Simplicity

When I finished undergrad, I made a whirlwind decision to go to Paris and nanny for a few months. Late into my trip there was a day when I went into the city with the kids and their mom. We went to see Cinderella, but the only showing was in French. My French was awful and the tickets were $20, so I opted out. The theater was on the Champs-Élysées, my least favorite street in Paris — filled with people and Prada and cement — and I had forgotten my map. I had two hours to spare, and I felt completely lost, lonely and walled in by the austere gaudiness of Parisian luxury. I began to walk up the street, wandering without a goal, until at some point I looked to my left and I saw the tip of the Eiffel Tower, poking above the rooftops. My spirit swelled; I turned the corner to find the tower in all her glory, waiting for me. I pinpointed where I was, making sure I could get back to the theater, and then I nearly ran — through traffic circles and past budding spring trees, over the Seine and down the left bank — until I was standing in front of my tower, at peace. 

That moment became a defining metaphor for my life. I had made a list of everything I wanted to do in Paris, every arrondissement I wanted to visit and all the things I wanted to witness. But what I began to realize over time was that mostly what I wanted to do was grab a cappuccino, sit under the Eiffel Tower and read. I didn’t need much else. In that specific moment, running toward the tower on a warm April day, this realization seeped into my spiritual life. For years of my Christianity, nearly all of my childhood and into adulthood, I had been chasing extraneous details of my faith. Sometimes it was righteousness, sometimes it was justice. Sometimes it was intellect and sometimes emotion. I had so many things in my head and my heart, and I would spin my wheels trying to get to all of them. But that was never the calling, really — the calling was to be with Jesus. The calling was to sit in his presence and soak him up, in order that I could love those around me to the best of my ability. Seeing the tower above the rooftops that day reminded me that Jesus was always around the corner, quietly waiting, ready for me to come running home whenever I had worn out whatever preoccupation I had slid into under the guise of my ambition and faith.

I think this is what simplicity is about. Yes, it’s about decluttering and Marie Kondo and sparking joy – but mostly it’s an interior thing. The question for me is this: Am I cluttering my heart and soul with things to do, the person I want to become, the ways I need to grow and change the world? Or, at the center of my being, can you find me sitting at the feet of Jesus, pouring out perfume for him, lapsing into his love? I’m afraid that most of the time my insides are running everywhere, an ADHD whirlwind of hopes and fears and dreams. These aren’t bad things — but they turn into pain when I let them take over. Simplicity, then, is a decluttering of my heart, all the time, in every new year, month, day, moment. For the most part, the only things that are truly necessary are the things Jesus calls us all to: worship, adoration, love. He only ever wanted our hearts.  

I have lost sight of this truth so many times since that moment at 22. On the outside, it looks like I am good at resting — I love cozy, simple things and I’m a homebody. I love a low-key night with hot chocolate and a puzzle, sweatpants and candles and a good pot of Thai coconut soup. I don’t need much, externally. Internally, though, I am still learning to declutter. I am still learning that every dream need not be pursued right now, and I am still learning that the big dreams, the big goals, might actually be keeping me from the feet of Jesus instead of drawing me closer. I’m not saying you can’t do big things and have big ambitions and be a Christian, but I am saying that that’s not really what Christ cares about at the end of the day. Christ cares about love. He cares about loving you, and about loving the person next to you.

I want to be known for being a simple person, for my aim always being on Jesus. I want the boiling pot of my mind to be put on the back burner, to let it all simmer instead of burning to a crisp. I want to slow down, move gently, exude peace. I’m not even close to any of this — those words will most likely be for later years in my life. But I think it starts with valuing simplicity of heart. I don’t need every dream to come true. I don’t need every vision to be accomplished, every book to be read, every idea to be written. What I need, always, is Jesus. It’s simple, and it’s difficult. It’s the nourishing soil of a healthy life, and it takes time to accumulate. I think it’s worth it, though, and I will be coming back to this word, I hope, for all my days.