Losing Momentum

Momentum is important. I took three stabs at that first sentence. It only has three words. I find it hard to just sit down and spill out thoughts. Instead, I put them in order, lining them up, categorized and organized, leading toward some conclusion or climax. I suppose in one way that's good writing, but on the other hand it often stifles expression. Rather than spilling what's inside, I'm using what's inside to construct arguments or stories.

I like cycling. Since I was seven years old and learning to jump my banana seat Huffy off the curb in my neighbor's driveway, I've always liked bikes. If there's one thing that cycling teaches you, it's the importance of momentum. In a road race, you loath to touch the brakes because you know that every bit of momentum you spill has to be regained through great effort. Have a hill to climb? Get a run at it.

I've taken that philosophy into other areas of my life as well. A good conversation has to start with warm-up. A productive work day starts by aligning my calendar, inbox, notebook and apps.

Kids kill momentum. It's hard to enjoy a quiet evening with a book when someone is constantly coming out of their room saying they need to pee, or get a drink, or pray because they're scared. If you've ever tried to work from home with kids, you know it's hard to finish a phone call or an email without being interrupted.

But I'm starting to wonder if I value momentum too highly. So much of Jesus' ministry happened in the context of interruption. Jesus didn't get past interruptions so that he could do ministry. He saw them as the arena in which ministry happens.

This Sunday, while my friend Betsy Nichols was delivering a stellar message on trusting God in the trials of life, I wrote in my notebook, "Learn to pray in the scrum of daily life." It's easier for me to pray when there's time to ramp up - like on a retreat. It's much harder for me to pray, write, or do anything more than tread water when my inbox, my calendar and my kids are all screaming at me. I wonder if I'm missing God in those moments. I know, intellectually, that he's not only in the quiet moments, but in the loud ones too. But I seldom meet him in the midst of a crowded room or a crowded schedule. I wonder if it wouldn't do me good to practice coming out of the blocks, improving my 0-to-60 time, finding the sacred glimmer in the muddy rush of work and life.

I tried to write this post without momentum. I didn't outline it or organize my thoughts beforehand. Maybe I can do the same with prayer.