Learning Your Heart: Acknowledge Those Subtle Intimations

I mentioned in yesterday’s post that there came a point of reckoning for me at age 19 that I didn’t know the truth of my own heart. Jesus — God — clearly cared about the heart, but then I saw lots of people in the Bible who thought they knew God and were close to God but clearly didn’t know God at all. 

What kept them from God, I learned through getting to know Jesus, was their lack of awareness of the truth of their hearts.

So I had to spend time learning my own heart. And then I had to learn how to bring that truth of my heart into relationship with God. 

How did that happen?

Truthfully, it’s been an ongoing process. The heart is cavernous, and its layers unfurl and unfurl over a lifetime. This is why our relationship with God is able to keep on growing — because we keep on growing and discovering new truths inside our hearts that we can bring into relationship with God. 

But over the next few days, I’m going to write a few posts here that speak to some of the things I learned in those earliest of days about getting to know my heart. I’ll also share some of the ways I continue to get in touch with the truth of my heart before God today. I’m calling this short series “Learning Your Heart.” 

So, where is one place to start learning the truth of your heart? 

I’d say one place to begin is to acknowledge those subtle intimations. You know the ones I’m talking about. It’s those thoughts that flit through your mind on occasion that unsettle you, those things you push away pretty quickly because you think they don’t make sense or would disrupt the status quo of your life, those thoughts and hopes and feelings that seem out of the question to you or those you know. 

I’ve shared before that, for me, one of those subtle intimations was my inability to really get what grace was about. I grew up in the church and sang all the songs, read all the scriptures, and could spit out, verbatim, what it meant to be a Christian. It meant believing we were saved by grace and depended on Jesus to give us access to God.

But there was a nagging thought that visited while singing worship songs and reading verses in the Bible and talking about this faith: What is grace, really? And do I really need it? I want to honor God with my life, and God knows that. Truthfully, I do a pretty good job with my life. Since God knows my intention to honor and please him, why do I really need grace? 

These are unsettling thoughts for a Christian, to say the least. 

But I didn’t understand it. And learning my heart meant acknowledging that truth. 

Here’s the good news. God wants a relationship with the real people we actually are. That’s why learning the truth of our hearts is so critical — knowing the truth of our hearts is what brings us into authentic relationship with God.

So one place we can start is by acknowledging those subtle intimations that we have.

What subtle intimations do you have? What thoughts or hopes or struggles or feelings stumble into your awareness at times, only to get pushed away? What if you stopped and really acknowledged their existence? 

Do You Struggle to Know Your Heart?

Yesterday we talked about the religious leaders of Jesus’ day and how they didn’t get along with Jesus at all. We talked about their motivation to keep the rules and abide by laws in order to impress God and people. For them, life was about managing an image and trying to remain firmly in control of that image.

But then Jesus came around and turned their ideas completely upside-down. 

He said things like, “When you pray, don’t do it for show. Go into a secret place and talk to God, just you and him. That’s when your prayers will ring true.” And, “When you fast, don’t let people know. Do it in secret, between you and God. That’s when your motivation will be pure.”

He talked about the heart being the place where our treasures lie. He talked about knowing our own shortcomings instead of focusing on the shortcomings of others. He told many of the people he met what was true about them, and they were always amazed at just how well he knew who they really were.

There are so many instances that show Jesus cares deeply about what’s true inside of us. 

When I first realized this was a pretty big deal to God, it was such a mystery to me. I wasn’t so sure I really knew what was true inside of me.

And truthfully, when I read the pages of the Gospels that first time, I was surprised to see so much of myself in those religious leaders — I hadn’t realized that was true of me until it stared me right in the face. 

Also, I had lived like those religious leaders for so long, I thought everything I did was pure and impressive to God. 

I didn’t know my heart at all. 

It took me a long time to learn my heart — to get to know what was really there.

In the next few posts I write here, I’m going to share some of the things I learned about that process with you — ways I learned to get in touch with the reality of my heart. Perhaps you will find it helpful to your own process of discovery and self-knowledge before God. But for today, I’m wondering: 

Have you ever struggled to know the truth of your heart? Is it a priority to you to know your heart? What do you think of Jesus’ emphasis on this? 

