For the One Who’s Tired of Going Through the Motions
Years ago, when my heart was empty and my days were full, God used a nearly forgotten hammock to remind me I was made for more. I shared a sliver of that story in my Encouragement for Today Devotion, but I want to share the whole story with you here. Because sometimes we need a reminder to stop waiting for tomorrow to savor the life Jesus offers today. And, friend, if you’re ready to trade your weariness for wonder, I’ve created some resources just for you. You’ll find them at the end of this post.
At the tender age of twenty, my groom and I were transitioning from our college dorm rooms to a humble apartment on the edge of campus. We had plenty of dreams to fuel our new life together, but we had few possessions to stock the tiny space we’d call home.
Understandably, our wedding registry was marked by prudence rather than opulence. Though the items on our list weren’t exciting,the idea of building a life together was, so we celebrated every bath towel and casserole dish, pillow case and pot holder.
When our stack of presents finally whittled to one, I shook the last box and wondered what was tucked beneath those silver folds. I winked at my husband, ripped the delicate wrapping, and lifted the lid. Buried under a layer of crisp white tissue paper lay a charming surprise: a handcrafted hammock built for two.
“We didn’t even register for this!” I exclaimed as I leaped to my feet and held the hammock high for my husband to see.
We marveled at the exquisite handiwork and the vibrant hues. And, instantly, I imagined the meaningful moments we’d spend cocooned between those colorful cords.
My husband gave me a playful wink as I tucked the hammock back into the box. Suddenly a swell of hot tears welled in my eyes, and I blinked back the unexpected emotion.
I couldn’t have explained it on that long-ago day, but our final wedding gift stirred a wordless longing within me. While many of the presents we’d received would help us manage our time, the hammock built for two was an invitation to savor it. A silent summons to not merely do life, but to slow down and delight in it
Later that day we crammed our towering pile of gifts into a borrowed pick up truck and headed to our new home. We hung drapes and towel racks, coat hooks and picture frames. But there were no trees for hanging hammocks in the slender slip of courtyard green.
So, we left our final wedding gift in the shoe box and dreamed of the day we’d have a yard where we could hang a hammock built for two.
As a starry-eyed bride, I had no idea how long it would take for our dream to come true. Or that once we hung that hammock, God would use it to stir my heart with a new longing.
The hammock stayed in the box while we finished our college degrees and moved overseas. It stayed stashed out of sight while we changed diapers and zip codes, churches and jobs. It tarried on the shelf while we chased big dreams and little toddlers, embraced the chaos of our growing family and relinquished the comfort of our own plans.
Then, one day, fourteen years after we’d said “I do,” we moved four kids, one dog, and hundreds of boxes to a house on a hill with a tree-lined yard.
And as I unpacked underwear and board games, casserole dishes and sippy cups, I discovered a simple shoebox with a winsome gift inside.
I smiled like a new bride when my not-so-newlywed husband strung those rainbow ropes between a sturdy tree trunk and a faded wooden deck post.
And we tried not to laugh out loud when our littlest girl asked in a reverent whisper, “Is that a butterfly net, Mommy?”
Before I could answer, big sister wrapped her arms around the little one, and heaved her into those rainbow ropes. Then she climbed in beside her with a happy squeal.
For days, our long-lost wedding gift was the first place my children visited in the morning and the last place they landed at night. It was the swaying stage for singing shows and the swinging chair for bedtime stories. It was the dangling table for afternoon snacks and the lilting lounge for star gazing.
Despite my children’s initial excitement, I was certain when the novelty wore off, they’d quickly lose interest.
After all, ours was a fast-footed crew. They were prone to scamper instead of saunter, to skip instead of sit. They created and played, hopped and raced from sunup to sun-down.
A hammock couldn’t soar as high as the tree swing in the trees or send them sailing like the slide in the backyard. It wasn’t as fast as their bikes or as swift as their scooters. The gift it offered could only be seized if they were willing to slow their feet.
However, day after blue-skied day, my assumption was proven wrong. Our kids were drawn to those rainbow ropes like sailors drawn to the sea.
Sisters snuggled in its vibrant strands with baby dolls and books.
Friends rocked in its cordial swaddle with whispers and giggles.
Brothers swung in its woven web with jokes and jabs.
Soon, a subtle swoosh and sway became the cadence of our days. And flanked between dinner time tales of barefooted races and bicycle chases were accounts of wonder captured like a butterfly between the vivid threads of those rainbow ropes.
“When I was in the hammock, I noticed a cloud that looked like a giant zebra.”
