Do You See the Person or their Actions?

This afternoon I stumbled on a quick, free version of the Enneagram test, which is a personality indicator test, and I decided to complete it. I have always wondered what number I am on the Enneagram but had never before had a chance to find out. (For the record, I appear to be a 2.)

One of the 36 questions on this free, 10-minute version of the test asks you to determine which of these two statements better represents yourself:

• I have been more relationship-oriented than goal-oriented.
• I have been more goal-oriented than relationship-oriented.

Later in the afternoon, after completing the Enneagram test, I opened Henri Nouwen’s Desert Wisdom book and read the following:

Some old men came to see Abba Poemen, and said to him: Tell us, when we see brothers dozing during the sacred office, should we pinch them so they will stay awake? The old man said to them: Actually, if I saw a brother sleeping, I would put his head on my knees and let him rest.

I couldn’t help but recall that Enneagram question when reading this story. Although being goal-oriented or relationship-oriented doesn’t call for a value judgment — one is not better than the other, by any means — in this particular story, being one or the other has implications.

If someone is dozing in church, what would be my response?

• Would I worry about that person disrupting the service? (goal-oriented)
• Would I judge them for not paying attention to God or the pastor? (goal-oriented)
• Would I get worried about their spiritual life? (goal-oriented)
• Would I care about their need for rest and simply want them to have what they need? (relationship-oriented)

I have to admit, I’ve been in the shoes of those old men in the story before. I’ve sat beside others dozing in church, or people who were simply a distraction from the normal mode of behavior in the service. In those moments, I became acquainted with panic. I wondered, Should I wake them? Should I try to get them to be quiet? Will others behind me get mad?

But upon reading Abba Poemen’s response in the story above, a calm and relief descend. I can feel my shoulders loosen. I feel my brow relax. I get back in touch with my true center and values.

I want to be Abba Poemen.

The truth is, I’m not always Abba Poemen upon first blush.

When I’m in touch with my true center, I would care about the person more than they impression they make. But when I’m going about my day without stopping for breath or stillness, I get caught up in myself and more easily become aggressive or judge-y.

Then I need to be reminded of what matters most: my neighbor and their well-being.

What about you? Do you tend toward one response over the other? Do you wish your response were different than it is?

How Are You Just Yourself?

This morning in Henri Nouwen’s Desert Wisdom: Sayings from the Desert Fathers, I read the following story about Abba Anthony: 

Abba Anthony said: The time is coming when people will be insane, and when they see someone who is not insane, they will attack that person saying: You are insane because you are not like us.

The story was accompanied by this drawing: 

I couldn’t stop looking at this image. In particular, my eyes were continually drawn to the figure at the bottom. Do you feel his stillness, his sense of centeredness? 

He is being just himself. 

I looked at the two groups laughing at him, and it made me sad they could not relate to who he was or what he was doing, that they would stand in clusters around him and cover their mouths in laughter, guffawing and and poking fun at his solitude, finding the strength to do so in their numbers.

Those who are standing in the groups look like each other. They have lost touch with their uniqueness and their identities. I sense their fear of being alone and discovering who they are apart from the crowd. 

But who they are apart from the crowd would be brilliant and beautiful.

Don’t you see that in the lone figure by himself? There is a strength and beauty in his form. There is a gentility and calm. He wears his long hair in a ponytail, and he kneels on the ground, his long robe creating a pool that keeps him centered in the island of himself. 

He knows who he is, and in that, he carries peace. 

Can you identify with this singular figure? Are there ways in which you connect to who you are, apart from the crowd? Does that create a sense of gladness or stillness or peace inside of you?

If you can’t relate to this singular figure, do you wish you could? Does that notion feel at all scary or intimidating? Do you long for it in any way?

Today, I invite you to spend a few moments considering your experience of being just yourself. Who do you know yourself to be, and how do you experience that in the world?

Trusting God's Presence in Future Moments

I don’t know about you, but I struggle a great deal with anxiety. It has been a part of my life for a very long time. 

One way anxiety often shows up in my life is in thoughts and anticipation of future moments. It may be a meeting I’ve been asked to lead, a project deadline I’m trying to hit, a coffee date I have scheduled with a friend, or a simple list of tasks I need to complete the following day. 

No matter the future moment, large or small, anxiety begins to creep in and connect itself to my mind and body. Often without realizing it, I start shaking my leg. My shoulders tense, and my neck sets. Sometimes I start picking at my fingernails or chewing them. Often, I stop what I’m in the middle of doing and stare off into space, mulling over the future moment and imagining how it could unfold.

Do you ever experience this?

This morning, three future moments held me captive.

As each of them paraded themselves before my mind, my heart began racing and I grew short of breath. I wanted to run and hide. I didn’t know how I would possibly meet the very high expectations I’d set for myself in my mind regarding each one. Already in my mind, it was a foregone conclusion that I’d fail.

But as I spent time with God this morning, I decided to start talking with him about these future moments and my fears. 

And in the midst of that conversation, almost as soon as it began, an amazing thing happened. 

I realized God is already present in those moments. 

When I step into that room, God is already there. When I participate in that discussion, God is there among us. When those decisions get made, God is there. When I tackle that project that’s due in a couple days, God will be there with me as I complete it each step of the way. When I juggle various commitments on my schedule the next few weeks, God has already seen them all. 

As I realized this, a peaceful calm swept over me.

I could envision God in that room. I could see him presiding over that discussion and those decisions. I could see him sitting next to me as I completed that project. I could see him companioning with me as I live through these next few weeks. 

He is there.

There’s something immensely comforting about that. Comforting, as well as relieving.

Are there future moments you’re struggling with right now? Have you noticed the way these future moments affect your physiological reactions in the world?

Today, as you notice those future moments and the concerns they raise inside you, I encourage you stop for a moment and pay them some attention. Hold that future moment in your mind, and then imagine God in that future moment with you. Imagine him getting there ahead of you, in fact, and holding it all in hand, aware of all that will transpire and able to hold it for you and with you.

