Searching for monsters to destroy.

There's a time for chasing monsters, and a time for rest. You need both.

I sat in one of my college classes and read the words:

“But she goes not abroad, in search of monsters to destroy.”

That’s a beautiful line, I thought. And vivid. The words came from John Quincy Adams, the sixth president of the United States and secretary of state before that.

For some reason, those words have always stuck with me. And this week they came rushing back. Not in relation to politics, but in relation to my spiritual journey. And I think they could be helpful for you, too.

First off, let me say that the words I’m about to quote and write should not be viewed in the context of the upcoming presidential election. While news used to be my living in another life, I’ve gone out of my way to avoid politics, especially in this space. So know this: None of what I’m about to say is a veiled endorsement or critique of anyone. In fact, make sure you read to the end to make sure you understand exactly what I’m saying and the point I’m making.

Now, let’s get to it.

One of John Quincy Adams’ lasting policy legacies was preaching restraint when it came to foreign affairs. He prioritized keeping our own house in order instead of stretching ourselves thin by being pulled into foreign wars, for example. His most famous speech includes the lines I quoted above, but here they are in the full context:

Wherever the standard of freedom and Independence, has been or shall be unfurled, there will [America’s] heart, her benedictions and her prayers be. But she goes not abroad, in search of monsters to destroy. She is the well-wisher to the freedom and independence of all. She is the champion and vindicator only of her own. She will recommend the general cause by the countenance of her voice, and the benignant sympathy of her example. She well knows that by once enlisting under other banners than her own, were they even the banners of foreign Independence, she would involve herself beyond the power of extrication, in all the wars of interest and intrigue, of individual avarice, envy, and ambition, which assume the colors and usurp the standard of freedom. The fundamental maxims of her policy would insensibly change from liberty to force. [Emphasis added.]

So why am I quoting that all? What does that have to do with spirituality? Well, this week I’m preparing to go away to the mountains. My best friend lives in Colorado, and I’ll soon join him for an epic week of hunting mule dear, bear, and elk. It’s the trip of a lifetime. But if I’m honest, the hunt is really only the excuse to get away. To rest. To rejuvenate. To refresh.

That’s something I need.

For the last year and a half, I’ve been killing a lot of monsters. I’ve been out on patrol. I’ve been going from battle to battle. I’ve been making war on alcoholism, on escapism, on sin. I’ve been on mission to root out trauma, to name what’s unhealthy in my life and my past, and to fill myself up with what and who matters most: God.

But now I’m being called back to base. I’m being called to restock my supplies. Refill my ammunition. Get equipped with new tools. Feed my body—and my soul.

However, while I know all that to be true, there’s been a big part of me that’s been resistant to it. Why? Because in many ways I’ve been struggling with the idea of returning from battle. It’s like I’ve become so used to fighting that the idea of not fighting scares me. My “normal” has been rewired to include a near-constant search for any and all monsters.

I don’t pretend I’ve ever been in actual battle, but from what I’ve heard and read, what I’ve been experiencing spiritually and emotionally is akin to what some soldiers experience when coming home from war: It’s hard to adjust to the slower, less-frenetic, even safer environment.

The idea of rest, rejuvenation, and replenish scares me a bit then.

And that’s where the John Quincy Adams quote comes in. While praying through all this over the last couple weeks, Adams’ line came back to me: “But she goes not abroad, in search of monsters to destroy.”

It was an “aha” moment. It was convicting. It was needed. See, here’s what I realized: