Turn the Lights Down Low

Setting down what we can’t carry alone

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart

And lean not on your own understanding;

In all your ways submit to him,

And he will make your paths straight.”

Proverbs 3:5-6

On a break from information intake.

On a break from the news.

On a break from COMMENTARY on the news.

On a break from the insidious infiltration of “ideology war” on daily life.

On a break from having opinions.

On a break from organizing an effort or pushing a movement.

On a break from the need to have things figured out.

On a break from worrying over the future.

Fighting, striving, and anxiety consume us, keeping us from loving our neighbor and from trusting our God:

“Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.”

Matthew 6:34

Releasing the need to understand all the noise and handing that over to God. The burden has gotten too heavy for me, so I will obey, lay it down, and focus only on today.

After a couple of weeks of becoming totally sleep-deprived, I’ve found myself too tired to put mental energy into productivity and performance. Although I miss feeling like a better version of myself, this season has revealed where I actually need relief—and I’m willing to bet the same is true for anyone who owns a smartphone.

Paradoxically, I’ve been doing more things lately, just not for the sake of optimizing. I have a feeling that what I aspire for will be the result anyway, simply because I’m acting in faith. I’ve been humbled by sleep deprivation (and long-standing grief throughout the course of this year) to run on anything but my own strength recently. Seasons like this are what we hone faith for; it sustains us through the burdens we can’t carry on our own. God is good, and He emboldens us in our vulnerable weakness.

In a recent self-critical spiral, I felt like I had too many hobbies. I told myself I should just zero in on one so I could actually advance, get super productive, and get good at it. That train of thought immediately made me not want to do any of them—too tired to be productive, remember? So, I ended up turning on a trash TV show to mentally disengage instead.

We’re all well familiar with the crutch of dopamine fixes to get through the week. It’s the modern-day idol standing between us and God, keeping us spiritually starved and trapped under the false illusion that everything we want in life can be achieved in the shortest time with the least amount of effort possible. But there’s no app for real rest. The performative effort is never-ending, and lasting fulfillment stays just out of reach.

I’m new to having hobbies. My upbringing contained a lot of pressure to be a star student while handling the chaos of moving every three years for my dad's military orders. Both of my parents worked and didn’t have time to shuttle us to different activities after school, so we were allowed to watch as much TV as we wanted. That’s how I remember passing most of my free time. Neither of my parents really had daily hobbies either, so while I thought hobbies were cool for other people, I didn’t see how they fit into my life—other than reading and writing, which my sister and I both gravitated toward.

As an adult, I’ve been playing hobby roulette to see what sticks. I felt the need to round out my life with actual interests rather than just going to work and doom-scrolling when I get home every evening. I craved some actual personality in my home. And when I have children one day, God willing, I want to share experiences with them—not just share exposure to external stimuli while sitting in proximity to each other every day of our lives.

I was embarrassed at first and felt shame around searching for hobbies. I didn’t want to be teased for being new or bad at something, and my family was always heavy on mockery. My mom in particular, with whom I’ve had a complicated relationship, used to tell me how irresponsible and time-wasting hobbies were. It wasn’t a wise way to spend money or time unless it turned into something that brought in income. Otherwise, hobbies were childish and I needed to grow up.

I don’t think that’s true, though. That lie has always reverberated in me as a total falsehood. Instead, I’ve found that untangling our pursuits from the need to produce is where authentic living begins.

Writing is a complicated pursuit for deeper thinkers. It requires real intention to write with true expression rather than traipsing into what we think the audience wants to read. The former leaves the writer feeling lighter and produces work that is far more striking to read; the latter leaves the writer feeling pressured and produces something tangibly less authentic—which readers easily sniff out. Notice that when we create from a genuine place of expression, we naturally achieve the connection we were trying to force through performative tactics. But the two paths are incompatible. For a Christian—and for the way most humans are wired, I’d wager—pride in our authenticity resonating with others is not the same as pride in the accomplishment itself. Underpinning the satisfaction is the sense that we took part in something universal. It is my belief that this feeling is joyful because God is glorified through the genuine connection we make with others.

Knitting proves that the tactile and slow isn't sexy, but it sure is grounding. It’s a slow process toward a (hopefully) beautiful outcome. I heard one knitter describe it not as something we do for performance, but for the slowness of it. At the end, you hold a piece that acts like a postcard—a snapshot of your life during the weeks or months you spent making it. Creative energy goes into something simple, and from then on, the object carries memories and strikes quiet emotion. It continues to have an impact long after it’s finished. I love it because it’s just… fun. In our culture, even creativity is pushed toward output: sell your crafts, display your crafts, gift your crafts. Output, output, output! But every crafter knows the humble joy of making something for uncomplicated reasons. It’s one of the blessings from above: our ability to pass time with wholesome occupations that create timeless memories for ourselves and those we love.

Music is another doorway. If math is the universal language, music is the universal translation. I play the cello, which means I’m drawn to the rich, vibrational power of a stringed instrument—it simply captivates me. Most of us have experienced hearing a piece of music and feeling moved for reasons we can’t fully explain. To me, that crosses over into a spiritual experience. I’m not always in the mood to delve into the depths of emotion the cello evokes, but think of the other instruments we love: the acoustic guitar is rustic and nostalgic; the piano holds the full spectrum of human feeling. Listening to music is engulfing; participating in it by playing or singing is pure joy.

“Do not be wise in your own eyes;

Fear the Lord and shun evil.

This will bring health to your body

And nourishment to your bones.”

Proverbs 3:7-8

Baking might not immediately come to mind when thinking about stewardship or nourishment, but consider it the ultimate way to make something with love. This year, I started baking cakes for loved ones' birthdays instead of buying them. It’s apparently a rarity these days, because I’ve never seen people react with such shock, awe, and appreciation as when a homemade delicacy is set before them. There is soul, effort, and creative expression baked into it. Food is foundational to human life. It is sustenance, we are taught to rely on God for our daily bread, and it brings us together—Jesus broke bread with everyone and invited them to His table. Making food for others is one of the simplest ways to love them well.

Exercise operates on the same principle. I do CrossFit and walk my dogs often. While much of this maintains physical well-being, our bodies are a creation in themselves, and stewarding them for health is a responsibility. When we abide by that stewardship, the vain motivations that fail to keep us consistent fade away. It becomes a form of self-esteem rooted in caring for ourselves so we can show up for the people who count on us. Movement turns into community, accountability, and shared effort. It’s about being healthy, but the sustainable fuel for it points right back to relationship.

Recreation carries a beautiful history. The Latin root of the word means to make new, restore, revive, or bring into being. Merriam-Webster defines it as the “refreshment of strength and spirits after work.” That doesn’t sound childish or immature; it sounds holy. Mountain biking, skiing when the season brings snow to our local mountain, boating, camping, fishing, and golf—these have all been ways I’ve felt renewed from within recently. They aren’t just "playtime" or escapism; they are ways to stand in awe of the world we didn't make, but get to inhabit.

“Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit by itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in me. I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing.”

John 15:4-5

Our dopamine-driven culture wants to keep us hooked and yearning for the next hit. I’ve been realizing—ironically in one of the lowest, most exhausting seasons of my life—that joy is found in the doing and the being, rather than the obtaining.

When we stop trying to force output or performance, true connection, authentic art, and genuine rest happen on their own. We don't have to manufacture the fruit—we just have to abide.