What is it like for you to trust God’s presence in those future moments?

How Is Your Life With God?

This website, when it first began, was going to be a place to talk generally about spiritual formation, based on the courses I was taking for my graduate studies. I had planned for there to be essays and resources about the spiritual life and what it means to form over time in our lives with God. It was also going to be a place for me to “form out loud” and share pieces of my own interior journey with God and myself with you.

But over time, my understanding of what this space is meant to be has grown.

Specifically, I’ve noticed that this is meant to be a space devoted to you.

Life can be so hectic.

Especially in this time in which we live, when there is no shortage of information coming toward us each moment and there is so much opportunity for connectivity and ongoing distraction. It can be so easy to get lost in the noise, to drown out the still moments and our sense of ourselves with activity without ever realizing what’s been lost in the process.

Consider this space an oasis from the noise. A place for stillness. For reflection. For a contemplative moment you share with yourself and with God each day.

Each morning of the week, as I spend time with God and hold you and this online space in my mind, I will write a post that grows out of that time with God and invites you into a contemplative moment. The posts each day may pose a question or invite you to make an observation about your life or interior journey.

They will always be written with the intention to invite you to slow down and notice what is true for you and your relationship with yourself, the world around you, and with God. 

I anticipate that the questions or opportunities for reflection may recycle from time to time, and I think that is okay. On any given day, depending on the circumstances of life in which we find ourselves, our answers to any given question may be different, right?

So each day, as you are invited into a still moment of reflection here, consider how it applies to you in the concrete place in which you find yourself in that moment in time.

The purpose is ongoing reflection … intentionality … stillness … at least for a few moments each day. 

This morning, then, as I spent time with God and asked him what question or thoughts might be most helpful for you today, your connection to God came to mind. 

How is your life with God in this moment?

Where Do You Talk With Jesus?

When I was a little girl, I had a very strong sense of Jesus being with me everywhere. His presence seemed very close, whether I was at home or at school or at church.

I don’t recall talking to Jesus directly very often at this young age, but I thought about him a lot and always sensed him near. I knew that I loved him very much. 

As I grew into my teen years, though, that awareness and joy faded. In its place were far-off images of what I imagined God the Father to look like: an old gentleman with silvery-white hair, seated on a huge throne, watching over the world he created.

I prayed to this Father God often in my prayer journals. Most of the time, these were prayers of contrition and sadness and desperation. I tried so hard to please this God up in the sky, and I hoped very much to find happiness and peace by serving him the best ways I knew how.

But then in my young adult years, the image of Jesus returned — and with it, a greater practice of talking directly with him.

The first time this happened, I was sitting in a small group and was invited by the group leader to do a prayer meditation exercise.

He invited all of us to close our eyes and imagine ourselves in a safe place. I imagined myself near a walking trail in the mountains where my family used to go camping from time to time. A small creek flowed nearby where I would hunt for fool’s gold with my siblings and cousins, and there was a tree with a bench underneath it right off the trail.

The group leader invited us to imagine Jesus in that scene with us. I could see myself sitting on the bench under the tree and Jesus standing right in front of me. 

Next we were invited to talk with Jesus about anything we wanted. At the time, I was struggling through a great deal of anxiety and perfectionism issues in my personal and professional life, so I started to talk with him about those things. 

As I poured out my heart to Jesus, he came and sat next to me on the bench. He just listened and took it all in, as though he would sit and listen forever. 

That was a deeply transforming prayer experience for me, and it changed forever the way I relate to my God.

I knew him to be a God that listens, that cares, and that offers me his presence. I also learned how to listen and hear him speak to me by practicing prayer in this way over the years.

In this approach to prayer, I have imagined myself talking with Jesus in many different kinds of places. Sometimes we have walked on the beach. Other times we simply sit together in my home on the couch. More recently, we’ve been walking and talking in the woods. 

Do you ever practice talking with Jesus this way? If so, where do you talk with Jesus? What are those experiences of prayer like for you?

Jesus as the Good Shepherd

I spent some time reading John 10 this morning and couldn’t help falling more in love with Jesus. Does that ever happen to you when you read stories about him?

I’ve been reading The Message version of the Bible this year, which is a paraphrase translation that puts the Bible into contemporary, common language. I like the way it helps me better understand difficult passages of Scripture and the way it helps me read familiar passages of Scripture afresh.

The way Eugene Peterson translates the section of John 10 about Jesus as the Good Shepherd brought a smile to my face so many different times as I read it this morning. Want to take a journey into some of the treasured portions of it with me?

First, we get a general feel for life in a shepherd’s world with his sheep:

If a person climbs over or through the fence of a sheep pen instead of going through the gate, you know he’s up to no good — a sheep rustler! The shepherd walks right up to the gate. The gatekeeper opens the gate to him and the sheep recognize his voice. He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. When he gets them all out, he leads them and they follow because they are familiar with his voice. They won’t folow a stranger’s voice but will scatter because they aren’t used to the sound of it.

— John 10:1-5, The Message

First of all, I love the image that comes to mind of a flock of sheep making their way out of their sheep’s pen at the urging of their shepherd. I can picture a group of woolly sheep moving toward the gate in unison, following the sound of their shepherd’s voice, making their way out of the narrow gate in twos and threes and then, once on the other side, out in the open pasture, the whole group moving again in unison to follow the well-known and familiar voice of its shepherd. 

This group of sheep has a relationship with its shepherd. It is familiar with his voice. It turns toward him when he calls because his voice carries a known timber in their ears. 

I can feel the trust this flock of sheep has toward their shepherd. Where he calls them, they follow. Whether it’s toward the open gate to get out into the open pasture or toward himself once they’re out in the open so he can lead them to the right and secure places, they trust him implicitly and go where his voice calls them.

I also like how true and honest the actions of the shepherd are. He has nothing to hide: he walks straight up to the gate, and the gatekeeper opens it for him because he belongs there — unlike the sheep rustler who has to slink in sideways and under the gate without being seen because he doesn’t really belong there with the sheep. 

