Give Me Space

I’ve been feeling a bit confined recently. Emotions sit too close, circumstances crowd my space, and the unknown lurks around each corner following my every move. I’ve felt confined in my motherhood, my own personal hang ups, and in the things I dream of doing. Obstacles feel too big and my pitfalls have been sucking me dry. I even feel restricted in my own body. The place where I begin and end cannot contain the big questions I ponder each day, and I don’t always allow myself to move freely.

Have you ever felt this way? When the pressure to win at life feels more real than the necessity to just be. When you feel like you’re in a crowded place even when you’re sitting alone at home. Hello, anxiety and stress!

It happens when I depend on my own strength to provide comfort or when I feel the need to control others. Like, when I expect my son or my husband, my friend or my relative to be the relief I need.

These feelings can manifest in different ways: A short temper, feeling burnt out, anxious behavior and thoughts, harsh body movements, and feeling overwhelmed but not knowing when to say no.

I look to social media to offer some sort of break in the day, but we all know how that goes. The small squares on Instagram are the epitome of confinement. Social media is like a small room where thousands of people are standing shoulder to shoulder, shouting. They shout their likes and dislikes about themselves and you. There’s no lasting joy when it comes to social media. We feel a high, square by square, just to fall back down again.

Such confinement is not easy to identify, but it feels all too real.

Then, my husband gifted me with a solo retreat. I booked a quaint Airbnb and drove to the countryside alone. I drove to Amish country! I entered the town, and I immediately felt my chest release pressure like a deflating balloon. I didn’t realize how restricted I felt until my feet touched the soil of open land. Rich dirt tilled by hardworking arms. Lush green grass mowed by dry and cracked hands. This wide open space is a gift.

Out here, I can the hear birds speaking and air moving. I can almost hear flora growing as the rain stops and the sun begins to burn through the clouds. Out here, it takes a mile or two to touch the boundary lines. There are no small squares in sight and walls stand acres away. I stretch my arms and my face feels the stretch too, as a smile finds it's home on my cheeks. There’s nothing out here to distract me, there’s not even cell service. Stores are closed, people are in their homes or taking a drive too. Sabbath is even in the trees. Out here, I can hear Him — “This territory is yours to play in. There’s no limit here. Take up space."

As I hear stillness sing, questions from back home creep in. Yet, this spacious place invites me to pick and choose thoughts like wildflowers. I have permission to leave what’s not for me planted in the ground.

I won’t always reside in the countryside, I won’t choose to live as the Amish do, and a farmer’s life is not for me. Yet, withdrawing to open space, is. It’s for everybody.

This vast landscape can mirror increments of space I find in my day-to-day. I can create margin in my schedule to watch the sunrise or sunset. I can give thoughts air to breathe -- I don’t have to resolve all my questions at once. I can make room in my home so my body can move.

When pressure hits my chest again, I start think of how Jesus lived. He knew space intimately. He lived a busy life, but he often went to the hills or the wilderness to pray. (Matthew 14:23, Luke 5:16). Jesus, teach us to do what you did. Open our ears and our eyes to the signals that tell us to withdraw to the Holy to Holies. Gift us with the practicalities. Take our minds to the hills and exchange any unnecessary noise for sweet sounds. Clear out the residue. Clean out the crowded spaces in our souls. The pressure to be perfect, the compulsion to control, or the drive to perfect what’s messy. The hopelessness I carry toward my sins. The need to be God. Here I stand in this open space and I release all I’ve been holding onto.

This place is momentary, but my Creator has more space He’s marked just for me. I won’t just fill my days and weeks with noise, but I will keep the rooms in my heart spacious and open. I’m ready now. In faith, I free my arms and legs. I'm ready to move.

“He brought me out into a spacious place; he rescued me because he delighted in me.”
Psalm 18:19 (NIV)