Practicing the Presence | Prompt 3: A Warm Mug
“Take a photo of a warm drink in your hands.”
Sometimes, presence begins with something simple: the weight of a mug, the steam curling upward, the way your fingers wrap around warmth.
Before we even speak a prayer, before we even name what we need, God is already here.
In the pause.
In the inhale.
In the tea, the coffee, the cocoa held between your palms.
This small ritual of making and receiving warmth can become a sacred act. A quiet invitation to come back to yourself… and to the One who is always near.
What Is “Practicing the Presence”?
Practicing the presence means remembering that God is with us, not just in church or during formal prayer, but in the ordinary and embodied parts of our day.
This is not about doing more. It’s about noticing what’s already here.
Brother Lawrence, a humble monk and kitchen worker in the 1600s, called this way of life “a continual conversation with God,” where every task and every moment became a doorway into communion.
Even (especially) the small ones.
Try This
Today, make yourself a warm drink.
It doesn’t have to be fancy. Just something you like. Hold the cup in your hands. Pause before you sip. Notice the heat, the scent, the taste.
Let this be a moment to practice the presence of God.
If you’d like, take a photo of your hands holding the cup as a visual reminder that God meets us here, in the quiet and the warm.
Ask yourself:
Where is God in this moment?
What am I receiving right now besides a drink?
What does it feel like to let this be enough?
Tag your photo with #PracticingPresence or simply carry the peace of this moment with you through the rest of your day.
You are not alone. You are held.
Make Space: Practicing the Art of Noticing
Every month, we begin by making space. This month, we’ll do that by slowing down enough to truly notice—to pay attention, with gentleness and curiosity, to the world around us and the life within us.
Looking back, I think my journey into mindfulness and practicing the presence of God began even before I started my spiritual direction training with Selah. One of the unexpected turning points for me was reading Rob Walker’s book The Art of Noticing. (I loved it so much I wrote about it in three different blog posts!) Something about it cracked open a new way of seeing.
Walker’s central message is simple but transformative: Attention is not just a resource. It’s the gateway to creativity, connection, joy, even worship. So many of the stories he shares are about people who chose to notice something and then began collecting or curating it in fun, creative, even reverent ways. What a delight that is! To turn your gaze toward something ordinary and find it shimmering with meaning.
As he puts it:
“Every day is filled with opportunities to be amazed, surprised, enthralled—to experience the enchanting everyday. To stay eager. To be, in a word, alive.”
“What we do with our attention, in short, is at the heart of what makes us human.”
Yes. Yes. Yes.
So, this month, as we begin by making space, I invite you to take time to notice just a little more than usual. Notice with your body, your senses, your spirit. Below is a gentle list of noticing prompts to get you started. You don’t need to do them all. You don’t need to do anything, really. Just let one or two invite you back to presence.
Noticing Prompts
What do you hear right now, if you listen very closely?
What color is the light where you are?
Can you feel the air on your skin? Is it warm, cool, still, or moving?
What’s the tiniest thing you can see from where you’re sitting?
Notice one thing that feels soft near you. What makes it soft?
What shapes do you see in the shadows?
Can you find something that’s moving very slowly?
What do your feet feel like right now?
What’s a smell in the air you hadn’t noticed until now?
Look around—what’s something nearby that makes you feel calm?
Can you hear your own breath? What does it sound like?
Notice something you’ve seen a hundred times... as if it’s brand new.
What color is the quiet today?
What’s something outside that’s holding still? What’s moving?
If you tried one of these, how did it feel?
Did time seem to move differently?
Did you?
As always, there’s no pressure, just an invitation to make a little space for wonder. Let noticing be its own kind of prayer.
Kid-Friendly Idea: Make a Noticing Adventure!
If you have kids in your life, this can be a beautiful practice to do together. Turn it into a “Noticing Walk” around the block or a “Five Senses Treasure Hunt” in your own living room. You might ask:
What’s the silliest sound you can hear right now?
Can you spot a shape that looks like a letter or animal?
What’s something you’ve never noticed on your way to the car?
Can you find one thing to sniff, one thing to touch, and one thing that moves?
Let them collect “noticings” like treasures, draw them, or make up stories about them. There’s no wrong way to pay attention—and often, kids are the best teachers of this kind of wonder.
