I stop for a minute; God floods in.
That's how little it takes. A minute of quiet and what I both avoid and crave sweeps through me.
The topic of introversion vs. extroversion has been in the spotlight for long enough (see here, here, and here) and I know more than a few people - hi, Davis - who roll their eyes at the conversation. But despite the hype over whether we recharge by being alone or with people, I think it's valuable to know yourself. Just like I love knowing someone's strengths, I love understanding what makes a person tick and how to relate to them, quirks and all.
To me, spiritual health and understanding oneself are tied up together. If I want God to move in me, I need to pay attention to my need for quiet. I have to guard small spaces without plans or people if I'm going to hear from Him - a physical choice with a spiritual intent. Not everyone's like this, I'm sure. But I'm happily distracted by everything under the sun - friends! work! breakfast! - and usually satisfied enough with these distractions to keep my deeper desires at bay. This means on most days I hold God at arm's length. But sometimes quiet is forced on me. And when it does, I realize I'm desperate for it.
I used to be an introvert, then an extrovert, and now I'm someone who's become skittish of quiet moments lest they reveal truths I don't want to see. Realizing this, these months have felt like an exercise in patience and repetition. I'm coming before Him constantly to say help me, I'm sorry, make me new. I'm trying and failing and trying again to choose the uncomfortable silence over constant noise. Sometimes I succeed. And in the uncomfortable silence, I sink in. The spirit expands. He rushes in.