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.
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.
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.
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.
How Spiritual Direction is Different than Counseling
I often get asked how spiritual direction is different from counseling—especially Christian counseling. It’s a great question, and one that deserves a thoughtful answer, because while both can be deeply supportive, they serve different purposes.
Here are five ways spiritual direction stands apart:
1. There’s no advice.
It might feel surprising at first, especially if you're used to counseling or mentoring, but spiritual direction isn’t about receiving guidance on what to do. You might hear familiar questions, like “How does that make you feel?”, but they serve a different purpose. My role isn’t to help you solve a problem; it’s to help you notice God’s presence in your life and listen more deeply.
2. Everything comes back to your relationship with God.
You can bring anything to spiritual direction: work, relationships, loss, joy, doubt. But no matter what we talk about, the lens is always your relationship with God. The real question is: Where is God in this? or What might God be inviting you into?
3. There’s a lot of silence.
In counseling, silence might feel awkward, something to be filled. In spiritual direction, silence is sacred. It’s in the stillness that we often hear God’s whisper. We make room for the Holy Spirit to speak, not just to talk about God, but to actually listen to God together.
4. It is restful.
Spiritual direction isn’t another task or therapy appointment. It’s an invitation to rest. After a busy or emotionally charged day, it can feel like stepping into a quiet sanctuary. There’s nothing you have to perform or fix. You can just breathe.
5. You leave lighter.
You might come in carrying burdens (confusion, grief, longing) but most people leave feeling lighter. Not because everything is “fixed,” but because they’ve remembered what’s true: that they are seen, loved, and accompanied by God. That reassurance is powerful.
6. The director is not the expert—you are.
In counseling, the therapist often brings clinical expertise. In spiritual direction, we trust that you already know God and are learning to recognize God's voice. The director is simply a companion, helping you notice and name what is already true in your experience.
7. It’s about presence, not performance.
You don’t need to come with a goal, a question, or a tidy narrative. There’s no expectation to “make progress.” Just bring your honest self, tired, joyful, angry, numb, hopeful, and we’ll sit with whatever is there.
8. It’s slow on purpose.
Spiritual direction doesn’t rush. In a world that prizes productivity and answers, direction invites you to slow down and linger. Some sessions might feel like “nothing happened” but in time, those slow moments often turn out to be sacred ground.
9. It’s rooted in trust in the Spirit’s work.
There’s a shared belief that the Holy Spirit is the real director in the room. We’re both listening together, not just to what’s said, but to what’s stirred. The emphasis isn’t on technique or outcome, but on discernment and presence.
10. It's often seasonal or cyclical.
While counseling may be ongoing or tied to specific goals, spiritual direction often ebbs and flows. People sometimes enter direction during a time of discernment, grief, transition, or spiritual dryness—and continue because it becomes a place of grounding through all seasons.
In short, spiritual direction isn’t about fixing or figuring things out. It’s about noticing. Noticing where God is moving. Noticing how you’re responding. Noticing how deeply you are loved.
If you’ve never experienced spiritual direction and are curious, I’d love to talk more. It’s one of the most gentle, life-giving practices I know, and it’s always a gift to hold that sacred space with someone.
holy snacking
For the past few weeks, I’ve been working on a video that highlights the children’s ministry at my church. As part of it, I asked each child three simple questions:
What’s your favorite thing about Sunday school?
What’s your favorite Bible story?
Do you like going to church?
The answers were hilarious, heart-melting, and holy.
Without exception, every single child mentioned “snack time” or “snacks” as their favorite part of Sunday school. I’ll admit, about 5% of me wished they had said something about the teachers, the Bible stories, or at least offered up the classic Sunday school answer: “Jesus.” But nope. It’s the snacks.
The other 95% of me? Completely delighted.
Because honestly, this is exactly what Jesus meant when he said to come to him like a child: joyfully, wholeheartedly, and maybe even just a little hungry. What if we approached life—snacks included—with that same kind of delight? What if even something as ordinary as snacking could become an act of worship?
And then there was the third question: Do you like going to church?
Every child answered yes. Every single one. In this day and age, that feels like a small miracle.