Creative Prompt: Make a Collage of What Gives You Life
When life feels heavy or rushed, it can be hard to see the small, specific things that breathe life and joy into our days.
A sun-warmed mug of tea
The sound of your child’s laughter
A certain shade of green on a walk
A passage of Scripture that speaks directly to your weariness
This week’s creative prompt is simple and soul-refreshing:
Make a collage of what gives you life right now.
Flip through old magazines, junk mail, scrap paper, or even fabric scraps. Cut out colors, shapes, images, or words that spark a sense of joy, peace, or delight.
Arrange them slowly. Let the process itself be part of the prayer. You’re not creating a masterpiece. You’re creating a mirror, a moment of noticing what is nourishing you right now.
You might be surprised what shows up.
If you don’t have access to lots of materials or collage elements, download this coloring page and just write a list. Keep it someplace you can return to over and over.
After you finish your collage (or list), take a moment to sit with it. Ask:
What feels most alive to me lately?
What do I want to make more space for?
What might God be inviting me to notice, receive, or return to?
This is about paying attention to the gifts already present. No pressure to be profound. Just notice. Let it speak.
Kid-friendly option:
Invite your child (or inner child!) to join you in this practice:
“Let’s make a collage of all the things we love right now!”
Prompt with questions like:
What makes you feel happy or brave?
What’s your favorite food, place, or color?
Who do you love being with?
They can cut pictures from kid-friendly magazines or draw their own if they prefer. Let them explain their collage to you. Their answers might surprise you.
Sometimes we don’t know what’s keeping us grounded until we take the time to name it. So this week, sit down with a glue stick, some scraps, and a little intention. See what shows up on the page and in your heart.
If you feel comfortable, I’d love to see what you create. When I share these prompts, I’ll always try to share what I’ve made too. Tag me on Instagram or comment below with a photo or reflection.
An Examen for Kids: Talking to God about Your Day
This is a quiet time to talk with God about your day. You can close your eyes, or draw while you listen, or just be still. Let’s just notice what happened today together.
Who or what are you thankful for today?
Let’s thank God together!What brought you joy today?
Did you dance with a friend until you fell down laughing?
Did you sing a silly song about turtles wearing pants?
Did you laugh at a joke your friend told you at recess?
God is joyful with you.What made you sad today?
Did you stub your toe on an open door?
Did your friend say something that hurt your feelings?
Did you have to say a hard goodbye?
God is sad with you.What excited you today?
Did you learn something new about something you love?
Did your teacher tell you that you did a great job in school?
Did you get a new pair of sneakers?
God is excited with you.What scared you today?
Did you have a bad dream that made you scared?
Did you have to answer a hard question in front of the whole class?
Did a dog bark and scare you when you weren’t expecting it?
God is here to comfort you.What made you angry today?
Did you get in a fight with a friend?
Did you get an answer wrong that you thought was right?
Did someone take your favorite toy?
God is big enough to hold your anger for you.Where did you notice God today?
Did you see something beautiful in creation?
Did someone comfort you when you cried?
Did you share a snack with someone who didn’t have one?
God is with you every moment.What do you hope for tomorrow?
Let’s tell God your hopes together.
*My house has only preteen+ at this point, so we have shortened this to just “high/lows” (and sometimes we include “buffalos” - just something funny/random) at dinner time. It’s a way to be engaged in noticing with each other. We even have a special high/low dance, which we are assured is very “cringe”.
sacred story time (befriend a bear)
Last time, we began our journey with Pooh under a tree, listening and wondering. This week, we find him climbing that tree in search of honey, singing little songs, thinking funny thoughts, and eventually taking quite the tumble.
As we read this week’s passage, I hope you’ll let it stir both your gratitude and your grumbles, your imagination and your need for comfort. Come play, pray, and wonder with me.
Pooh climbed and he climbed and he climbed, and as he climbed he sang a little song to himself. It went like this:
Isn't it funny
How a bear likes honey?
Buzz! Buzz! Buzz!
I wonder why he does?
Then he climbed a little further ... and a little further ... and then just a little further. By that time he had thought of another song.
It's a very funny thought that, if Bears were Bees,
They'd build their nests at the bottom of trees.
And that being so (if the Bees were Bears),
We shouldn't have to climb up all these stairs.