A real shepherd also knows each of his sheep by name. How amazing is that? To me, all sheep look the same. But like a parent of twins or triplets implicitly knows which of his children is which, the real shepherd also knows the uniqueness of each of his sheep and calls them each by their unique name. 

I love that.

As the passage goes on, Jesus then applies the shepherd metaphor to himself and calls himself both the Gate and the Good Shepherd. First, he describes what it’s like for him to be the Gate: 

I am the Gate. Anyone who goes through me will be cared for — will freely go in and out, and find pasture.

— John 10:9, The Message

I don’t know about you, but the idea of being assured of care is immensely comforting. Jesus promises safety and security to us. There are no qualifiers on that statement of care — we don’t get care sometimes or under specific circumstances. No, we are, pure and simple, cared for — always and without question.

Also, having Jesus as our shepherd gives us freedom. We can go in and out of the paces of our life without fear and with a measure of choice and desire all our own. We’re given room to simply be who we are and live and make choices in the course of our “sheeply” life.

I want that kind of care and inner freedom, don’t you?

Then Jesus talks about himself as the Good Shepherd. What does it mean for him to be the Good Shepherd of his sheep?

I am the Good Shepherd. The Good Shepherd puts the sheep before himself, sacrifices himself if necessary. A hired man is not a real shepherd. The sheep mean nothing to him. He sees a wolf come and runs for it, leaving the sheep to be ravaged and scattered by the wolf. He’s only in it for the money. The sheep don’t matter to him.

I am the Good Shepherd. I know my own sheep and my own sheep know me… . I put the sheep before myself, sacrificing myself if necessary.

— John 10:11-15, The Message

When Jesus offers himself to us as our leader and life shepherd, he does so in a way that puts us before himself. He puts us first.

This means he is mindful of us. He’s scanning the horizon, looking for the good pastures and grazing fields that will give us good food to eat. He’s also scanning the horizon for potential pitfalls and dangers. He’s aware of any danger nearby that could bring us harm and puts himself in that harm’s way before the harm could ever reach us.

The contrast with the hired man in this passage teaches us a lot. To the hired man, the sheep mean nothing. He’s only in it for himself and the money. The sheep don’t matter to him. You can imagine him going home at the end of the day without thinking at all about the sheep once he’s left them for the day. I would imagine the sheep under the watch of a hired hand doesn’t get the best care, either. Their wool is probably dirty and matted. They’re probably underfed and undernourished. The hired man simply doesn’t care the way the sheep’s real shepherd does.

This can only mean that to Jesus, the good and true shepherd, we mean a lot. We mean everything, in fact — so much that he would put himself in danger before he’d let harm come to us. We matter to him. 

Do you experience Jesus as your Gate and Good Shepherd in this way? Why or why not?

Are We Willing to Learn Silence?

This morning, as part of my devotional reading, I started making my way through a Henri Nouwen classic called Desert Wisdom: Sayings from the Desert Fathers.

I’ve been meaning to read this book for a while, as I always enjoy learning more about the desert fathers and mothers and their wisdom. Also, the book includes calligraphic renderings of the sayings on each page, and I have come to really value books that combine prayerful words and artistic meditations. Somehow the artwork invites the words on the page to sink deeper into my heart. (Thomas Merton’s Dialogues with Silence is another great example of this kind of book.)

So this morning I started reading this book on the desert fathers, and I was startled to discover the following story and its accompanying image on page 5: 

It was said about Abba Agathon that for three years he carried a pebble around in his mouth until he learned to be silent.

It was surprising enough to encounter the notion of someone carrying a pebble inside their mouth for three years. Wouldn’t it break their teeth? I imagined the pebble inside his mouth, pushed off to the side and stored next to his cheek as some kind of ongoing reminder of this discipline he’s adopted to learn silence.

But then I saw the image. 

Do you see the pebble in the image above — the way it’s placed between his lips? 

It would make talking impossible.

And that got me thinking.

If I had something sitting between my lips like that for three minutes — much less three years! — I wouldn’t be able to speak at all in that time. I would be forced to listen. 

I could see myself, for example, standing in the front room of my house in the evenings when my husband gets home, standing right next to our farm room table where we eat dinner each night as I listened to him share about his day. I could see myself standing there with a pebble between my lips, listening to him.

I would be truly listening in that moment, not reacting or having an opinion or chiming in with my own thoughts.

I can see how, over time, this kind of discipline would cultivate a posture of listening that becomes more and more second nature. I can see how it would form us into people who honor those before us as persons who have words to say worth hearing. I can see how it would create greater room for them to share their thoughts and dreams and opinions and experiences without attending to interruptions or another person’s thoughts, words, or opinions in the midst of their own sharing.

Perhaps people would begin to feel the greater worth of their personhood because they experienced our intent to truly hear them rather than have anything necessary to say or add. Perhaps they would feel the space around their personhood enlarge, giving them room to speak more honestly and openly and with a greater degree of vulnerability and truth.

What would it be like to live this way? What would it be like to quiet the urgency within us that wants to speak at every turn and have something we think needs saying? What would it be like to become people of silence instead?

Would you value becoming this sort of person?

Taking Time for Stillness

Yesterday I wrote about the corner in my home that is my sacred space and how it has sat lonely and unused for the last month. This morning was the second in a row that I sat in this corner again and allowed myself to slowly sink into stillness before God in my heart. 

I don’t know about you, but when I don’t take time for stillness, I get so lost.

It is as though I end up rambling aimlessly through a forest of dead trees, a wilderness without any path to be seen, just dead trees everywhere and their brittle branches strewn all over the ground. I slowly pick my way through the branches, attempting not to let the hard, sharp sticks jutting out from the broken branches dig their way into my skin. 

But when I allow myself to be still before God, somehow Jesus finds me. He finds me and places me back on the path. There, he holds my hand and looks into my eyes. He speaks to me, and he listens. We end up walking and talking together, holding hands. A calmness steals over me, and I do not fear losing my way. The path is so evident before us. He is with me. 