Are You in Touch With Your Heart?

I remember the first time I really spent time getting to know Jesus (you can learn more about that time in my life in this video post here), I was struck by the disparity between the religious leaders of the day and Jesus.

They didn’t get along with Jesus at all, and he didn’t get along with them. And the reason why, I came to realize, was because they cared more than anything about keeping laws and abiding by rule books. What’s more, they cared about these things in order to impress God and impress people. 

They were caught up in their reputations and their own social image. 

But then Jesus came along and said, “This isn’t the way to God. Abiding by rules and protecting your image isn’t going to captivate God’s heart.”

What is going to captivate God’s heart? 

Being in touch with your own heart and bringing that reality to God.

When Jesus came on the scene, he went straight to this truth. He told those religious leaders — in not so endearing terms! — that they had no idea what was truly going on inside themselves. They were so focused on outward appearances and external activities that they were completely out of touch with their inner truth. They had no idea what truly motivated them to do what they did.

Are you aware of what’s true inside your heart? Is there anything that scares you about inspecting your heart and then letting God see it?

What Are You Disciplined To?

Lately I’ve been thinking quite a bit about the choices we make and the usefulness of commitments and boundaries. Want to think along with me about this for a few minutes?

I’ve shared here before that Kirk and I have begun honoring the seventh day of each week with a day of rest. This has been so helpful to us (when we’re able to keep our commitment to it!), as it helps us slow down and attend to the rejuvenation of our bodies, minds, and spirits. It creates a natural day of connection for us. It keeps us humble and mindful that the world will not stop spinning if we don’t keep pace with it. 

Last week, we began moving toward another new commitment: keeping the hours of 9PM-9AM for quietness and togetherness in our home. 

There was a time in my life where I would have viewed these kind of commitments as rigid.

I would have viewed making and keeping an informal “rule of life” as opposed to the grace of God. I would have felt myself and my needs minimized in favor of rules and rule-keeping. 

But I don’t view it that way anymore. 

Sure, there is a way of making and keeping rules that can be rather rigid. There is a way of conducting our lives according to certain boundaries and expectations that create a sense of confinement instead of grace and freedom. 

But there is also a way of creating a lifestyle of commitment and boundaries that leads to self-care.

The day of sabbath and the 9PM-9AM quiet hours is like that for us.

These commitments also have the effect of clearly establishing our priorities and keeping us mindful of what most matters to us. Also, I’ve noticed these clear boundaries create a measure of freedom for me. They make decision-making easy. When something crops up that would require me to work and toil on a Sunday or in the hours we’ve designated for our home life, I can more easily say no. Those are times I’m no longer available. Decision-making: easy. 

What about you? Do you have certain disciplines you observe in your daily life? Do they create freedom for you? Do they make you feel caged in? Is there a way you might observe certain disciplines in a more helpful, self-caring way in your life?

All the Poor and Powerless

If you can’t see the video player on your e-mail or RSS feed, click through to view it. 

Hello, friends. 

I like to share music here from time to time that has made an impression on me and might also mean something to you. 

This morning, it’s a song called “All the Poor and Powerless” by a duo called All Sons and Daughters that I recently discovered. I have been listening to this song on repeat while writing the daily posts here this week, and this morning I woke with the chorus of this song running through my mind. 

There’s something comforting and mournful about this song at the same time. There’s a sense of compassion in it, but also a sense of triumph. 

I hope it encourages you. 

xoxo,

Christianne 

The Light Is Bright, but It's Good

I’ve been sharing with you lately about the image of a city that Jesus keeps giving to me regarding you. It is a huge and massive city inhabited by a great many people. Tall buildings have been erected in that place. People live and work inside those buildings. It is a busy and bustling city, and everyone moves around inside it, doing what they are expected to do. 

But their hearts lack hope. 

This is the place where Jesus has entered and is setting out to find and give you life. 

I mentioned in one of those previous posts that he is unrelenting in his plans to find you — that he will seek out every nook and cranny and even the dark and hidden corners in order to bring you the life and love that he has to offer you. 

This morning, I sat with that image of dark and hidden corners.