He was getting rather tired by this time, so that is why he sang a Complaining Song. He was nearly there now, and if he just stood on that branch ...
Crack!
"Oh, help!" said Pooh, as he dropped ten feet on the branch below him.
"If only I hadn't——" he said, as he bounced twenty feet on to the next branch.
"You see, what I meant to do," he explained, as he turned head-over-heels, and crashed on to another branch thirty feet below, "what I meant to do——"
"Of course, it was rather——" he admitted, as he slithered very quickly through the next six branches.
"It all comes, I suppose," he decided, as he said good-bye to the last branch, spun round three times, and flew gracefully into a gorse-bush, "it all comes of liking honey so much. Oh, help!"
He crawled out of the gorse-bush, brushed the prickles from his nose, and began to think again. And the first person he thought of was Christopher Robin.
Noticing prompt
Who is the first person you think of when you are in trouble? What is it about that person that brings them to mind? Are they helpful? Kind? Comforting? Are you the kind of person that people seek out for help?
Play prompt
Try writing a gratefulness haiku and a complaining haiku (5-7-5 syllable structure). Notice the feelings that each provoke as you write. Here’s my example (I’m not sure if it’s complaining or gratitude! Maybe a little of both!):
Green leaves with bird poop
Out my window as I write.
That means birds were here.
Imagination prompt
What would it be like to be a bear in the town where you live? What would bring you joy? What would be frustrating? Imagine befriending a bear. Where would you go? What would you do together?
Prayer
Welcoming God, help me to take all my feelings to you, whether gratefulness or frustrations. Thank you for always inviting me, even in my unpleasant moments! Thank you for being someone I can go to for help with anything.
Download a PDF of this content for a Winnie-the-Pooh coloring page!
The Voice That Offers Freedom
I chose this image because when I look at those stingrays, I think they look so free and happy.
In spiritual direction, I’ve learned to listen closely for one particular sign of the Holy Spirit: anything that offers more freedom.
Not just a fleeting sense of relief, but like a deep breath after holding it too long. Like shoulders dropping as the weight you’ve been carrying finally slips off. Like space in your chest where anxiety used to live. Like permission to be fully yourself without apology.
It feels like stepping out into a spacious field, with room to run and realizing this is where you were meant to be all along.
Freedom doesn’t always come with fireworks or fanfare. Sometimes it’s as quiet as peace, as simple as clarity, and as holy as rest. It often shows up when you choose love over fear, when you stop trying to earn your worth, when you say no to something that once had power over you.
When the Spirit is present, freedom often follows. Not necessarily ease, but lightness.
"Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom." —2 Corinthians 3:17
Freedom is one of the primary marks of the Spirit’s presence. When God is near, there’s less fear, less shame, less pressure to perform and more room to live fully and truthfully.
Isn’t it amazing that this is one way we can know the voice of Jesus? He is always offering more freedom, more grace, more rest for the weary soul. He said, “If the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed” (John 8:36). Jesus doesn’t coerce, He calls us out of our stuck places and invites us into healing, trust, and lightness of heart.
And yet, if we’re honest, we often sit comfortably in our own enslavement. Just like the Israelites who longed for Egypt when the wilderness felt too uncertain, we cling to what’s familiar, even if it binds us. We resist change. We fear the wide-open spaces of real freedom.
But Jesus keeps calling. He keeps speaking and tugging at our hearts. He keeps inviting us into the kind of life where we are no longer driven by fear, but led by love.
So the next time you’re discerning, ask yourself: Does this bring more freedom?
If the answer is yes, you just might be hearing the voice of God.
All the ways you can bloom
I continue to think about blooming, which shouldn’t be surprising given the current stage our beautiful wildflower garden (see photo). In my last post, I talked about how you can bloom through rest and play, which I think is my preferred method of blooming. And of course, when we think of blooming, we usually imagine sunlight and stillness, soft petals and spring. And yes, some blooming does happen that way: in moments of rest, joy, or playful creativity, when our hearts feel light and our calendars finally give us room to breathe.
But it occurred to me that we can also bloom through other things as well, including expressed sorrow (grief/lament) because it keeps our hearts soft (we may not usually think of this as blooming!). Because blooming may not always be the beautiful spring flowers kind of blooming. It’s not always pretty. It’s not always peaceful. And it’s never one-size-fits-all.