Can you relate to this experience? When you take time for stillness, does everything become clear, a path emerging before you as you take time to align yourself with your God?

And when you don’t, do you feel yourself picking carefully through a forest of dead trees and fallen branches and sharp and jutting sticks?

Today, I encourage you to take a moment of stillness in your day. If even for just a few short moments, step away from the demands of life and attempt to quiet your heart. Allow Jesus to find you in the dissembled wilderness of branches and sticks and bring you back to the clear path where he can walk and talk with you. 

What do you discover when you do this?

What Can He Give You?

There’s a small corner in my house that I consider my sacred space. It holds a dark wood antique desk, a black wooden chair draped with a lap blanket, and a tall dark bookshelf that holds my favorite books and meaningful gifts. On the desk is my Bible and current sacred reading, as well as a few symbolic ornaments. Right in my line of sight as I sit at the desk is a small area I call my “wall of grace”: hanging upon it are several symbolic and sacred pieces of artwork that remind me of my heart with God.

This is the place where I meet God. It is the place where, each morning, I take my mug of coffee and sit for an extended period of time in the quiet. I open the white curtains to reveal the foliage and brick-lined street just outside my window, and I breathe a small prayer for God to meet me as I open the pages of Scripture to read.

It is the place where, after having read, I sit and reflect and pray. It is where I type my prayers and thoughts onto pages that I feed through my vintage typewriter and then place into a manila folder that holds all my thoughts and prayers for that particular season of life.

And yet, for the last month or so, I have not spent much time sitting in this sacred corner.

At the beginning of May, I took a 5-day silent retreat on Captiva Island that was profound and formative, but when I returned home I plunged into a season of intense activity and transition.

I researched and wrote the final capstone project for my graduate degree, and I traveled north to Michigan to participate in my graduation festivities. I was offered the opportunity to work on a meaningful project with my church, which led to transitioning out of another work assignment elsewhere. Along the way, my husband received an exciting and fulfilling promotion at work, which has led to a bit of adjustment in our schedules and life at home.

It’s been a season of busyness. Of transition. Of movement. And so my sacred little corner has sat lonely and unused. 

This morning, though, I sat down in this sacred corner once again.

I brought my mug of coffee with me and breathed a small prayer for God to meet me here. I opened the curtains and looked out the window as my little girl kitty sat on my lap and let me rub her ears.

Then I opened to the fourth meditation of With Burning Hearts by Henri Nouwen and read about the ever-giving love of our Christ in these words: 

Jesus is God-for-us, God-with-us, God-within-us. Jesus is God giving himself completely, pouring himself out for us without reserve. Jesus doesn’t hold back or cling to his own possessions. He gives all there is to give.

— With Burning Hearts, p. 83

As I stand on the cusp of a new season in my own life, I find such hope in these words.

My spirit is a bit tired from the previous season of activity and all the endings and transitions it has held. My heart aches from a lack of time spent here in this quiet corner with God over these past several weeks. My mind races with all there is to do in the weeks and months ahead of this new season before me.

I sit and wonder how I am to behold this new season. I wonder what kind of wisdom and guidance from God will be needed.

I read these words above from Henri Nouwen, and I remember: 

Jesus gives himself to us completely. 

All we need to receive, he will give. All we need to know, he will teach. What can he give to us? All we need to do is ask. He freely gives to us his whole self. In what he gives, there is never any lack.

And so I ask you to consider:

How might you need to receive what Jesus has to give to you this day? What does receiving from God look like for you right now? If you take just a moment to consider, what is it God can give to you?

How Does He Heal You?

As an Easter gift, my husband gave me a copy of Henri Nouwen’s book With Burning Hearts, a collection of meditations on the Eucharistic life based on Luke 24, which is the passage about the two companions joined by Jesus on the road to Emmaus after his death.

The first meditation centers on the downcast eyes and spirits of the two sojourners were were so sad to have followed Jesus throughout his life of ministry, only to see him crucified. They spoke to Jesus, not realizing who he was, of the reports they’d heard from some of the disciples about his possible resurrection, but they’d not seen the risen Christ for themselves and didn’t know what to think. 

Through this first portion of the Luke 24 passage, Nouwen gives us an opportunity to remember the reality of our losses. He says: 

If there is any word that summarizes well our pain, it is the word “loss.” We have lost so much! Sometimes it even seems that life is just one long series of losses. When we were born we lost the safety of the womb, when we went to school we lost the security of our family life, when we got our first job we lost the freedom of youth, when we got married or ordained we lost the joy of many options, and when we grew old we lost our good looks, our old friends, or our fame.

— With Burning Hearts, p. 24

I could not help but be taken back into my many losses when I read this meditation. Nouwen is right: ordinary life is one long string of losses, and it becomes easy to despair. And instead of choking out the reality of those losses, Nouwen encourages us to feel them, to let them touch us and prick our hearts.

These losses are part of our human experience. They put us in touch with the limits and agony of human life in order to point us toward the hope of heaven and make us vulnerable to love, which heals us.

This is the hope of the Eucharist, Nouwen says — the opportunity to open ourselves to the possibility and hope of healing, which we carry with us through the darkness:

As we listen carefully to the deeper voices in our heart we realize that beneath our skepticism and cynicism there is a yearning for love, unity, and communion that doesn’t go away even when there remain so many arguments to dismiss it as sentimental childhood memories.

— With Burning Hearts, pp. 40-41

Despite our pain and brokenness, and in the midst of our cynicism and doubt, hope remains. And that is the gift of Christ: the reality of the grace of new life. 

This morning, I also read Mark 3, which relates the following: 

Jesus went off with his disciples to the sea to get away [from the Pharisees who sought to ruin him]. But a huge crowd from Galilee trailed after them — also from Judea, Jerusalem, Idumea, across the Jordan, and around Tyre and Sidon — swarms of people who had heard the reports and had come to see for themselves. He told his disciples to get a boat ready so he wouldn’t be trampled by the crowd. He had healed many people, and now everyone who had something wrong was pushing and shoving to get near and touch him.

