Ashley Hales - A Spacious Life: Trading Hustle and Hurry for the Goodness of Limits

InterVarsity Press
P.O. Box 1400, Downers Grove, IL 60515-1426
ivpress.com

2021 by Ashley Hales

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from InterVarsity Press.

InterVarsity Press is the book-publishing division of InterVarsity Christian Fellowship/USA, a movement of students and faculty active on campus at hundreds of universities, colleges, and schools of nursing in the United States of America, and a member movement of the International Fellowship of Evangelical Students. For information about local and regional activities, visit intervarsity.org.

Scripture quotations, unless otherwise noted, are from The Holy Bible, English Standard Version, copyright 2001 by Crossway Bibles, a division of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

While any stories in this book are true, some names and identifying information may have been changed to protect the privacy of individuals.

Published in association with the literary agent Don Gates of The Gates Group, www.the-gates-group.com.

The publisher cannot verify the accuracy or functionality of website URLs used in this book beyond the date of publication.

Cover design and image composite: David Fassett
Image: window curtain at sunrise: xijian / iStock / Getty Images Plus

ISBN 978-0-8308-4739-6 (digital)

ISBN 978-0-8308-4738-9 (print)

This digital document has been produced by Nord Compo.

TO JASON AND KARLA REED,

thank you for creating for us

a spacious place in the turning world.

The lines have fallen for me in pleasant places.

It seems, then, said Tirian, smiling himself, that the Stable seen from within and the Stable seen from without are two different places.

Yes, said the Lord Digory. Its inside is bigger than its outside.

Yes, said Queen Lucy. In our world too, a Stable once had something inside it that was bigger than our whole world.

He brought me out into a spacious place; he rescued me because he delighted in me.

The Supermarket of Life
An Invitation to Reconsider
Freedom and Significance

m y husband and I lived three glorious years in Edinburgh, Scotlandfull of waning northerly light, ancient streets and castles, milky tea, hours spent among old books, and the sense that a full life was finally underway. We were poised between worldsbetween the country we were from and the country in which we lived, between college and the fulfilling careers we imagined, newly married but not yet settled down or with children. Wed spend Friday nights bantering with other international grad school students; we watched American TV on DVD; we hosted twenty-five people for an American Thanksgiving and jumped into the rhythms of our parish in the Church of Scotland. Though our meals were often simple, our choices few, it felt like the good lifeor at least the beginning of the good life.

There would be time for proper jobsmy husband was training for the pastorate, and I was getting my PhDand I imagined life a beautiful symphony of ideas. Maybe wed start a church in Edinburgh, or maybe somewhere else. Maybe Id get hired to do a postdoctoral fellowship in Europe. Children might come and wed slot them into a world of poetry, travel, and the life-changing significance of gospel ministry. All was possible.

Yet, when we found ourselves back in Pasadena for work (on the same block wed lived on three years prior), then a few months later found ourselves expecting our first child, the possibilities narrowedour lives looked nothing like my rosy-colored, outwardly stretching ideal.

I imagined we could fit our children into the life we had, as if I could file them into one of those black metal tiered inboxes, so that all my early goalstravel, adventure, intellectual pursuits, time to sit in quiet with a cup of tea or to ponder a paintingwould not be disturbed. My file-folder life would expand but essentially remain untouched.

What I didnt know, at least not then in a deep-in-your-bones sort of way, was that these limitations on my time, body, and affections were actually an invitation. Instead, I fought them.

For years I fought God about the gap between my imagined life and my given one. My crash course in acknowledging my limits was parenthood. But it seems that God uses many thingsa failed job, an angst you cant shake in middle age, a move, a rift in a friendshipto show us our limits. Its easy to take a nostalgic look backward: surely Id left the good life back in a world of dreams around Edinburgh Castle. Now I was stuck in a hazy world of infant spit-up, a dissertation to finish writing, and no clear sense of Gods calling.

Where had the good life gone? Where had I gone? Sometimes I railed at God about why the options had dried up, but more often I just ignored him. Id go to church but not read my Bible; my perfunctory prayers were more out of duty than interest in Gods response. I felt constrained, boxed into a new role. I was tethered to people, to a place, to new responsibilities, to a child who needed feeding every three hours. This surely didnt feel like freedom.

It felt like a very small circle in which to move. I wanted big circles, grand vistas, and a life that went up and to the right.

I wish someone had told me to begin to pay careful attention to my limitsthat there was a spacious life in there too. That God could be found in the small mustard seed and grain of wheat as well as the sublime sunset or lengthy quiet time. Or maybe they didand perhaps this is the journey out of youth and into adulthood that we each takebut the only way I could conceive of transformation was with careers and titles, passports and ideas.

Several years into parenthood an average evening might look like this: I kick the dishwasher closed with a baby strapped to me, all while trying to stir the spaghetti sauce. Having had little adult interaction, Im hungry to hear about my husbands day and the delightful cacophony of ideas hes had, so I do my best to carry on a coherent conversation amid the cooking and tidying up (maybe we could even have a glass of wine and listen to some music?). Then, a toddler comes into the kitchen, tears and snot running down his face because a toy has gone missing, or hes been asked to help and he doesnt want to, or its too cold or too hot and he cant find his artistic creation which I thought was just a cardboard box and is now at the bottom of the recycling.

I respond to the urgent. I redirect. I try to extend the grace that I am jealous of, but my anger bubbles. I am tired of always giving. I want control. The pasta water boils over. The moment of conversation is gone, and I realize I simply cannot do it all.

This leads me into a lovely little shame spiral. If I dont just blame my circumstances or anyone within striking distance (tactic one), I think the problem isnt with my life but with how Ive ordered it (tactic two). I vow to try harder, get a new dinner routine, and find a new parenting book. And if that doesnt work, Ill sit in my shame, concluding Im not worth it (tactic three). A mantra of you do you doesnt solve shame or loneliness.