Picking Dandelions

The Sweetness of Doing Nothing

Words by Sarah Kroger

ONE OF MY FAVORITE SIGHTS on the homestead is looking out my kitchen window and seeing the cows. I love it when they’re lying down in the sunshine and just chewing their cud. It’s peaceful. They’re not taking in anything or doing anything. They’re resting, but not sleeping. Digesting, but not with any intentionality. They’re doing nothing.

There’s an Italian concept called Il Dolce Far Niente (The Sweetness of Doing Nothing). It’s a concept I have a hard time wrapping my head around, to be honest. I often feel overwhelmed with everything I have on my to do list yet feel anxious when I find myself with nothing to do. I feel guilty when I am not doing anything “productive.”

I know I’m not alone in believing the lie that my value is tied to my productivity. Americans, in general, wear their to-do list like a badge of honor and talk regularly about how busy they are. There’s little value to “white space” on the calendar. It's no wonder that so many are anxious and resort to activities that give them a chance to “zone out” rather than an activity that is rejuvenating. There’s value, at times, to simply being still.

Enter the wisdom of God through the homestead. The cows get it, and so do the tiny, first flowers.

Think back to the early spring, before the trees have leaves or we can even turn the cows out onto the pasture. Little flowers begin to pop up everywhere. The very first ones are these tiny, white flowers. I don’t know what they’re called, but inevitably one of my small children will pick a handful and present them to me with a smile. They, of course, are treasured and displayed in some small vessel for the few moments they stay open.

Shortly after come the dandelions and the violets. While we leave most of them as first foods for the bees, we do like to pick some and make dandelion jelly (which tastes like honey!) and violet jelly (which is yummy and has the most beautiful color). However, the best days for picking flowers are also the best days for cleaning up the garden from winter.

The best way to pick these flowers is to plop yourself down in a patch of them and just start picking. So, when the garden seems to be calling me to turn over the soil, fertilize, and plan out this year’s crops, I’m sitting in the grass picking flowers. It can feel like a waste of time, especially when you consider that my young children are usually picking with me, and they are anything but efficient and focused on the task.

But do you know what happens every year when the dandelions and violets bloom? One of my older children notices and says, “Oh Mom! Do you remember when we used to make dandelion jelly? That was so fun, and it tasted sooo good!”

God willing, they will continue to appreciate the sweetness of doing nothing.

The only American equivalent I’ve heard for this Italian idea is “killing time,” and that definitely doesn’t have the same ring to it. This concept speaks to waste and just holding a place until the real purpose of the day or the season is upon us. If you get to a meeting place early, you just “kill time” until it begins. There’s nothing positive or desirable when it’s described that way. It’s not something that you would value and try to include more of in your life. You would never make sure you had a chance to “kill time” or “waste time” at several points in your week.

The activities we think we value and which ones endure in our memories are not the same. The best cliché of this concept is what people think about on their deathbeds. When one is recounting his life, he never wishes he spent more hours writing expense reports or scheduling meetings. He wishes he took more walks, felt more warm breezes, and gave longer hugs.

If that’s what people regret not doing more of when they reach the end, then why is it not something we value more in the now? When you think of what you would do if you had free time, why do you consider starting a project and not just sitting in the grass like the cow feeling the breeze? Why do we look longingly at the family dog asleep in a sunbeam by the window, but we don’t do it ourselves?

Because, Sarah, that wouldn’t be very productive. That would be a waste of time.

That was my inner voice chiding me. Is that what your voice says too? You know why? Because the devil hates silence.

1 Kings 19:11-12

“The Lord said, ‘Go out and stand on the mountain in the presence of the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.’

Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake came a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire came a gentle whisper.”

The noise of this world is a distraction to the pursuit of holiness. There is a place for hard work, and there is also a place for rest and stillness. God does call us to movement, yet he only whispers to us in the stillness. I remember wondering why God spoke to Abraham and to Isaiah, to Moses and others in the Old Testament, but doesn't seem to still be talking to people the same way today. If God never changes, then why does it seem like He doesn’t speak to us anymore?

Perhaps we are looking for Him in the wind and earthquake and fire, which isn’t where He can be found. More likely, it’s because we are never outside of the wind and the fire. There’s so much noise around us at all times that we cannot hear His whispers.

Sometimes in the rare moments we could experience stillness and quiet, we are inclined to put on music or a podcast—even a podcast about God. It might be uplifting and inspiring sounds, but sounds nonetheless. Even something good can drown out the voice of God speaking just to our hearts. Does that mean music is bad? Of course not. But we should be aware of the volume and the regularity. Perhaps it’s good, but what God wants to tell us is better. We shouldn’t be afraid to silence even the good sounds around us at times so that we are available to hear the gentle whisper of the Good Shepherd.

Our guilt over not filling time is an attack from the evil one. Our distractions, guilt, and noise are deliberate attacks. He is cunning and conniving, not random and stupid. He prowls, looking for an opportunity to attack. He studies us and seethes, waiting for his perfect and targeted shot. There’s a reason it cuts to our core. He is a sniper with a powerful and accurate weapon.

Of course I’m supposed to diligently do the tasks charged to me according to my state of life, and I'm not suggesting I’m not suggesting that one do nothing all of the time. Having high standards is a good thing. Yet, if the thought that any moments of nothingness are akin to neglect or laziness, that bears the hallmark of the evil one.

Do you think children running through the yard or picking wildflowers or wanting to sit and snuggle are slothful? After all, we are called to have faith like a child. The child hunting for worms or swinging on a swing is following sacred scripture from Matthew 6:26. He isn’t worried about sowing or reaping, and yet, he is taken care of. He is enjoying God’s creation without concern or worry about the future.

What about the disabled? What about someone with crippling ALS or Down syndrome or multiple learning disabilities? Someone who will never be a “productive member of society.” Is that person wasteful? Of course not. He’s created in the image and likeness of God, and oftentimes, a greater reflection of the unconditional love of God than the average hustling American.

But that’s how the evil one works. Remember, he’s a sniper. He loves to take something that is close to the truth and twist it. We were created in the image and likeness of God, and the serpent used that to tempt and confuse Eve. In that same way, what’s good and necessary, like a cow chewing her cud, becomes something we avoid. This same level of torment is how we push ourselves past the point of exhaustion with tasks, yet when we finally do take a break, we feel too guilty to actually enjoy the rest and be rejuvenated.

What if we could divorce our feeling of worth from our level of productivity?

I think we are afraid of some things that would serve us well if we were brave enough to take advantage of them. Rather, we are so married to the desire for success that we fear loss of progress more than we desire real rest and restoration.

Whether we made three jars of dandelion jelly or twenty-three, the children remember that it was something we did together. They feel like they are part of tending to the family, and the pride in their smiles when we have toast with jelly they harvested and made is unmatched. Remember that spring garden begging to be turned over? It still got planted. The tasks I was worried about either still got done or they ended up not being that important anyway. The part that was important was how I felt after an hour of sitting in the grass picking flowers, and the memories that my children carry in their hearts.

Yes. Do the tasks that honor your state in life—yet also take your cues from the cow and the child picking dandelions. Allow yourself to steep in the sweetness of doing nothing.