To bloom is to unfold more fully into who you already are. It’s the process of becoming and that journey can begin in all kinds of soil.
So here are just a few of the ways its possible to bloom, if we allow blooming to happen:
When you stop hustling for your worth. When you let go of productivity as identity. When your soul finally exhales and finds enoughness in simply being.
When you step into delight. When you create without a goal. When wonder is welcome and joy isn’t postponed.
When loss breaks you open. When you feel the ache and still choose to stay soft. When tears water something deep underground.
When you learn resilience by living it. When hard seasons refine you rather than define you. When growth feels more like grit than grace.
When you’re seen and held without needing to perform. When love lets you lower your guard and come home to yourself.
When something beautiful flows through you. When you co-create with God. When you feel most alive in the work your soul was made to do.
When pouring yourself out connects you to something bigger. When giving isn’t draining, but deeply aligning.
When shame starts to loosen its grip. When old wounds begin to close. When you reclaim parts of yourself that were buried or silenced.
No matter the path, one thing is always true: Blooming happens when it’s safe to unfold.
And that’s exactly what spiritual direction offers.
It’s not about giving you answers or fixing you. It’s about creating sacred space to notice what’s already stirring. A place to pause and listen. To name your truth and be met with compassion. To explore joy, pain, doubt, and wonder without judgment.
In spiritual direction, there’s no pressure to be in a certain season. You can be in full bloom or lying fallow. Grieving or creating. Wrestling or resting.
Your whole self is welcome.
The director doesn’t point to a path and say, “Go bloom.” We walk beside you, gently noticing where the light is already reaching in. We remind you that blooming doesn’t mean forcing. It means becoming. And that becoming takes many beautiful forms.
You can bloom through rest.
You can bloom through struggle.
You can even bloom in the dark.
And wherever you are in that process, there’s space for you here.
Creative Prompt: Draw a map of somewhere sacred.
Some places hold something more than just memory. They become sacred to us, holy ground, even if no one else would know it.
Click the image to download.
It might be a place where you felt seen. Where you took a deep breath after holding it in for too long. Where you met God, or beauty, or a sense of peace you couldn’t explain.
This week’s creative prompt is simple:
Draw a map of somewhere sacred to you.
You could sketch a real place:
A childhood hideaway, your grandmother’s porch, a favorite hiking trail, a chapel.
Or you could imagine an inner place, an emotional or spiritual sanctuary.
What would the path look like? Are there landmarks? A quiet bench? A gate? A river? A kitchen table? You don’t have to make it pretty. You just have to make space to remember.
Use lines and shapes. Add color or don’t. Label the parts, or leave them unnamed.
Let your hand move, and let the memory (or desire) rise. Let the map be a kind of prayer. A quiet gratitude. A longing.
While you work, ask yourself:
What made this place sacred to you?
Is there a story here that still lives in you?
What emotions surface as you revisit it on paper?
Is there a way to return—not in body, but in spirit?
Maybe your map is a way back.
Kid-friendly option:
Ask: If you could draw a map to anywhere you’ve ever felt happy, cozy, or full of wonder, what would it look like?
Invite them to:
Include silly or sweet landmarks (the Giggle Tree, Hot Cocoa Rock, the Blanket Fort).
Add paths, signs, secret doors.
Give it a name!
You can also try:
“Let’s make a map of a place we love as a family.”
Draw it together. Add hearts or stars where special things happen.
Encourage storytelling. Ask them what lives there, who visits, what they do. It doesn’t have to be real to be true.
If you feel comfortable, I’d love to see what you create. When I share these prompts, I’ll always try to share what I’ve made too. Tag me on Instagram or comment below with a photo or reflection.
And if your map doesn’t feel “done”. Maybe that’s okay too.
Some sacred places are still unfolding.
Book review: Maybe
I love the idea of buying sweet children’s books for high school and college grads, and Maybe by Kobi Yamada is the perfect book for that purpose. I recently bought this one for a college grad and it seemed to suit her perfectly! (But I liked it so much, I had to buy another copy.) With its gentle encouragement and whimsical illustrations, Maybe is a reminder that our potential is vast, our worth is inherent, and our future is still full of beautiful unknowns. It’s the kind of book that speaks to the heart, no matter your age, and offers a quiet, hopeful blessing for whatever comes next.