I could see a deep, dark hallway nestled into one of those tall, concrete buildings on a busy thoroughfare. The hallway’s entrance was just off the street. And I could see a person pushed deep into the dark corner of that hallway. 

That dark corner had become their safe place. It had become their home. It had become their place to hide from all that is dark and scary and threatening and unsafe in the outside world, just outside the hallway on the street and beyond. 

Jesus sees that hallway and that person — perhaps that person is you — and is entering into it. 

When I thinking about Jesus entering into that dark hallway to encounter the person hiding there, I can imagine it might feel intimidating.

It makes me think about what happens when I come home late at night and enter the bedroom to turn on the light and find my little girl cat, Diva, asleep on the bed. The sudden infusion of light in the room startles her, and her eyes wince against it. She’s disoriented and not ready to wake up, and it takes a few moments for her to get her bearings and warm up to the idea of being awake and re-engaged with the world around her. 

So I wait for her to adjust to the light, and I stroke her head as I sit and wait. 

I know that once her eyes adjust, the connection we’ll enjoy together in the light is better than the solitude she experienced in the dark. In that dark solitude, she could experience nothing of her surrounding reality. There was only darkness, and she was alone.

But in the light and connection of our shared time together, she receives love and attention and enjoyment and touch. She can play. She can rest. She can ask for what she wants. And she can see so much more of her surroundings. Her reality is broadened. Her experience is more full.

Can you see yourself in this picture? Do you identify with the image of the darkened hallway? What is it like to consider Jesus coming into that place with you, bringing the light of his love and truth to meet you there?

Where Has God Been Present to You?

Tonight I attended a healing prayer service at our episcopal parish and was reminded by our rector of the daily examen prayer. 

Have you heard of the daily examen prayer before? 

This is a daily prayer first introduced by St. Ignatius of Loyola in the 1500s, who said he considered this daily practice to be the most vital spiritual discipline anyone can incorporate into their daily life. He found the benefits of practicing it too rich to miss for even one day. 

What is the daily examen prayer, you ask? 

It is a time set aside at the end of each day to prayerfully review the day you’ve just finished and consider how God has been present in it.

For example, when I sat and prayerfully reviewed my day today for God’s presence, these are some of the things that emerged in my awareness: 

• The gift of an extended coffee date with one of my dearest friends
• A conflict with Kirk that ended in our renewed commitment to each other and our life together
• A couple kind e-mails
• The opportunity to meet with my spiritual director
• The smell of rain
• The granting of an unusual request I made of someone recently
• The joy-filled smile of an elderly woman at church tonight
• A spontaneous opportunity to capture a photograph of some beautiful velvety flowers
• The way Diva (my little girl kitty) sits with me at my desk while I work

These are large or little graces that communicated God’s presence and care toward me today. 

What kind of things would be on your list today? 

When I began practicing the daily examen a few years ago, I found that it increased my sense of gratitude at least ten-fold. I became aware of God’s goodness and presence in my daily life in ways I never would have realized otherwise. It led to an increased sense of well-being and joy because I grew in my trust that God was present and actively working in the nitty-gritty details and tiny moments of my life.

That God would care and attend to my daily realities as much as I came to realize he does really floored me.

These days, I typically practice a different daily examen prayer of sorts at the end of each day by listening to a podcast called Pray as You Go. I’ve mentioned this podcast here before, but it’s a 10-15 minute daily recording that includes a different Scripture reading each day with personal reflection questions and beautiful sacred music that promotes reflection and reverence. I love it.

Today I encourage you to practice the daily examen by prayerfully considering your day and then asking: where has God been present to you in this day? 

It's Love, Not Religion

Recently, a friend of mine who is going through a significant shift in her faith life sent me an e-mail asking the following: 

How do you do it? How do you go from a non-denominational church to an episcopal church? How do you post a prayer from St. Teresa of Avila on your website and still feel close to God? 

I can so relate to these questions.

I never knew the language and practices of church tradition could ever speak to me. I never knew written prayers — the same prayers people have been reading for centuries and are read by me, the same words, over and over again each week now — could speak to my heart in a real and deep way. 

I didn’t know those things could make me feel close to God, given my original church upbringing and experience. But they do. 

