Stop.

Sometimes the greatest sacrifice we can make is to simply stop.

We wear busy-ness like a badge of honor. We’ve forgotten that being in a frenzy is not a virtue. We’re willing to do, do, do, to the point of exhaustion, but heaven forbid that anyone, including God, should ask us to be still.

He asks, and we don’t hear. Or we pretend not to hear because we know there’s simply not time to be still. He doesn’t understand that there are a limited number of hours in the day, ‘cause if He did understand, He surely wouldn’t be asking us to sit idly, for Pete’s sake. Let’s face it, the mere thought of quietness scares us to death.

I’ll tell you what works for me, but everyone’s got to find his or her own way. In our apartment, we’ve got two closets—one coat closet and one small walk-in. This past fall, during a spiritual dry spot that was bordering on a crisis, I resumed a practice I’d adopted years ago: closet time. I cleared out the floor of our little walk-in and put a small boom box, mp3 converter, reading lamp, bible, and journal in there. There’s no rhyme or reason to when I “go into hiding” or what I do while I’m in there; the only given is that I lie down on the carpeted floor, usually on my back, palms facing up because it’s in this position that I feel most vulnerable, receptive, and uncluttered. Sometimes I write, sometimes I read, sometimes I cry; but most of the time I do absolutely nothing. Those are the best times, I think: the nothing times. And often, those are the most sacrificial times--because afterwards, I can’t have the satisfaction of having accomplished anything; I can’t say that I studied Proverbs or wrote a blog—cause I did nothing.

The first few times I did nothing felt kind of weird. I wondered, “Okay, now what?” A few times, my mind got busy, and I had to gently steer it back—not necessarily to prayer, cause during my “nothing” sessions I don’t always pray, per se—but back to peace: to gently focusing on the music on my iPod or the almost pleasant ache of my spine stretching out, vertebrae by vertebrae. Sometimes I actively think about God, sometimes not. The key is that I just lie there and let Him think about me.

If stillness is a sacrifice for you, don’t fight it--just let it be a sacrifice. Crawl up on the altar and just lie there. If you feel it might kill you, let it. Don’t speak, don’t try, don’t do, just be. Don’t expect a great revelation; it may not come. Ultimately, you have nothing to offer God, so give Him your nothing. If you’re like a lot of believers, you’ve given Him your time, money, energy—and this is all honorable and necessary--but for right now, just give Him yourself, stripped bare, hands empty.