Interruptions, Take II (Shelley Milligan)

I live in the end house on a small cul-de-sac, and one of my favorite post-COVID activities is to peer out the front door windows at the neighborhood. This week, the first week of 2025, my street-peeking amplified in light of the winter storm St. Louis received. Several inches of ice plus several inches of snow plus cold temperatures equaled a beautiful winter wonderland that lasted for several days, shutting down the city as numerous news outlets bemoaned the lack of plow drivers, their inexperience, and the persistent treacherous road conditions.

While taking a quick break from writing this essay, I saw one of my older neighbors and his wife get stuck trying to back out of their ice-packed driveway onto our little street. As his front wheels spun in place, he finally turned the van off, gingerly walked to his front porch, and returned with a snow shovel to dig himself out.

“I’m writing an essay,” I told myself, peering out the front door. “I’m pulling together end-of-year financial reports. I’m working.” I sat back down at my computer, looking for my focus. And just as quickly, I spun on my desk chair, walked to the kitchen, put on my boots, grabbed my shovel, and walked out the door.

You might wonder about what match I was for a minivan stuck on six inches of packed ice. But here’s the glory: soon after I arrived, a second neighbor came as well. And then a third, and a fourth, each with a different colored shovel. Before long, we four pushed the back of the minivan together, rocking and rolling, grunting and heaving, finally forcing that van back into its driveway and back out again into the street, all so my neighbors could make their doctor’s appointment. Victory! Celebrations and high-fives all around. A small moment of satisfaction helping a neighbor.

Interruptions aren’t convenient, whether they take the form of a pandemic or a winter storm. The challenges they bring are heavy and seemingly immovable. Most of all, interruptions affect our productivity. I’m aware of how much I define my worth and identity by how much I achieve or accomplish. And I’m also maddeningly aware of how little that matters to the Lord.

I don’t argue for laziness, but I do often remind myself that my worth is not in what I own, as the hymn goes. I’m not a human “doing,” but rather a human “being.” My character, my soul—these are of much greater worth than the list of things I’d like to accomplish sans interruptions. Sometimes, life is given back to us in the form of an interruption, too.

Last summer, I enjoyed the first sabbatical of my professional career. By way of reference, a few years ago, I heard Andy Crouch give a devotion on God’s created order and rhythm in Genesis 1: the Spirit’s “hovering over the deep” (sabbatical), God’s “let there be” proclamations speaking into creation (action), His “it is good” declarations (evaluation), and His rest (Sabbath). Upon reflection, I admitted my preference for the action and analysis elements of creation and work—I excel at making lists, accomplishing tasks, and analyzing work. I am not so excellent at resting (sabbath), and I had never considered sabbatical.

Andy’s encouragement centered around hovering, a time of planned strategic interruption of our everyday pattern of work to consider the Lord’s purpose in our lives. Where is He at work? What does He give us to ponder or treasure in our hearts? The Spirit hovering over the deep in Genesis wasn’t passive. Hovering is active, focused, and intentional. Sabbatical takes planning and discipline.

This summer, it took me several weeks to interrupt myself to hover, to rest. Removing myself from normal rhythms and self-definition unsettled me. But after a while, my being relaxed. I slept more and better. I found the Lord’s presence more easily. I spent time without counting its opportunity cost. I prioritized people.

COVID’s big interruption of 2020 feels like a lifetime ago. So too, my summer 2025 sabbatical. The temptation to relentlessly control/achieve feels ever-present. Lord willing, the interruptions will be easier to spot, embrace, and treasure. Holy Spirit, help me hover and rest, trusting Your ongoing work in this world and in my life.

Shelley Milligan is the Managing Director of The Carver Project.

Read Shelley’s previous article from 2020: “Interruptions”