Here is what I answered my friend: 

You asked how I can go from a non-denominational church to an episcopal service or put a prayer of Teresa of Avila on my blog and feel close to God. I guess because when I read that prayer of hers or I visit the episcopal church, I feel like they put me in connection with the God I have come to love so much. It comes from a place of love in me that God has helped develop in me over the years. 

No matter what the external practice of our faith looks like — whether we attend a formal or informal church, our prayers take a certain format or are more free-flowing and spontaneous — it’s the inward posture of our heart that makes the difference and matters to God. 

That inward posture God desires in us is one of love. 

Two people can attend the same liturgical church service, say all the same prayers, and go forward for the same invitation to communion but have two totally different experiences. For one, those prayers and that eucharist can touch the deepest places of their heart and connect them to God because their heart is oriented toward reverence and deep desire for God. For the other, those actions can be mere routine, something they do not experience at all in their hearts, something they do because it’s what they’ve always done and think they’re meant to do. 

Where do you fit in this?

Do you have love for God? Do you desire to love God, even if you don’t right now? What moves you toward or away from that love for God in your heart?

Introvert or Extrovert: How Do You Connect to God?

A couple weeks ago, I wrote the following on my Facebook wall:

I am such a homebody. I could be satisfied staying home all day, every day, with occasional trips to Starbucks to spice things up a bit.

A good friend of mine wrote the following response: 

Both sound terrible to me. I’d be depressed from being alone all the time and then adding in burnt & over-syruped coffee would put me over the edge.

As much as his comment made me laugh, it really crystallized for me the difference between an introvert and an extrovert. And it got me wondering: 

How do extroverts and introverts experience God differently? 

This is a website about formation. We talk often here of the inner landscape of the human experience, which is such natural fodder for introverts to think about and discuss (see this article). We talk a lot here, too, about stillness and contemplation and rest — again, such natural preferences and ways of being for introverts. 

What I’m learning is, this site is quite biased toward the introvert’s experience of life and of God!

Again, my friend’s comment got me wondering. How does an extrovert experience God in different ways than I do? Are still moments of contemplation ever helpful for him or her? What kinds of things draw them nearer and close to God than the things I usually do? Do extroverts reflect on their spiritual life and experiences the way introverts are prone to do? 

Which naturally leads me to want to ask you:

Are you an introvert or an extrovert? Do you find that your introversion or extroversion influences how you best connect to God? What are the ways you prefer connecting to God?

What Are the Wounds?

We’ve been talking quite a bit about Jesus’s passion for you and how he is coming to the places where you are. And last week, I asked you to consider whether you want to be found by him. 

Today, I’d like you to consider the wounds that he might heal. 

I love that in the Gospels, Jesus is all about the normal people who know their need for him. He hung out with fishermen — talk about salt-of-the-earth kind of people! He also spent time with the hated tax collectors and befriended prostitutes. 

He didn’t hang out with the highly religious folks who thought they knew everything and did everything right. 

For instance, there’s this great exchange between Jesus and a bunch of religious leaders one day who criticized him about this very thing: 

Later when Jesus was eating supper at Matthew’s house with his close followers, a lot of disreputable characters came and joined them. When the Pharisees saw him keeping this kind of company, they had a fit, and lit into Jesus’ followers. “What kind of example is this from your Teacher, acting cozy with crooks and riffraff?”

Jesus, overhearing, shot back, “Who needs a doctor: the healthy or the sick? Go figure out what this Scripture means: ‘I’m after mercy, not religion.’ I’m here to invite outsiders, not coddle insiders.”

— Matthew 9:11-13

Jesus came to heal those who were sick. That’s the message he preached over and over — remember the very first words he spoke about his mission and ministry? 

And those who were sick wanted to be near him. He brought good and welcome news to them, indeed. 

What about you? Do you have the kind of experience of life where you know your need for Jesus and for healing? Are you aware of your wounds? In what ways are you sick and in need of healing?

Remembering the Grace that Abounds

My kitty Diva, who so often teaches me vulnerability.

I mentioned in yesterday’s post that I’ve been wrestling with the superhuman tendency again. This morning, as I sat in the quiet with Jesus for the first time in several days, I could feel the effects of so much strain. My body was tired, my mind was tired, and my spirit and heart were particularly weary. 