What does it mean to bloom?
My post on Instagram a few days ago got me thinking more deeply about what it really means to bloom. I love using that word with pictures of flowers, but I didn’t want it to be some trite caption, like, flowers bloom and you can too! I wanted it to really mean something.
I keep coming back to the idea of blooming as gentle growth toward our true selves. Or as I wrote in that post: to unfold into the fullness of who you are with freedom, abundance, and joy. Just like a flower doesn’t force itself open, blooming is a process of allowing, not striving. It happens when the conditions are right: sunlight, water, space.
For people, those conditions often include rest, play, and safety.
One of the places where those conditions are intentionally nurtured is in spiritual direction. Spiritual direction helps create space where blooming becomes not only possible, but often, inevitable. It doesn’t “make” you bloom the way sunlight makes a flower open. But it turns toward the light with you. It makes space for it. It witnesses the slow, often hidden, unfolding of who you are becoming in God.
Here’s how spiritual direction supports blooming:
It offers safety and stillness.
In a noisy, fast-paced world, spiritual direction gives you permission to pause, listen, and be listened to without agenda. That kind of presence is deeply nourishing. It creates the right internal conditions for blooming.
It helps you notice where life is already stirring.
Spiritual directors are trained to listen for grace, for freedom, for the gentle movement of the Spirit. They help you see where growth is happening—even if it's underground.
It honors all seasons.
Spiritual direction doesn’t rush your blooming. It holds space for winter, for pruning, for lying fallow. It trusts that dormancy isn’t deadness—it’s preparation.
It returns you to the true self.
Blooming isn’t about becoming something new and shiny. It’s about unfolding into who God created you to be all along. Direction gently peels away what’s false or forced and helps you reconnect to your God-given core.
And it often invites contemplative play, not always with crayons or crafts (though those are welcome!), but through wonder, metaphor, silence, curiosity, and imagination. The kinds of play that open the soul instead of performing for others.
In short: Spiritual direction is like a quiet garden where your soul gets room to breathe, grow, and rest in the presence of the Divine Gardener. Blooming tends to follow, not because you're trying harder, but because you're finally safe enough to unfold.
So when I say “bloom,” I mean that.
Not pressure. Not productivity.
Just a holy, spacious becoming.
For parents who want to help their children to bloom: it’s not about pushing or shaping them into something. It’s about creating the kind of safe, spacious environment where they feel deeply seen, loved, and free to unfold in their own time. That might look like making time for unstructured play, honoring their natural rhythms, inviting their questions without rushing to answer, or simply delighting in who they already are (“I’m so glad you’re you.”). Like a steady gardener, you don’t bloom them, but you can protect the soil, offer warmth, and trust the holy process already at work in them.
Practicing the Presence | Prompt 2: Hands at Work
“Capture hands at work—or well-used tools.”
There’s something sacred about hands. The ones that make, mend, stir, soothe, carry, scrub, write. The ones that belong to you and the ones that have shaped your life in quiet ways.
We often rush past the work of our hands. We focus on what we’re getting done, not on how God might be meeting us in the act of doing.
But what if washing the dishes could become a kind of prayer? What if holding a pencil, stirring soup, or folding a wrinkled shirt could be a place where we notice the nearness of God?
What Is “Practicing the Presence”?
It’s a spiritual practice rooted in the idea that God is always with us and that we can learn to be with God in return, not just in church or on our knees, but in the rhythms of daily life.
Brother Lawrence, a 17th-century monk who worked in the kitchen of his monastery, called it “the holiest and most necessary practice in the spiritual life.”
He wrote:
“We can do little things for God… we turn the cake that is frying on the pan for love of Him, and that done, if there is nothing else to call us, we prostrate ourselves in worship before Him…”
God meets us in the middle of flour-dusted counters, paint-smeared fingers, muddy boots.
Try This
Take a moment today to notice the hands at work in your life.
Maybe it’s your own: scrubbing, stirring, typing, holding.
Maybe it’s someone else’s: planting a garden, tying a shoelace, sanding a piece of wood.
Or maybe it’s the worn tools themselves: threadbare dish towels, paintbrushes with frayed ends, a much-used wooden spoon.