“When I was in the hammock, I heard a cricket singing a funny song.”
“When I was in the hammock, I saw a ladybug doing a little dance.
The same kids who dug for dinosaur bones in the backyard and searched for gold in the sandbox were discovering a whole new world between a sturdy tree and a faded deck post. A world they’d failed to notice until they slowed their feet and climbed into a hammock built for two.
Meanwhile, God was using those rainbow ropes to respark the longing that had surprised me as a starry-eyed bride. But this time, it wasn’t a wink from my groom that stirred my heart. It was whispers from my First Love.
The longing greeted me at dawn when I sat with a cup of coffee in one hand and a Bible in the other, my mind already racing to plan the day and conquer my never-ending to-do list.
Don’t just check in with me; cherish me.
It joined me in the afternoon when I took a walk with my littles, hurrying them along if they paused to pick dandelions or inspect the cracks on the sidewalk.
Don’t just endorse me; enjoy me.
It showed up at night when I swept crumbs into patchy piles on the kitchen floor, streams of moonlight beckoning me to gaze at the starry sky.
Don’t just serve me; savor me.
Somewhere between my starry-eyed I-Do’s and my never ending to-do’s, I’d lost the wonder that had once marked my relationship with Jesus.
Oh, I still read my Bible and served at church; I memorized scripture with my children and prayed before I fell asleep, but tucked beneath my good girl checklist and measured faith was a quiet cry for more.
I knew life with Jesus was meant to be more than going through the motions. I knew He’d paid the price on the cross so I could have intimate access to Him at any time in any way. But, as I got swept up in the speed of life, I’d turned my relationship with Jesus into a duty rather than a delight. Worse yet, I’d convinced myself that the intimacy for which my soul longed was impossible to attain in the spin and churn of my ordinary days. After all, I didn’t have hours to linger with my Bible or funds to send me to an organized retreat. I didn’t have a life marked by quiet or calm.
But I’d watched the way simple moments had infused my children’s world with awe when they slowed their feet and shifted their gaze. And I wondered what would happen if I made a deliberate decision to do the same.
So over the course of a summer long ago, I made the choice to slow my feet and connect with Jesus in the middle of my daily grind.
Sometimes that looked like leaving the dishes in the sink and opening my Bible when the kids settled in for an afternoon rest.
Sometimes that looked like sitting on the deck with my prayer journal and praise songs when the moon rose high and my house grew quiet.
Sometimes that looked like scribbling one verse on a notecard and taking a morning stroll instead of hopping on social media and losing myself in a morning scroll.
I didn’t have a complicated formula or a five-step plan; I simply decided that life was too short, too urgent, and too beautiful to stumble through my days with holes in my heart that Jesus was willing to fill.
My attempts weren’t perfect and they didn’t always work. But once I began to savor my Savior, there was no turning back. I will forever be drawn to His outrageous kindness; hooked on His winsome presence, slack-jawed by His grace.
And I will forever be grateful that God used a nearly-forgotten wedding gift to remind me that my deepest longing isn’t an irritation; it’s an invitation. An invitation to do more than manage my relationship with Jesus; to marvel in it. To not only shoulder my faith, but to cherish it.
In the book of Philippians, the Apostle Paul writes a letter to believers who are growing weary and discouraged. Like us, their days are full of duties and demands, hardship and distractions.
Yet, as Paul brings the letter to a close, his encouragement doesn’t include a prescription for managing their complicated lives or suggestions for making more impact. Instead, he reminds them of their highest calling and their greatest privilege:
Celebrate God all day, every day. I mean, revel in him! (Phil 4:4, The Message)
I can almost hear the swoosh and sway of rainbow ropes as Paul pens those poignant words from his prison cell. And I wonder what would happen if we took Paul’s unusual advice to heart?
What if as we slow our feet and shift our gaze, we discover the delights God has tucked into the folds of our ordinary days:
*The peace He promises (Phil 4:7).
*The joy He offers (Phil 1:25)
*The strength He extends (Phil 4:13)
*The wisdom we need (James 1:5)
We don’t need to wait for a season with more margin, more resources, or more clarity. We can let the lives we’re living right now drive us to the One who is always with us.
Dear Jesus, I want to stop going through the motions of my life and start savoring life with you. Show me how to delight in you as you delight in me. In Jesus’ name, amen.
I’ve created a 31-day digital devotional to help you delight in Jesus wherever you are. You can learn more about it and purchase a copy here: https://aliciabruxvoort.net/encounter
And don’t forget to grab your free prayer guide, too! You can download it here.