I could feel, sitting there with Jesus this morning, how much the superhuman tendency creates an incredible dependence on myself and my own strength.

I’m not free to simply be. I’m not free to connect in real ways with others. And I’m certainly not in a posture to receive God’s grace. 

It’s almost as though, when in superhuman mode, we gear up with so much armor. We’re like young David going into battle with Goliath wearing the too-big and too-heavy armor of his king. That armor is heavy. When wearing it, it wears us down and wears us out. It creates an always-present awareness of navigating our way around the world with that heavy armor braced upon on all our limbs and vulnerable places.

We’re not free, and we’re always straining against heaviness with all the strength we can muster from inside ourselves.

But this morning, Jesus reminded me of his grace. 

It is a grace that abounds, more and more, always. It reminds me that I belong to him and no one else — not even myself.

And in belonging to him, he decides and declares my worth. 

The incredible thing about belonging to God is that we always win. We receive infinite worth, unending love, and a grace that never ends. 

Would you like to receive the gift of that grace from God today? 

Negating the Superhuman: Drinking in the Present Moment

Over the last several days, the superhuman tendency has shown up for me again. And as I’ve watched it lurking around, controlling what I do and how I do it, I’ve noticed some more things about it.

I’ve noticed that the superhuman tendency makes me impervious to real feelings and experiences. I’m never fully present to what’s happening around me when I’m in this mode. Instead, my mind is always whirring on the next Big Thing. People and experiences become transactional. Sometimes they feel like distractions from what I need to get done.

When in superhuman mode, I’m also quite resistant to slowing down. I get out of touch with God. I’m unable to sit still. 

The last several days, that has manifested itself in a dearth of quiet stillness before God, which is unusual for me. I’ve noticed a bit of going-through-the-motions while doing things I normally enjoy, or an avoidance of those things altogether.

Finding my true, still center has taken a lot of effort the last few days. I haven’t always been successful at finding it, either.

But a few moments ago, I listened to a contemplative podcast that combined sacred music and reflective questions to invite me deeper into stillness and presence in the right-now moment. The speaker observed that the world around us is full of people, sights, sounds, and experiences.

Could I let myself see and hear and experience them? 

For some reason, upon that invitation, an image of a wine cork presented itself in my mind. I could see its texture and even imagine what its little grooves would feel like in my hand. I could almost hear the popping noise that the cork would make when it uncorked from the bottle. I could hear the glug-glug-glug of the wine as it was poured into a glass. I could imagine the taste, too — the wine was a delicious red cabernet (my favorite). 

When I’m caught up in superhuman mode, I don’t notice those sounds or relish those tastes. Everything becomes a blur and seems to get in the way of what I must do next. Every encounter, every task, and even every conversation becomes a bit more functional than I’d like.

I don’t want to live that way.

I want to drink up the moments right in front of me. I want to live life and experience people. I want to experience my food when I’m eating it. I want to live deeply into each conversation and encounter. I want to enjoy the tiny enjoyments of life, like the way the rain creates a sheen on my brick-lined street and makes the weeds pushing up through the cracks a really sharp and vibrant green. 

These moments of full enjoyment make us vulnerable. They bring down the guard that normally braces us to succeed and not let anything fall.

Today, I choose that vulnerability. I chose to trust in the grace and goodness of God instead of my superhuman-ness.

What about you? Can you take a moment to really drink in the present moment? What does a measure of that full enjoyment of this moment feel like for you?

God Is Greater Than Our Consciousness

I mentioned in a previous post that Kirk and I have been attending a contemplative eucharist service on Sunday evenings at a little episcopal church around the corner from our house. I’ve come to love the rhythm of stillness, attentiveness, and quiet that the service invites into our life each week. We usually arrive about 15 minutes early to settle into the quietness of the chapel and still our hearts before God. The lights are dimmed, with candles burning and sacred chant music playing quietly in the background. It’s really something special to have found.

A couple weeks ago, as I sat in stillness before the service began, looking up at the altar and listening to the soft chant music, I was struck by the immeasurability of God. The thought crossed my mind: “God is greater than our consciousness.” 

