Activity. Constant activity seems to pull at me. There will always be more to do. Clothes to wash. Emails to send. Rooms to clean. Meals to make. Organizing. Straightening up. And this doesn’t even begin to touch upon my creative work and all the ideas I’d like to form and shape.

I am good at doing things. I am really good at always finding something to do. I am not good at being still. At waiting. At resting in His presence. At listening for His voice.

Today I’m thinking about Jesus’ word about building on a solid foundation — building on Christ — as found in Matthew 7:24-27. Building on any other foundation is a waste of time. It might look profitable for awhile, but in the end it will be worthless, amounting to nothing. The problem is the further along you get, the harder it is to realize your initial error. And as you continue making “progress,” you want to see more progress. And the further along your ‘house’ gets, the less likely you are going to be able to hear any outside voice of reason that questions your building. You yourself have to be willing to stop and take an honest look.

Activity is like a wave that carries you along. Waves are in constant motion. They don’t want you to stop. They drag you under every chance they get.

In the Christian life, it is necessary to stop. To examine. To consider. Our enemy doesn’t want us to do this. So what does he do? He keeps us busy. He keeps us building. The thing is, maybe we started building on the solid foundation, but maybe we got just a tiny bit off center, and this new room we’re building, while it appears to be connected to the original house is actually on shaky ground. But the building, the process, the activity we’re doing is similar enough that we don’t even notice.

In my life, I want to look at what I’m building, and where I’m building, and why I’m building. What are my motives? I may have started with God’s glory in mind, but what if a gradual shift occurred so that what was once rooted in Him is now rooted in me? The shift could have happened slowly, over time, so that I would barely notice. My constant activity would keep me blind to it or else unconcerned.

When I was in Guatemala recently, a friend told me about a very tall building that had been built there some years ago. Apparently, the foundation was not solid, and years later it was discovered that the building was slowly sinking. It took years to discover because the sinking happened gradually, a miniscule amount each year, so small as to seem insignificant. However, that small rate accumulated over the years, making it quite significant and even problematic for the future.

The architect/builder was held accountable for building on such an unsure foundation. Tragically, he committed suicide. I wonder when he knew that the land was unstable. Was it right from the outset? Halfway into the project? Three-quarters?

How many opportunities did he have to stop? And what was it that made him keep building? Pride? Arrogance? A refusal to consider the consequences? The shame of having to admit he was wrong?

What keeps me building at times when I’m unsure of the foundation? Is it because I get wrapped up in the process to such an extent that the activity or need to produce takes precedence over the motive of production?

A shack on the rock is better than a mansion on the sand, though the world would tell you differently. Sometimes the best way to love God is to stop building the mansion. Leave it incomplete and start working on your shack. Perhaps at the end of my life, all I will have to give to God is a tiny shack. But if each piece of wood was hammered together with love for Him and His people, this is better than any great edifice I could construct on another foundation – no matter how much attention it might garner me from the world.

Where are you building?