happen. We look at them, and we quiet. That’s it.
Listening isn’t thinking of our response. It’s not speaking over someone or offering an alternative perspective mid-sentence. It’s silence. It’s outright attention on them so we have the best chance possible of truly hearing them, of understanding what they’re saying.
We know how to turn off our external noises: We switch the phone to Do Not Disturb. We turn off the television in the background or the radio in our car. To listen, though, we then need to turn off the internal noises too.
Sometimes I close my eyes to be with Jesus, and I pray to hear him. Then, unknowingly, I’m going through my to-do list. I replay a conversation I had last night. I’m in the middle of thinking up the witty reply I wish I’d said, when I remember—Jesus!
In the beginning, I judged myself. I threw in the towel, opened my eyes, picked up my journal, and went back to what I knew. Journaling is wonderful, I’m not disparaging a useful tool and one of my greatest joys, but that’s oftentimes us talking and sharing. That’s key—half of a relationship—but the other half? It’s us listening.
So now, I stay in the ring. My mind drifts, and I whisper “Jesus” until it comes back. I hear a noise in the background, and I turn my thoughts back to my breath, to hear the simplicity of air move through me. “Jesus,” I try again. “Jesus.”
In Psalm 34:4–5, we see encouragement when seeking our Father:
I sought the LORD, and he answered me
Psalm 34:4–5 ESV
and delivered me from all my fears.
Those who look to him are radiant,
and their faces shall never be ashamed.
Listening can feel uncomfortable. We are the generation of multitasking physically, mentally, and emotionally. We have joy and sadness, an email to send and a text to write, a baby in one hand and a book in the other. To listen, though, to hear someone fully, we have to practice turning off our external distractions and turning our mind to Jesus. And back to Jesus. And back to Jesus again.
With listening, there’s nothing to do but to be. To be still.2 Listening involves silence, an area of life I’m far from mastering, completely inept to give you an IKEA manual. I dislike both influencing and deinfluencing, so I’ll leave you with all I have: God’s Word, and grace.
The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He makes me lie down in green pastures.
He leads me beside still waters.
He restores my soul.
He leads me in paths of righteousness
for his name’s sake.Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil,
for you are with me;
your rod and your staff,
they comfort me.You prepare a table before me
Psalm 23 ESV
in the presence of my enemies;
you anoint my head with oil;
my cup overflows.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me
all the days of my life,
and I shall dwell in the house of the LORD
forever.
May our soul be restored in the Lord. May we experience still waters in our time with Jesus. And, alongside God’s grace and goodness, may we give ourselves grace, time and time again, when the noises of our world interrupt our time with our Father.
Jesus, we cry. Jesus.
Notes
- We are instructed to follow Jesus, to do as he does throughout Scripture. One example of our command and call is found in Matthew 16:24–26. ↩︎
- Psalm 46:10. ↩︎
Photo credit: Jenna Martin
Erica spends her days as a consultant and her evenings as a doctoral student, yet her favorite roles are being a daughter, sister, and friend. You can find her yelling, “Roll Tide!” at a television, enjoying a long run, or writing—probably wrapped in a fuzzy blanket. An alumna of the Fulbright Program, she loves traveling and seeing the consistency of God and his love for people throughout the world. YET: The Promise in Habakkuk for Those in Transition is her first published devotional.