I often talk of the personal, tender, and compassionate nature of God. I have experienced the closeness of Christ and know that his eye is on the sparrow just as much as it’s on me. All of that is so, so true, and it brings me great joy and hope to have come to know God in that way. 

But it is also true that God is far beyond our consciousness. 

There are no words that can fully contain God. There are no man-made categories that will ever be enough to describe or understand who God is. God is beyond our comprehension, and all words and images given to us to understand God are still merely a shadow of God’s reality. 

In some ways, I think the words and images given to us to understand those mere shadows are a reflection of God’s compassionate mercy toward us. God wants to be known by us, but it is also true that we can never fully comprehend the vastness of God. Words and images are like clay pots that hold just a portion of who God is … but how wonderful to have been given clay pots instead of nothing.

I used to feel a bit put off by this notion of the incomprehensibility of God. It made God feel so far away, too big for us. 

Now I find it rather comforting. I want a God who knows more than I know and holds within his nature and his knowledge and ability more than any human being can ever fathom. That is what makes God, God. There is a rest and a trust that can be found there. 

How does this notion strike you? What is it like to consider the closeness of God alongside the vastness of God? 

Video: Introducing the Look at Jesus Course

If you’re unable to see the video in your e-mail or RSS feed, click through to watch. 

Approximate run time: 7 minutes, 15 seconds 

Hi there, friends. 

Over the last couple months, I’ve talked here and there about a Gospel immersion course that I’m offering here in the fall. (You can see the original post about it here.)

Today, I’m excited to give you a little more of a peek into the course with a video update. In the above video, I share with you two stories that tell where the inspiration for the course came from and why I’m so passionate about creating it for you.

The course also now has a name! It’s called Look at Jesus: a Gospel immersion course. (Don’t you just love that? I do!)

I will be rolling out registration for the course in mid-September. The course will launch on October 15 and run for 6 weeks.

I hope the video above communicates my excitement for this course and gives you a little taste of what it could be like to take a class with me. And next month, when registration opens, I’ll give you another video update with more of the nuts and bolts about the class and specifics on what you can expect when taking it.

Much love and grace to you today. 

xoxo,

Christianne 

PS: If you’d like to share the badge for the course on your own site, here is the HTML code:

Are You Friends with Worry?

I am the kind of person who worries about pretty much everything. And if I’m not worrying about what might happen, I’m goading myself to work harder and hurry up so that nothing will go wrong and the earth can go on spinning. I wonder if you can relate to this. 

Here are a few ways that looks in my life. 

When I was completing my first graduate degree, I went to school full time, five days a week, and completed one course per month over the course of a year to get my business credentials. In this fast-paced setting, projects and papers were due with fairly consistent regularity. And often before those projects and papers were due, I would spend days and days worrying about them and hounding myself for not being further along in completing them.

This worry and hounding would last until the day before the assignment was due, when I would finally sit down and churn out a fairly coherent and solid product upon the first try.

All that worry was for nothing.

Thankfully, by the time I started work on my second graduate degree, I had learned to trust my process and worried and hounded myself so much less. 

Here’s a second way worry looks in my life.

I will formulate a plan and use all my strength and energy to make every component of that plan work. When things go wrong (as they invariably do), anxiety rises and so does that goading voice inside my head. Hurry up, it says. Work harder. Work faster. Get it together. Things fall apart and it’s all your fault. 

If I were one step removed from the reality of the situation, I would recognize that voice for what it is and tell it to shut its trap and go take a big, long hike. But in the thick of the situation, I’m not removed from it. I’m trying to figure things out and get the plan accomplished. 

What I’ve found to be the case, again and again, is that things come together just as they’re meant to.

Things fall apart from the original plan because that original plan was flawed, or the timing wasn’t right yet, or new information had yet to come to light. All the time I spent worrying is usually, in the end, wasted time — not to mention how it tears me apart on the inside.

I’ve been working on this area of worry in my life lately.

I’ve been learning to settle into the process of how things need to unfold. I’ve been learning to trust that when things aren’t working out as planned, it’s usually for good reason. And I’ve been learning to embrace the developmental process that has absolutely nothing to do with whether I’m holding things together perfectly enough or not. 