— Mark 3:7-10, The Message

It says, “He had healed many people, and everyone who had something wrong was pushing and shoving to get near him.” 

When I read this, I can’t help but think of the reality of that statement spread far and wide throughout the course of Christ’s ministry. Everywhere he went, people followed him. Men and women sought to be near him in order to be healed or gain healing for those they loved. Even after he died, people flocked to his disciples because they, too, offered the hope of healing. 

He came to heal us from our pain of body and soul. 

One of my favorite passages of Scripture is the ministry of healing found in Isaiah 61 and quoted later in Luke 4 as Christ’s ordained mission: 

The Spirit of the Lord God is upon Me,
Because the Lord has anointed Me
To preach good tidings to the poor;
He has sent Me to heal the brokenhearted,
To proclaim liberty to the captives,
And the opening of the prison to those who are bound;
To proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord,
And the day of vengeance of our God;
To comfort all who mourn,
To console those who mourn in Zion,
To give them beauty for ashes,
The oil of joy for mourning,
The garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness;
That they may be called trees of righteousness,
The planting of the Lord, that He may be glorified.

— Isaiah 61:1-3

How can we read those words and not find hope and gladness? The one we follow, called Jesus, came to heal us of our brokenness, to forgive us of all we have done wrong, to draw us near and cherish us with a close embrace, and to crown us with beauty instead of ashes.

He wants to crown you with beauty instead of ashes. 

Do you believe that to be true? In the reality of your brokenness and despair, how have you sought the hope of healing for body and soul that Christ offers you? How might you seek after that healing he offers you today?

How Do You Approach Jesus?

I’ve been listening to a podcast before bed every night called Pray as You Go. (I highly recommend it.) Each day, there’s a new recording with a bit of sacred music, a Scripture reading, and an opportunity for reflection and prayer on the Scripture passage. Each recording lasts about 10-13 minutes, and I find it to be a centering and grace-filled way to end each day. 

Last night, the Scripture reading was from Matthew 15. It was a story about a woman who comes calling after Jesus in a crowd to heal her daughter, who is afflicted by a demonic spirit. In the story, Jesus doesn’t respond to her at first, and his disciples ask Jesus to tell her to go away because they think she’s quite disruptive. But she persists and keeps asking Jesus to help her. At one point she lands on her knees and begs him. But still he resists. Yet even when he persists in resisting, she persists in asking … until finally he answers her plea.

I’ll be honest and say that upon first hearing this passage on the podcast last night, all I could think about was how much it bothered me that Jesus resisted her. It distracted me that he did this, especially because I know Jesus to be fully accessible to anyone who wants to know him. 

But instead of asking me to reflect on my initial response, the reader of the passage on the podcast asked a different question: 

Put yourself in the crowd. What do you hear? 

I started thinking about all the other voices in the crowd. How many of them judged this woman for crying out over and over again to Jesus to get his attention? How annoyed were they? What did they say as they whispered among themselves about her? How many verbally cut her down? 

And then I noticed: I would do the same.

In fact, I was doing the same thing. It bothered me that she would come so boldly in a crowd to receive something from Jesus — the one person in that mass of people that everyone else wanted to touch and hear and see, too. What made her so special that she would be the one to make the most noise and get the most attention?

Then the reader asked a second question: 

What do you see? 

I saw a woman bold enough to throw herself at Jesus’s feet. I saw someone who didn’t care about her reputation because she knew exactly what she wanted and cared more about getting it than getting anything else. I saw her tears, her distress, and her despair at her daughter’s pain. I saw her great hope in Jesus to heal. Hope shone through her eyes, even as tears flowed from them. 

Then in the passage, we see a even stranger exchange between the woman and Jesus. He calls her a dog! (The reader notes this was a word the Jews commonly used for non-Jews at the time.) And yet the woman is able to use that name “to her advantage,” says the reader. She can hold her own with Jesus. She can match his wits. 

And that makes all the difference. Jesus gives her what she wants.

I think Jesus knew she had great faith. There are many passages in the Gospels that speak of Jesus’s ability to know the hearts of those standing before him. Her heart was not unknown to him, even as he resisted her in the crowd. 

And yet he waited. He walked on. He let her throw herself in front of him. He resisted her with cultural norms. And then, eventually, he awarded her for her faith.

I found myself wondering: would I have that kind of faith? How boldly do I approach Jesus?

This whole experience made me think of you. It made me want to ask you these same questions: 

How do you approach Jesus? Are you bold? Shy? Skittish? Demanding? Do you ask him anything at all? Do you expect him to respond? What would it be like for you to demonstrate the kind of faith this woman did?

What Would You Say to God?

Lately, we’ve been talking about prayer:

… how prayer can mean finding a few quiet moments to sit before God in simplicity and honesty.

… how our concept of God evolves and shifts and yet always connects to the ways we pray.

Today, I want to invite you to consider your side of the conversation in prayer. Specifically:

What would you say to God today?

Before you answer this question, I want to encourage you to listen — really listen — to what your heart’s voice has to say.

Did you know your heart has a voice? It does.

It is the part of your being that makes up who you really are. It lives at the very center of your being, and it speaks the truth of what you believe. It’s where your true identity and your core beliefs commingle and dwell together. It is what God sees when looking upon you, and it is where God wants to meet you in relationship.

The regular pace of life doesn’t create a hospitable environment for the heart to speak. Life keeps us busy, and distractions abound, and the sheer noise of the world becomes so utterly loud. 

The heart must be invited to speak in order to be heard. It requires that we take the time to listen. To care. To lean in and really hear.

So today, for a moment, come apart from the noise and distractions.

Take a moment. Still yourself.  

When you become very quiet and listen to the truest voice pulsing deep at the center of your being … what does it have to say? And can you speak those words directly to God?

What Is Your Concept of God?

