What are you dwelling on?
Over break, Rachel, Chance the baby, and I went to Gatlinburg. We found and rented a cabin with big windows, natural wood, long flowing curtains, and beautiful views.
Golden hour in abundance. Fresh air for the soul. Deeeeeeeeep breath in.
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“What are you dwelling on?” Asks a friend.
Dwelling is one of those words that spans across realities. It means two things, and at the same time means one.
A dwelling is a house, an apartment, or a dorm room. It’s where you physically make your bed and keep the things you wear and the things you hold valuable. An external reality.
Dwelling is also an action, something you do with your mind. It’s turning a thought over and over, examining and reexamining. Playing and replaying. Visiting and revisiting. It’s where you drift when you lay in bed at night. It’s where you keep what you wear on your face and on your body throughout the day in your expressions and actions. It’s where what you hold valuable is revealed. An internal reality.
Over time, your dwelling, both internal and external, becomes one.
A businessman, driven by the desire to succeed - or more deeply, the desire to be good enough - or deeper still, the desire to be loved - focuses himself on his work with relentless energy and sacrifice in order to climb the ladder, and wakes one day to find himself dwelling in a mansion - all alone - separated from the love of friends and family that drove his aching soul to striving all these long hard years. Eight thousand square feet of hell.
A prisoner, broken and at the end of himself - chained to shame, crushed by grudges, sick from years of feeding his starving soul with poison - entertains the thought that God might love him. Even him. He surrenders. He wakes to find himself dwelling in a prison cell - with Love Himself. Forty eight square feet of heaven.
“What are you dwelling on?” Asks a friend.
That’s a good friend.
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You can’t always choose where you live, but you can always choose where you dwell.
Whether you find yourself in green pastures, beside still waters, or in the valley of the shadow of death today, you are invited to dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of your life. To wake up wherever you are in the presence of Love Himself.
You can choose to dwell in darkness: to examine and reexamine that dumb thing you said, to play and replay the thought that you’re a failure, to visit and revisit the grudge you’re nursing.
Or, even if you are surrounded by enemies, you can sit down in your saved seat at the feast of goodness and mercy God has prepared for you. You can dwell in the light. You can dwell in the truth.
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Since you get to choose where you dwell, I recommend finding a cabin. Something with big windows and natural wood, long flowing curtains and beautiful mountain views.
Revel in the abundant golden hour. Feel the fresh air stir your soul. Take a deeeeeeeep breath in.
It may cost money and drive time. It may require you to step out of your normal routine and rearrange your priorities. It might even feel risky.
It’s worth it.
- Wake up while it’s still quiet and dark, and drive somewhere to watch the sunrise with God.
- Pray for specific things like you actually want them and like God can actually do it.
- Find a friend or counselor who can ask you questions that span realities.
- Search God’s promises and find the one He wants you to take seriously today.
- As one ultra-marathoner replied when asked how he keeps going through the intense physical and mental strain of running miles and miles, “You gotta learn how to talk to yourself instead of listen to yourself.”
You can’t always choose where you live, but you can always choose where you dwell.
What are you dwelling on?