Can you relate to this struggle with worry? Do you have your own goading, hounding voice to contend with? What does it say? What have you learned through experience is the fruit of your worry?

Do You Want to Meet Jesus?

I’ve been sharing with you lately that Jesus is pursuing you with great intent and passion and is coming to the places where you are (we talked about that here and here). We’ve also talked about what Jesus is here to offer you. 

But as I watched Jesus continue to pray over you this morning and prepare to enter the places where you live, I found myself wondering how you would receive him when he finds you.

Is the thought of his coming for you welcome news? Do you want to meet him? Do you want him to meet you? 

Will You Let Him Hold You?

For the last couple months, Kirk and I have been attending a new contemplative eucharist service at the little episcopal parish around the corner from our house on Sunday evenings.

We’ve visited the church off and on over the last five years, and every time we are drawn in by the teaching and joyful spirit of the rector, Father Rob, as well as the holy feel of the beautiful chapel with its high beams, polished wood pews, incense and candles, and beautiful stained glass. It’s truly an inspiring place we’re thankful to have found, and this new contemplative eucharist service, with its slow pace, long periods of silence, candles, and sacred music, especially invites my heart settle into its more natural posture of rest before God. 

Last night, during the short reflection the rector offers after the Scriptures are read in the service, Father Rob spoke about God’s primary response of mercy toward us. He quoted an old traditional prayer called the prayer of humble access, which says: 

We do not presume to come to this thy table, O merciful Lord, trusting in our own righteousness, but in thy manifold and great mercies. We are not worthy so much as to gather up the crumbs under thy table. But thou art the same Lord, whose property is always to have mercy.

I thought of that prayer this morning as I brought my heart before God to start the day. My spirit felt heavy, and my heart low and weary. I looked at Christ this morning, who is full of such strength, and I had not the strength in myself to rise and meet him. 

I just needed his tenderness. 

This need for Christ’s tenderness this morning reminded me of a sweet and intimate prayer time he and I shared several weeks ago. I had begun to learn some of the ways he is inviting me to partner with him in the work he is about in this world, and a little voice inside me began to wonder if I had lost my unique specialness to him. Was I simply going to be an appendage to his work now, a convenient pair of hands that he can use? 

I hated asking those questions because they ran so contrary to the truths I’ve learned of Jesus and of my value to him. But there they were: those questions that queried my unique worth beyond what I could and would do with and for him. 

On that day several weeks ago, Jesus stopped what he was doing — all the preparations and activity he was about concerning the work we are going to be doing together — and came near. He sat down next to me, put his arm around my shoulder, and drew me close. He let me rest my head upon his chest for as long as I wanted. And when I looked into his eyes, I saw how much he knows and loves me.

I am not just a pair of hands. I am not just a worker in his fields. I am known.

I wonder today if you need a similar moment of quiet tenderness with Christ. As the prayer says, God’s first instinct toward you is always mercy, always love. He will come near and hold you if you’d like him to. 

Will you invite his arms around you right now?

More on Limits

I’ve set aside today as a day of rest. It’s the first day I’ve allowed myself a full day of rest in eleven straight days — and let me tell you, it’s been a difficult morning so far, keeping this commitment. I keep wanting to write e-mails or make plans to schedule my upcoming week. I keep thinking about deadlines and how much I want to keep working in order to meet them or get ahead of the game. 

But so far this morning, even though there have been great surges of struggle to let go of work and sink into rest, I’ve been able to remain committed to what this day is about for me. I haven’t written the e-mails. I haven’t opened my notebook and planner. I’ve rested — literally gave myself permission to sleep a little bit longer — and I’ve continued to let myself actively embrace the plans I’ve made to spend quality time with a very dear friend today. 

But the struggle has gotten me thinking this morning more about the limits of our humanity.

What is at the root of that drive in us that wants to burst through our limits and not be stopped short by anything? What is it that keeps hounding at me to do more and more and more, not welcoming that still small voice in me that pipes up to say, “What is done is good and will have to be enough for now, and now I need to rest”?

I don’t know about you, but for me, the root of that striving drive and that hounding voice has a lot to do with fear. 