Take a photo if you like. Not for show, but as a way to slow down and say: “God, you are here in this.”
Ask yourself:
What are my hands doing today?
What love is hidden in this ordinary task?
How might this small act become a place of communion?
If you’d like to share what you find, tag your photo with #PracticingPresence or leave a comment below. I’d love to see through your eyes.
Make Space: begin with just one pause
This week, try beginning with just one small pause, a moment to clear a little room in your heart, your schedule, or even your table.
Light a candle before breakfast.
Set aside one thing that’s crowding your space or your mind.
Open a blank page and take a breath before you write or draw.
Lately, I’ve noticed how often I reach for my phone
when instead, I could simply pause. Breathe. Be present in the moment. It feels like such a cliché! I wish I could say I was past it. But the pull is real, and I’m learning to notice that moment before the reach to choose stillness instead.
This week I’ve been carrying some heavier things, so I’ve been extra gentle with myself and intentionally made more space for quiet art time and reflection. It’s helped more than I expected.
One thing I love about spiritual direction is how much it honors this kind of space-making. When you schedule time with a spiritual director, you’re making an appointment with someone else to help you make space for God.
And honestly? That’s often the only way it happens. It’s hard to do on your own, especially for a full hour.
But you don’t need an hour. Or a perfect setup. Sometimes, making space is just:
turning down the noise
setting down the phone
asking God, “What do You want to grow here?”
Even a few quiet moments can change the shape of your day.
For Life with Little Ones (or Big Distractions):
Making space might look like:
a few deep breaths while your child plays
turning off music for one quiet car ride
a short breath prayer as you fold the laundry
I remember a breath prayer I used a lot, especially when my kids were little: (inhale) Lord, lift up my head. (exhale) I can’t do this without you.
Even this can be enough.
Creative Prompt: Draw a doorway you’d like to step through.
Creative prompts like this one are designed to help you slow down, listen inwardly, and connect with God through play, color, and curiosity.
This week’s invitation is simple: Draw a doorway you’d like to step through.
What kind of doorway is calling to you today? Is it small and secret, hidden in a tree? Wide and golden, opening into the sun? Ancient? Magical? Ordinary but holy?
Maybe it opens into a place of peace, rest, possibility, healing, or joy. Let your doorway become a prayer. A quiet hope. A brave imagining.
Let your imagination lead. Don’t worry about making it perfect, just make it yours.
Use whatever materials feel good: crayons, markers, paint, collage. Let it be messy or abstract if it needs to be. This isn’t about getting it “right.” It’s about making time to play, rest, and listen to what’s stirring in you.
(If you’d rather not start from scratch, here are some doorway coloring pages you can color instead, add your own features, or simply write a few words.)
While you work, ask yourself:
What do you hope is on the other side?
What do you feel as you stand before it: curiosity? hesitation? longing?
What if God is already on the other side, waiting… and also right here with you?
When you're done, take a few quiet minutes to sit with what you’ve made. Ask God to help you notice what’s showing up. Is there something in you that needs tending, noticing, or blessing? Or maybe this was simply a time of joy and rest. That’s holy too. Thank God for that, and carry it with you.
Kid-friendly option: draw a portal to anywhere they’d like to go. Ask:
What does your door look like?
Does it need a password?
What happens when you open it?
Encourage storytelling and imagination. Maybe their door leads to a cloud library, a garden of dreams, a starship, or Grandma’s kitchen.
If you feel comfortable, I’d love to see what you create. When I share these prompts, I’ll always try to share what I’ve made too. You can tag me on Instagram or leave a comment below. I love witnessing the quiet beauty of your creative prayers.
Monthly Examen: A Prayerful Pause
Each month, I am going to invite a time to pause, reflect, and pay attention to the presence of God in our lives, to our emotions, and to the movement of grace in ordinary moments. The five steps of St. Ignatius’s Examen offer a gentle framework for this kind of reflection:
Become aware of God’s presence.
Review the day with gratitude.
Pay attention to your emotions.
Choose one feature of the day and pray from it.
Look toward tomorrow.
Let’s take a few quiet minutes together and look back over the past month.
When did you feel closest to God?