Yesterday I posted a simple prayer exercise that invites you to come, simple and unadorned, before God for a few quiet moments. As part of the prayer exercise, you are invited to turn your attention to God in the quiet and just sit there, being with God.

Today, I want to acknowledge that our concept of God affects the way we experience — or even consider approaching — an exercise like this. 

Let me share with you some examples.

Early in my spiritual journey, I had a concept of God as a white-haired old man who sat on a throne way up in the heavens and commanded all things wrong and right. He had a scepter in his hand and a scowl on his face. He was holy and righteous and had very high standards for humanity. 

He was not a very compassionate God at all.

But I submitted to the reality of this God and became a young woman who strove to fulfill this God’s expectations. I cared about right and wrong. I cared about holiness. I tried to live an upright life. I felt exceedingly sad when I fell short.

My prayer journals during these many years of my life were filled with lamentations of wrong-doing and pleas with God to help me be better. They were also filled with a certain assumption that my own standard of holiness somehow pleased God and put him “on my side.”

I don’t recall ever sitting in silence before this God at all.

A bit later in my spiritual journey, I decided to spend a few months reading straight through the Gospels of the New Testament. I did this with the intent of getting to know Jesus and why he might matter to my life. 

Through the course of immersing myself in the Gospels, I fell in love with Jesus. He was everything that white-haired Zeus in the sky was not.

He gave me a different concept of God entirely. 

This Jesus was the perfect embodiment of love and compassion and kindness and mercy. He was infinitely personal. He cared about my heart. He would look me in the eyes and really listen. He spoke words of truth, but with a gentleness that both disarmed and invited. 

Ultimately, through Jesus, I discovered a God who wanted to know me. 

This, too, affected the way I approached God. Slowly, I began to share with God my heart. I began to listen to what God might want to say back. It grew into a real experience of relationship.

Over time, as I’ve continue to walk the path of my spiritual journey, I’ve learned that my concept of God continues to evolve as I grow in my knowledge of who God really is.

I believe this is a life-long process. 

It’s also one toward which God carries infinite patience with us. Part of the mystery of God coming to earth in the form of a human is a demonstration of that patience. Jesus came to meet us where we are, rather than expecting us to meet him up where he is.

So, consider where you are. 

What concept of God do you have right now? How does that concept affect the way you relate to God in prayer?

Sitting Quietly in Prayer

“Here’s what I want you to do: Find a quiet, secluded place so you won’t be tempted to role-play before God. Just be there as simply and honestly as you can manage. The focus will shift from you to God, and you will begin to sense his grace.”

— Jesus’ words in Matthew 6:6, The Message

The last few times I have turned to the book of Matthew in my devotional times, I’ve gotten stuck at this one verse. I read it over and over and marvel at its gentle simplicity. Jesus invites us to center ourselves into a silence of prayer and then to just be there before God “as simply and honestly as [we] can manage.” 

Just be before God.

Have you ever prayed that way before? What is it like for you to come before God that way? Is it hard? Is it a relief? 

If you’ve never tried this as a form of prayer before, what is it like for you to consider being this way with God? Is it scary? Is it difficult? Does it intrigue you?

Today, I want to encourage you to try this.

Take five minutes apart from your normal routine and sit quietly in a place uncluttered by any distraction.

As you sit there, remove all the heavy trappings of normal life weighing upon your shoulders, your back, your mind. Set them down, one by one, to the side of you.

Then focus your attention on God.

Sit wordlessly with God for a moment. Experience what it is like to sit quietly and simply before God, unadorned by any other thing. Sit this way with God for as long as you want or are able.

After this time of quietness before God, reflect on what this experience of prayer was like for you. Did you speak any words to God? Did God speak any words to you? Did you experience any feelings?

Consider whether this is an exercise you would like to try again sometime.

If you would like to share your experience, you are welcome to do so in the comments below.

Time for a New Turn: Journey Toward Nonviolence

Dear friends,

Thank you for being patient with me through this new life transition.

The truth is, there has been more than one transition taking place right now for me. Yes, there has been the new commitment to full-time work, and that has been a great new commitment in my life.

But there’s also been a continuing concern for the subject of nonviolence. 

It’s a subject that preoccupies my mind regularly. I encounter situations that make me wonder what the nonviolent response would be. Or I recognize places of unlove in my heart and wonder how God could implant a greater heart of charity in that place instead. Or I find myself wondering about others who are walking a similar path. What would it be like to connect with them over these ideas? How might we encourage one another and learn together?

For a while, I thought I could somehow do both: explore spiritual formation and prayer alongside nonviolence, either in this space or in two different online spaces. But given the commitments on my plate right now, my energy and time are limited. I simply couldn’t do either one justice if I tried to do both.

So I’ve made a decision. I’m committing to the subject of nonviolence. I’ve begun a new online space solely for that purpose, and you’re welcome to join me there.

It’s called Journey Toward Nonviolence.

I’m going to be closing down this website in the near future. I’m so sorry if this news disappoints readers who had found a safe home here. I had every intention of providing a greater sense of resource and community around the subject of spiritual formation when I began hosting this space.

But life is funny sometimes … sometimes it takes you down a road you least expected, and you find yourself unwilling to resist following the path. 

That’s where I find myself right now with this nonviolence concern. I don’t know where the path will lead, but I need to follow it … and I need to explore it out loud with others who are interested in exploring it, too. 

You are welcome to join me if the subject interests you, and I do hope you will! If you’d rather connect on a more personal level, please feel free to friend me on Facebook … that’s where I’ll be maintaining a more social presence for now. :)

Thanks for joining me for the journey here. I wish you well. 

Love,

Christianne

Noticing God in Everyday Life

The past couple weeks have been full of many surprising adventures!

Front and center is the unexpected trip I took to the Pacific Northwest for my new job. I had so much fun and made unforgettable memories too numerous to count with my new co-workers. So many aspects of that trip created a solid foundation for our team to bond while sharing compelling, incarnational work experiences together. 