I fear falling short. Failure. Not being enough. I fear letting people down or creating some inadvertent catastrophe by a moment’s lack of vigilance. Plainly put, I fear whatever might happen — via circumstance or relationship — from my not being perfect or all things for all people or situations.

Can you relate to this?

I remember another season in my life when I began to recognize this tendency in me as something possibly unhealthy or other than God intends for it to be. I started seeing this drive in me as a tendency toward what I called the superhuman. It was so helpful to even call it that because then I could step back and say, “What does it mean, then, to be merely human?” 

Being human means not being God. It means having a body that can only be in one finite place at a time. It means having a brain that can only hold so much. It means having systems inside me that need nourishment and rest in order to thrive and get rejuvenated.

Being human is an invitation to grace. 

Perhaps it will help you to hear, as it helps me, that when we try to be superhuman, we’re trying to be other than what we actually are and what God made us to be. When we’re aiming for the superhuman, we’re actually trying to be what God alone can be, which is to say without flaw or failure or misstep.

When we’re trying to be superhuman, we’re more than likely trying to protect ourselves from pain or judgment or rejection or disappointment in some way. More often than not, we are acting out of a fear of what might happen if we don’t do it all, whatever “all” might be for us. 

Right now, in this moment, with what you’re facing, what do you fear will happen if you allow yourself to embrace the reality of your limits? If you played out your worst fears to their imagined conclusion, what might that look like? What is it like for you to hear that God made you human, not superhuman?

Oh, How He Loves Us

If you can’t see the video in your e-mail or RSS feed, click through to watch.

A number of weeks ago, I mentioned a favorite song that I play on repeat quite often in my home that talks about God’s love. It’s a song that moves from tenderness to a grand passion, and I love the way it resounds over and over with the words, “How he loves us … oh, how he loves us.”

At the time I mentioned the video, I didn’t share the song, but I asked the question, “How do you experience God’s love?” Do you, in fact, experience God’s love? Would you like to?

Today I want to share that song with you. The lyrics take me deeper and deeper every time I listen to them, offering more meditation on the nature of God’s love and who I am inside that love each time. I hope it offers some reflection for you, too.

How does this song touch you?

Acknowledging Our Limits

I’ve been thinking a lot about limits lately — specifically, the kind of limits that keep us from accomplishing everything we set out to do. 

For instance, in late May, I made a commitment to God and myself that I would post a contemplative reflection for you in this space every weekday (save holidays), and last Friday was the first weekday I didn’t uphold that commitment. I was on an all-day film shoot that began at 8 a.m., and the previous two days had been filled with similar day-long commitments, and I just couldn’t get it done before leaving for the film shoot that morning. 

As I drove around that day, the post left unwritten all day, I struggled to accept that I simply didn’t have the bandwidth to get it done.

Here’s a second example. My husband, Kirk, and I have recently begun guarding our Sundays for rest. We both work hard in our respective jobs, and our work lives and commitments often bleed into the evenings and weekends.

Recently, we realized the need to make a change.

Now, Sundays are for Sabbath rest for us. We take the day slow. We take a drive, go for a walk, read, or work on creative projects that bring us life. We attend a contemplative eucharist service in the evenings, and usually I’ll play with my iPhone camera and take photographs of things that inspire me. 

But this past weekend, I woke at 5:30 a.m. on Sunday with my to-do list running through my mind. I got out of bed and worked in the quiet of our house for three solid hours, and that evening, I worked another several hours getting some other items checked off my to-do list. 

I’m still learning how to rest on Sundays. 

And here’s a third example. About two weeks ago, I agreed to copyedit a book manuscript for an author whose book I looked forward to reading. I dove into the project and made great headway right from the start. But over the last week, other important commitments have cropped up requiring my immediate attention. That copyedit project languished on the side, and the day I’d hoped to have it finished came and went. 

This morning, I e-mailed the client and apologized. “I’m so sorry for getting behind on this,” I said. Life happened, and I couldn’t do it all. 

I’m still fresh inside this learning curve. I’m learning how to rest and say, “I’ve reached the end of what I can do today, and that has to be okay.” I’m also learning how to say, “I’m sorry. I overcommitted myself. I need to change the plan.”

Can you relate to bumping up against your human limits? How do you normally respond to your limits when faced with them?