Was it in the middle of joy or celebration? Or perhaps in a moment of grief or struggle? Maybe it came through Scripture, through creativity, through time in nature, or in the quiet of an ordinary afternoon. There’s no wrong answer. Simply pause and notice.
When did you feel most like your true self?
Was there a moment when something deep inside whispered, This is what I was made for? Try to remember that feeling: what you were doing, who you were with, how it felt in your body.
Were there moments when God felt distant?
When you longed for Him but couldn’t sense His nearness? Hold those moments gently. Bring them to God now. Ask Him what He wants you to know about His presence, even when it feels hidden.
What are you grateful for from this past month?
Is there a particular day, moment, or even a small detail that fills you with warmth or thankfulness? Offer that gratitude back to God.
Where do you need help right now?
Is there an ongoing struggle or quiet ache you’re carrying? Invite God into that place of need. You don’t have to have the right words, just be honest.
What are your hopes for the month ahead?
Tell God what you’re longing for, dreaming of, or simply what you need. Even though He already knows, there is something powerful about naming those hopes in prayer.
Book Review: The Rabbit Listened
The Rabbit Listened by Cori Doerrfeldis a picture book that offers a profound message wrapped in simplicity. When Taylor’s block tower is destroyed, a parade of animals rush in with suggestions - shouting, fixing, blaming, distracting - but none of them truly help. Only the rabbit, who sits in stillness and listens, provides what Taylor needs: space to feel and be.
This deceptively simple story touches the heart of what I believe both contemplative play and spiritual direction are all about. In a culture that often encourages us to fix, solve, or distract ourselves from discomfort, The Rabbit Listened offers another way: to make space, to stay present, to listen with compassion and without agenda.
This book holds special meaning for me personally. It was read aloud during my very first spiritual direction training residency. I remember feeling so nervous: uncertain why I was there and why it felt so hard when I thought I’d already come so far. Looking back, I now see it as an invitation to deeper healing. But at the time, I just felt raw and overwhelmed. And then this book appeared, a children’s story about a bunny. It felt like a love note from God: “I see you. I’m with you. It’s going to be okay.” (And if you don’t know this about me, we have a pet bunny at home, which made the moment all the more tender and affirming.)
Like the rabbit in the story, spiritual direction isn’t about fixing or offering advice. It’s about holding space with gentle presence. And contemplative play, too, invites this kind of listening—to ourselves, to God, to one another. Whether through storytelling, art, or simply being still, we practice attending to what is, without rushing to change it.
The Rabbit Listened is a beautiful resource for anyone who wants to nurture this kind of presence. It reminds us that healing doesn’t always come through doing. Sometimes, it comes through being still.
Play Prompt: Take a Walk
Rogationtide is an old tradition of walking the land to pray for the earth and its fruitfulness. This week, we're reviving it through contemplative play.
Take a slow nature walk, alone or with kids, as a way to bless the land beneath your feet. Pause to notice, name, and give thanks. What’s growing? What’s changing? What’s calling your attention?
My friend Elise and I put together a free guide (with prayers adapted from the Book of Common Prayer and Every Moment Holy) and a printable scavenger hunt for our church, and I wanted to share it with you today. Let it help you turn a simple walk into a sacred practice.
sacred story time (climb a tree)
This week, I’m beginning a new series that uses classic children’s stories—beginning with Winnie-the-Pooh—to spark contemplative play. These prompts are meant to help you slow down, notice the world around you, and engage your spirit through simple acts of creativity, curiosity, and prayer.
In this first story, Pooh hears a buzzing in a tree and, being the thoughtful bear that he is, sits down to think about it. That small act—sitting, listening, wondering—feels like just the right place to begin.
I encourage you to enter like a child, while we read, wonder, and imagine together.
Once upon a time, a very long time ago now, about last Friday, Winnie-the-Pooh lived in a forest all by himself under the name of Sanders.
One day when he was out walking, he came to an open place in the middle of the forest, and in the middle of this place was a large oak-tree, and, from the top of the tree, there came a loud buzzing-noise.
Winnie-the-Pooh sat down at the foot of the tree, put his head between his paws and began to think.
First of all he said to himself: "That buzzing-noise means something. You don't get a buzzing-noise like that, just buzzing and buzzing, without its meaning something. If there's a buzzing-noise, somebody's making a buzzing-noise, and the only reason for making a buzzing-noise that I know of is because you're a bee."