While there, I even had a chance to share a great conversation over dessert with the lovely Kirsten Michelle and her loving hubby, James. That was such a treat and a gift. Thank you, my friend, for taking that time with me!

Then there are all the fun surprises and adventures I’ve been encountering back home in our local office! Our company is doing such a superb job preparing us well for the work we’ll be doing together. We’re having a blast as we go along.

Kirk gets quite a kick out of my exuberant downloads at the end of each day. But usually after that high-energy download and a bit of dinner, I crash. This is my naturally introverted self learning how to hit the recharge button. :)

It will be interesting, as I resume classes with Spring Arbor next week, to see how my course-load responsibilities come alongside and support my work life. It seems serendipitous that I’m beginning with a course called “Spirituality in Everyday Life,” geared toward noticing how God shows up in the nooks and crannies of daily life. This ties in well with my recent prayer that God would help me learn how to notice him in the midst of busyness.

As I’m adjusting to these new aspects of life for the next few weeks, I expect to be keeping a lighter presence in this space. It feels important to give myself room to take in these new experiences, focus on learning to do my work well, and keep myself as rested, refreshed, and nourished as possible.

(However, I will mention as an aside that I’ve rejoined Facebook after my 7-month hiatus. If you’d like to be connected in a more informal, ongoing basis that way, send me a friend request — and be sure to mention you’re a reader of this blog if we’ve never personally connected before.)

And in this moment, I’d love to hear from you: What opportunities are you being invited to notice, receive, and relish right now?

Celebrating 31

Today is a special day for several reasons: 

1. It is my 31st birthday. 
2. It is the official start date of my new and beautifully amazing job.
3. I spent the day meeting a great group of co-workers while traveling across the country in an unexpected training trip to the Pacific Northwest. (!!!)
4. I have the privilege of sharing this day with the honorable Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

As I write this, there are 10 minutes left of West Coast time on my birthday. In these last moments of the day, I thought I’d share a quick list of 31 things I’m celebrating and/or thankful for right now. So without further ado, here goes … 

My “Celebrating 31” List:

• A beautiful children’s book on peace my friend Katy gave to me. 
• Laughter.
• Access to water. 
• Food, shelter, and clothing.
• A heart that breaks for redemption and peace.
• A voice that loves to sing worship to Jesus.
• Follow Me to Freedom, a cool book by Shane Claiborne and John M. Perkins that Kirk gave me for Christmas.
• My silver butterfly ring, another Christmas gift from Kirkum.
• The chance to work for an amazing company with an incredible mission and a unique approach, alongside a group of truly talented, good-hearted, and enthusiastic people.
• Sudoku puzzles.
• Free wi-fi.
• Quiet moments.
• My 2010 Moleskine notebook planner.
• Text messaging.
• My nonviolence mentors over this past year: Gandhi, MLKJ, Thomas Merton, Dorothy Day, Nelson Mandela, Mother Teresa, and John Dear.
• Grits.
• My MSFL cohort at Spring Arbor.
• My spiritual director and my Audire supervisor.
• Prayer.
• Diva and Solomon.
• Kirk’s smile.
• Zoey, the white Jetta that keeps on going, even at 130,000 miles.
• Brother Merton, my vintage Smith-Corona typewriter.
• New glasses.
• Health.
• Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova. (Great music. Check out the Once soundtrack or the new Swell Season CD.)
• Beauty.
• Contentment in who God created me to be.

Thanks for sharing a few moments of this special day with me! I’d love to turn the question back to you: What are you thankful for in this moment?

Interiorities: "Restore My Soul"

I’ve just returned from a week’s stay in snowy Michigan as part of a residency requirement for my graduate program. It was a week spent laughing, sharing, learning, crying, listening, thinking, and worshiping with my dear cohort friends and the many others met along the way. 

The day before I left on this trip, as I folded my laundry in preparation, I found myself uttering a heart-prayer over and over:

“Restore my soul.”

Restore my soul, restore my soul, restore my soul. 

I realized this was my prayer for the week ahead. In being taken out of the dailiness of a regular routine, and in preparation for the new season of work-life ahead when I returned, my heart kept asking Jesus to come and restore my soul. It had become such a parched and thirsty soul over the past several months of busyness.

Oh, how beautifully God answered this prayer.

In quiet moments like these, God returned my heart to itself and to himself: 

• Through the beauty of a snow scene, I found the beauty of God. I stepped outside my cabin on the very first morning to be greeted by a shocking-white snow scene. All was quiet. Small dusts of snowflakes fell lightly on my face and hair and jacket. The cold air heightened my senses. It was quietly beautiful. I couldn’t help but tell God how beautiful he is.

• Through noticing small incarnational moments, I discovered the ache in my soul that springs forth in longing for God. I completed several short reflective exercises on the first day of the residency that had me noticing different ways God meets me in my daily life. Moments like the attentive presence of my little girl kitty, the sparkling beauty of the sun on a lake, the mystical romance of hanging moss on trees. Through these reflective exercises, I was reminded that I always feel a strong and stirring ache deep down in my soul in these moments of surprising connection with God’s presence and beauty. It’s a reminder that my heart has a continually unsatisfied longing for God. 

• Through a time of prayer, I wept at the sight of God’s beauty. While sitting among a group of friends at dinner, I became aware of my heart’s longing for prayer. It was a longing I hadn’t felt for quite some time, so I paid attention. I excused myself and headed to the 24/7 prayer room: a darkened room lit by candles, piles of pillows on the floor, and an ample supply of tissues. As I listened to a particular worship song on my iPod, tears streamed down my face. The beauty of the Lord loomed closer, the communion of our hearts grew stronger, and I could not help but cry at the sight of his beauty. 

• Through a brisk, cold walk, my body praised God with vigorous movement. After that time of prayer in the 24/7 prayer room, my body needed to move — and preferably in the cold night air. I pulled on my winter cap and gloves, buttoned my jacket close, and turned up the worship tunes on my iPod. I may or may not have been singing loudly as I tramped along the circular pathway. :) 

I’m so very thankful for the way God met me in those moments. I had cried out for him to restore my soul, and he presented himself to me for deep, long drinks of himself. I could not help but adore him in response.

