In my love of spontaneity, and abhorrence of routines, I am probably a child of the Sixties and Seventies. I have, until recently, viewed routines as recipes for boredom. “Getting in a rut” meant the same old thing, worn out and pointless. Not only were ruts dull, but they were often, I thought, mindless.
People at church sang the same old hymns each Sunday—first, second, and last verse. We often prayed the same old prayers each Wednesday. Folks stood up and gave the same testimonies each Sunday night. At school I knew Catholic kids who walked in the tighter and older ruts of Mass. For most of them, as far as I could tell, all the traditions had no impact on how they lived.
In recent years, however, I have discovered the beauty and value of ruts, especially those that open our lives to God’s voice and grace. This may seem obvious to many, but I grew up in the evangelical tradition that emphasized crisis experiences as the key to spiritual growth. I have also sojourned in the charismatic tradition that values walking in response to the voice of the Holy Spirit. I have, wrongly I now think, assumed that routines get in the way of moment-by-moment obedience to God’s voice.
Ruts keep our wheels on the road even when the road is slippery and treacherous. During the trauma-filled years we were struggling to keep Peter alive, I wrote out a verse on 3/5 cards every morning. I wrote the verse and a blessing on the cards and gave one to Teckla and one to Ari. I carried mine throughout the day as I was teaching. I would discover it or older ones smashed in my pocket or in a book. But I would read it several times during the day.
The rut of writing verses on cards saved my life—or at least my faith. Not only had Peter been in and out of ICU’s, often near death, but Teckla had a bilateral partial mastectomy to remove breast cancer. I had my cancerous prostate out. Teckla had a malfunctioning gall bladder yanked. And then Teckla was diagnosed with dementia. I would lay all this before God but hear nothing but “Trust me.” I did not sense God’s presence or feel His comfort, but each day I carried His Word in my pocket. His Word carried me through a time when my despair and pain was too loud for me to hear His voice. Holy ruts kept me on the road and out of the ditch.
A second rut was the men’s Bible study at the Presbyterian church. I often did not want to get up extra early to make to the seven o’clock Bible Study. It was low-key. We often had breakfast sandwiches from McKay’s Market. We took turns reading verses from a book of the Bible. We shared prayer requests, but usually not our feelings—which was oddly comforting. Yet, Carl, John, Jack, Tom and Marc were Jesus to me during a terrible time. The Bible study was a simple and holy rut that kept me on the road in the storm.
The more holy ruts we have, the fewer decisions we have to make each day. This matters because every decision opens the door to distractions or simply doing what we “feel” like doing. These days Teckla and I begin each day by reading Scripture aloud, singing hymns together, and praying together. I don’t always feel doing this, but this rut has turned out to be a blessing. We invite God into our day. We begin the day more alert to His presence and tuned to His voice.
Making fewer decisions may seem less spiritual. However, the point is to choose habits that turn our hearts toward God and toward His will. We are probably not choosing whether to get into a rut—just whether the rut will be one made by our flesh and our feelings, or one made by God’s wisdom and truth. Doing only what we feel like doing is a rut that takes us in circles. Holy ruts move us closer to God.
Of course, ruts are only as good as the road’s destination. We need ruts that take us to transformation. Holy ruts make more like Jesus and teach us to walk by the Spirit and not the flesh. Refusing to be tossed around by our feelings anchors us and strengthens us as followers of Jesus.
A few days ago, I planted iris bulbs in the flower bed along the house. My childhood friend, Kirby, sent them to me from Oregon. I have watered them every day, but I don’t see any signs of life. But I will keep at it. We are often too quick to abandon a holy habit because we don’t immediately detect spiritual growth or benefits. My irises won’t bloom until next spring, but I will be patient.
It is nearly impossible to evaluate where we are at spiritually, but examining our habits is good place to begin. We can aspire to be intimate with God, to hear his voice and walk in careful obedience, but fail simply because we don’t habitually do anything to give more of ourselves to God. It is like aspiring to run a marathon but never getting out of bed and actually running.
In the fields around here (Gardner KS) there are still many ruts. The Oregon, Santa Fe, and California wagon trails converge here. In places the ruts, not covered in grass, are several feet deep. It is easy to imagine how important the ruts were during the thunderstorms that wash over this part of Kansas. It would be nearly impossible for a wagon slip-off the road even in a storm. Our nation was settled and built by people who got in a rut. Perhaps the kingdom of God needs more people moving in holy ruts.