Then he thought another long time, and said: "And the only reason for being a bee that I know of is making honey."
And then he got up, and said: "And the only reason for making honey is so as I can eat it." So he began to climb the tree.
Noticing Prompt
Find a tree to sit under or climb. What do you notice? Is the bark rough or smooth? What color are the leaves? How does the air feel—warm or cool? Do you hear any sounds? See any animals or insects? Take a moment to simply be, and notice how you feel as you sit with nature.
Play Prompt
Read or listen to a children’s book outside—under a tree if you can. Read slowly, like a child hearing it for the first time. What parts bring you joy or make you smile?
Imagination Prompt
If you were a tree, what kind would you be? What would your bark feel like? What color would your leaves be? Why? Try drawing or coloring yourself as a tree.
Prayer
Lord, help me see your world with wonder. Teach me to slow down and notice even thesmallest things—like the bark of a tree. Help me come to you like a child: curious, open, and full of need.
Download a PDF of this content for a Winnie-the-Pooh coloring page!
Jesus and the Sacred Gift of Play
When we think of spiritual practices, we often think of prayer, silence, scripture, or stillness. But I want to offer a gentle reminder: Play can be sacred, too.
Not play for productivity. Not play as a break from "real" spiritual life. But play as a gentle, open-ended way of engaging the world—one that brings us into presence, wonder, and connection with the sacred.
I call this contemplative play.
As strange as it may sound, I believe contemplative play is a deeply spiritual practice. And I believe Jesus would agree.
Jesus said, “Become like little children.”
In the Gospels, Jesus doesn’t just tolerate children, He welcomes them and lifts them up as models of faith.
“Unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven,” He says (Matthew 18:3).
Children are open, curious, and creative. They’re fully present. They laugh easily. They don’t worry about performing or earning love. They simply are.
When we play, without agenda or pressure, we begin to return to that childlike posture. We remember that we are loved, not because of what we produce, but because we belong.
Jesus taught through story, gesture, and imagination.
He didn’t hand out theological treatises. He told stories. He drew in the dirt. He used mustard seeds, lilies, coins, and sheep to help people encounter deeper truth. His way of teaching invited the imagination, the senses, and the body, not just the intellect. It welcomed play. Not to escape reality, but to encounter God more deeply within it.
Play reminds us not to take ourselves too seriously.
Jesus didn’t avoid joy. He celebrated. He turned water into wine. He welcomed children into the middle of serious conversations.
Contemplative play helps us soften. It reminds us not to take ourselves too seriously and to take God’s love more seriously than we ever imagined. It makes room for delight.
And isn’t that what Jesus came to bring? “I have told you this so that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be complete” (John 15:11).
In a world that often equates faith with striving and seriousness, play is a form of holy resistance.
It says: I don’t have to earn love. I can laugh, rest, create, and explore. I am God’s beloved child.
Play helps us follow the movement of the Spirit.
Jesus often moved in surprising, Spirit-led ways. He turned aside to touch the untouchable. He paused in the middle of crowds to ask questions. He noticed the overlooked.
The Spirit still moves like that: in whispers, in nudges, in unexpected joy.
Contemplative play helps us practice noticing. It trains us to be receptive and open. It slows us down enough to see where God might be showing up in ordinary, even playful, ways.
Jesus invites us to come as children.
Not childish, but childlike: open, trusting, curious, and ready to play.
Because sometimes the most sacred thing we can do is allow ourselves to be delighted.
Want to try contemplative play for yourself?
Each month, I’ll share creative and noticing prompts, coloring pages, and picture book reviews to help you explore this practice at your own pace.
But here’s another beautiful way to experience it firsthand:
Sign up to serve in children’s ministry at your local church.
Seriously. It’s one of the best places to learn how to come to Jesus like a child. You’ll be surrounded by wonder, curiosity, creativity, and holy interruptions. Children will show you how to laugh, question, trust, and play.
You’ll be reminded, again and again, that faith isn’t about striving. It’s about being present.
That’s what I do, and it’s one of the richest parts of my spiritual life.
So try contemplative play at home, and consider joining the playful, sacred work happening with children in your church community.
Let them lead you into the kingdom.