What about you: What has been your own heart’s prayer to God these days? How have you seen him responding to that prayer?

Interiorities: "You're Valuable"

I shared in my recent life update video that the past few months have been an unexpectedly overwhelming season of busyness. I got to a place where it finally became too much, and so to recover my place of centeredness I went through an intentional process of discernment. I created a “tree of life” diagram and then made some decisions about which branches should stay on the tree or be cut off. 

I thought in making these decisions, that life would become easier. That it would flow more freely. And it did, for a spell. 

But then the holidays came. And we went out of town. And then committed to lots of intentional planning for the upcoming year. And then it was time to begin preparing for my January residency in Michigan. And that meant finishing out all the other last-minute details needing my attention before going out of town and starting a full-time job.

I leave on Friday for 8 days, and when I return I’ll launch straight into my new work.

It’s an exciting time, full of purpose and meaning, and I can’t wait to discover what’s ahead. But this morning I realized this means I’m in the final days of a season that has marked the last two and a half years of my life. 

I can count the remaining days of this beloved, bohemian lifestyle on the fingers of just one hand.

So there are feelings of loss right now. And a recognition that the quiet, slow-paced days that my soul most naturally inhabits are really now at an end. My summer of solitude marked the end of those days, without my realizing that it was so. Life has been non-stop busy ever since, and will continue to be so as I juggle an invigorating full-time commitment, a graduate program, a spiritual direction training program, a heartfelt ministry to incarcerated individuals, and this lovely online space right here.

And the truth is, I’m learning that I don’t know how to connect to God well in the midst of all this busyness. My most natural place of connection to God is in the quiet, contemplative spaces. That’s where I fell in love with Jesus. That’s where I learned how to listen to my heart. That’s where I learned how to pray. 

But when things get all stirred up and a bustle of activity swirls all around me, I lose sight of God. I even lose sight of myself. 

Today, in a much-needed session with my spiritual director, I discovered how much the busyness spins me away from God and myself. And in the season ahead that will be full of life and vibrancy and so much activity and involvement in so many things, I wonder what that will mean. 

Perhaps it means learning to relate to God inside the busyness.

At least, that’s the possibility that emerged during my session. And I wasn’t sure what I thought of it. After all, I don’t know how to relate to God in this place. How do I even begin? And does it mean giving up the precious connection with God I find in contemplative, still spaces? What if this new way isn’t enough?

Thankfully, something happened inside the session to make me more ready and open to learning some new ways of prayer.

There came a moment when my director invited me to voice to God the busyness. “If you look into the mystery that is God, can you just voice those words to him? Tell him those words, ‘I’m busy?’”

It was an admission I found difficult.

Again, God hasn’t been present with me inside the busyness. I’ve been trying to handle it all on my own. But to admit it, finally, to God? That felt hard. 

However, those specific words she used about voicing this truth to the mystery of God were helpful. They connected in my mind to the great sense of swirling chaos I have been feeling inside all this busyness of life. So I imagined me, inside this swirling chaos, looking out at the great mystery that is God. 

Quietly, with tears rolling down my face, I said in a very small voice: “I’m busy.”

In that image of my life as a swirling chaos that I was holding in that prayerful moment, I could see myself as a very small speck inside of it. A bright speck, but a tiny one, trying to harness all that swirly-ness and chaos on my own.

And in the midst of that twister-like chaos, I heard God say to me, “You’re valuable.” 

Those two words. Wow.

To a tiny speck in mad, swirling chaos, those two words nearly knocked me off my feet.

I’m valuable? Me? A tiny speck? 

Yes. 

To the master of the universe, I’m valuable. He sees me. Even in the midst of the madness, I exist. I matter. I’m valuable. 

Thank you, Jesus. 

Perhaps if God sees me in all my swirly chaos — not only sees me but finds me irrevocably valuable — I can begin to consider how to meet him inside the busy places. Perhaps I can learn how to connect to him in the active, non-stop moments. 

After all, he sees me in those places. And if he sees me, perhaps I can see him, too.

Word for the Year: Integrity

Last year for Christmas, Kirk presented me with a question-card that asked two questions: “What is God trying to free me from?” and “How does he want me to live?”

This resulted in a reflection process that led me to a season of active rest. 

It was a season of asking God to demonstrate himself as the Father who provides for all our needs. And as I wrote here, he did demonstrate that truth with great alacrity in the first few months of the year. He even repeated the demonstration several more times in later months through the way different opportunities continued to present themselves to us. 

And then, as I shared in my life update video more recently, I bumped up against this truth yet again in the way God led me to my new job. (It starts just two weeks from today — I’m so excited!)

Needless to say, the practice of holding an intentional question for the year was incredibly fruitful for us. So this year, we did it again. 

In the days leading up to New Year’s Eve, Kirk and I considered a lot of questions. We kept sifting through them to find the singular question that could frame the year ahead for each of us. And the question I kept coming back to was: 

“What does it look like to live with increasing integrity?”

This has a lot to do with what I shared in my life update video. I shared about the challenge of the past few months of life and how I eventually completed an intentional discernment process to make some hard decisions about my commitments.

The words I kept using during the discernment process were congruence and harmony. These words helped me remember that I was seeking to unify my inner convictions with my outer life. 

In the end, this is all about integrity.

Congruence and harmony concern my commitments. Integrity concerns how I live. Congruence and harmony supply the “what.” Integrity supplies the “how.”

I want to live what I believe. I want to speak honestly to others, and with kindness. I want to represent the truth of who I am always, not just where it feels safe. I want to share who I truly am with those I meet and engage on a regular and not-so-regular basis. 

I want to do this with greater and greater freedom, each and every day. Hopefully, it will soon become the most natural thing of all. 

What about you: how are you intending to live with greater intentionality in the coming year?