Unveiling the Joys of Living a Quiet and Hidden Life

Guest post by Andrea Delwiche.

Way back in early 2022, regular old daily life seemed like it should be making a comeback. But I, for one, felt sluggish and inert, yet tormented by restless mental and emotional energy that tilt-a-whirled me from one thing to the next.

Everyone had their pile of bricks to scramble over. Besides the no-longer-predictably mundane, I was finishing a creative project that started prior to the pandemic.  One moment I daydreamed about selling piled-high stacks of books. The next I braced myself for the carefully constructed comments from friends and family searching for something polite to say. It was an exhausting assault of extremes.

I found myself identifying with the Apostle Paul's description of an immature Christ-follower:  "an infant, tossed back and forth by the waves, and blown here and there by every wind.…" I was driven by each shadow that blew across the corners of my thoughts to settle in my heart. 

Choosing a different way

Searching for some peace and at least a touch of personal resolution, I began working through the Ignatian Exercises with my spiritual director. As I prayed and combed through Christ's own experiences, the Holy Spirit helped me uncover a better and quieter landscape.

Relief rolled out before me like a giant welcome mat as I read this astute commentary:

 “For Jesus chose to live a quiet and hidden life, for a long time."

These words settled in, and my heart made a home for them as they helped me balance and reframe my hopes, my work, and my journey.

Let me be clear—I haven't passed from the extreme geography of misty peaks and depthless murk, but I've discovered a spiritual practice, rooted in the life of Christ which encourages me to daily embrace a hidden life with the Trinity.

Every sinew in my 21st-century hyped-up psyche strains against this quietness. Each pulsating message around me, and often within me, urges me to expend my efforts to be great, to be known.

This demand provokes rapid heartbeats, constricted breathing, and dead-end scrolling. It makes me question the worthwhileness of my very existence, but perhaps I'm describing something that you already know.

Practicing obscurity

What is a more excellent way? Maybe it's partially found in a commitment to embracing a quiet and obscure life.

For me, it's become akin to the way of slow and steady garden work.  Breaking up clods, ensuring the soil is super-fine, planting the seeds, watering, waiting, and finally, maybe, spying a seedling, straight and baby green, that has thrown its head up to the sky. 

It means daily, sometimes hourly, reminding myself that it’s worthwhile to make my life and my art as true and beautiful as I possibly can for me and Jesus. I can welcome my mom and my three other readers along for the ride.

It's being okay with myself that I have yet to start a major church movement, and that I probably won't win the Nobel Peace Prize or a Pushcart.

I can whole-heartedly engage with God and others in my quiet corner of the kingdom. 

The slow work of leavening others

A friend sent me this quote recently from Henry Drummond, a nineteenth-century Scottish preacher:

"Those whose hands have tried the most, and whose eyes have seen the furthest, have come back to regard first the deeper evangel of individual lives, and the philanthropy of quiet ways, and the slow work of leavening others one by one with the Spirit of Jesus Christ."

This discipline of obscurity reminds me that my life is a well-worn way with many travelers. I look to all the wise followers of Christ who have gone before and stand cheering alongside.

I can work, write, garden, and delight in the success of others without feeling like it's a hit on my own credibility and worthiness.

A quote recently came to me like an unexpected gift, from one of the ineffable greats, one whose writing often sends me scuttling for the dictionary and usually to whom I would never dare to compare. But in these words, I sensed a common enemy and a similar sweet relief. 

Midway through his four poems entitled The Four Quartets, T.S. Eliot writes, "For us, there is only the trying. The rest is not our business." 

Thanks, T.S. Eliot, these words I gratefully receive with steady, open hands. And God, remind me of all this again, even as I type.

About the author

Andrea Delwiche lives in the city of Milwaukee. Somewhere under the eaves is an official copy of her undergraduate degree in English Lit with a Brit Lit emphasis. She writes quarterly for Time of Grace Ministries, works with kids in urban education environments, and has developed discipleship material for women and men in her faith community. 

Along with her husband, Willie, Andrea’s a parent to three mostly grown kids. She's also the primary human go-between for fluffy brown dog, Mowgli; Marco, a tuxedo cat; and a school of fancy goldfish who try to coexist with a pair of greedy koi. Andrea and Willie enjoy squeezing as much as they possibly can into their city-lot: garden vegetables, trained fruit trees, flowers, and fishpond. 

In 2022 she completed a certificate in Christian Spiritual Formation from the Renovaré Institute. Andrea's deepest desire is to help others live into God's goodness.

Andrea recently published a book of collage and verse, The Book of Burning Questions, under the Hi Mount Press label. Copies of this hand-made book and accompanying artwork can be found at himountpress.com.