Is it just because of the snacks? Maybe. But I think there’s more to it, even if the kids don’t have the words for it yet. They feel loved. They feel seen. They feel safe. They get to play with their friends, be silly, be honest, and just be kids. And yes, they get to say—without shame or pretense—that their favorite part is snack time.
And that, I think, is holy too.
What I’m About and Where This Blog Is Headed
It’s been a while since I’ve written here. That’s partly because the last couple of years have been filled with deep reflection as I’ve moved through my training in spiritual direction. In the past, this blog served as a kind of examen—a space to name and notice how God has been shaping me. But with regular written examens required throughout my training, my need to process publicly here has naturally quieted down.
Now, as that season begins to draw to a close, I find myself asking the big questions again (questions we all ask, and if we don’t, maybe we should be?):
What’s next?
What am I passionate about?
How do I most want to spend my time?
A recent retreat gave me the space to listen. I journaled. I made lists—of what I love, what I want to do more of, and what I want to release. And through all of that emerged something simple, honest, and energizing.
Here’s what I’m about:
Teaching kids and adults contemplative spiritual practices through:
coloring books and journals
picture books (mine and others)
Godly Play and other contemplative curricula
arts-and-crafts-based play
When I step back and look at it, the phrase that best captures all of this is “contemplative play.” Or, put another way, finding God in play—encountering the sacred through color, imagination, story, and creative rest.
So, I’ve been doing some refreshing behind the scenes—updating my website and narrowing my focus. I want this blog (and the monthly newsletters to come) to be a space where I share ideas, prompts, and resources to help you bring contemplative play into your own life and the lives of those you love.
Whether you’re a parent, educator, spiritual director, or creative soul just looking for something deeper—I hope you’ll journey with me.
Let’s make space. Let’s create and play. Let’s go deeper. Let’s rest and remember.
Pre-cut Fruit Just Tastes Better
I have a long-standing joke with a friend about how much I love when she brings me cut up fruit. She laughs because she says she doesn’t do anything special to it, but when I bite into that fruit, I know it’s something special. I’ve noticed this with other people, too. Fruit just tastes better to me when someone else has cut it into small, bite-sized pieces. (My mouth is even watering thinking about it!)
I also buy pre-cut strawberries at the supermarket almost every week. This feels like a huge indulgence. I know I could cut up my own strawberries! It would be cheaper, too. But somehow buying them pre-cut makes them taste better and sweeter.
Today I was reading a text exchange with a few friends, each one offering to bring food to a luncheon we were planning. I silently begged my one friend to offer to bring fruit because I knew she’d cut it up just right! I stopped myself then and wondered about this for the first time. Why do I delight in this so much? As I said, I could prepare it myself! What is the significance of someone else preparing it for me?
That’s when a memory flashed, of being a small child visiting my grandparents in Florida, of waking up to small bowls of cut up Florida oranges, prepared lovingly by my grandfather, “Bumpa”, of the small forks that stabbed only one piece at a time, making the small bowl last longer, of the perfect, bite-sized chunks of oranges - no peel, no strings (which is especially important to a child!) - that practically melted in my mouth. I remember begging Bumpa to cut up oranges for me, even as I grew up and he grew old. No one could cut up oranges like my grandfather. And each bowl he handed me felt a lot like love.
Bumpa had a lot of wonderful qualities that are worth an essay or two of their own, but today I am missing those days of him offering me not only a small bowl of perfectly cut up oranges, but a sign of his love for me.
So now I’m wondering if my love of pre-cut fruit could really tie back to those days of perfectly cut up Florida oranges. Is that why I love fruit that is especially prepared just for me? Because maybe the fruit really is sweeter when it comes from someone else, maybe other people know how to choose fruit better than I do! Or maybe, just maybe, it’s a little taste of what we are all longing for: the feeling of being loved.
a short update...
I am having surgery on Friday and somehow that feels like a deadline of sorts to submit a couple of my finished stories. I am going to submit my middle grade novel, as well as a picture book manuscript this week! I’m nervous and excited and that’s how I know it’s a good thing.
So today I am doing some final edits as I read through them one more time. I want to be published, of course, but mostly I know I just have to try. That’s all we can do, right? I’ve had this dream since I was 10, so it’s time to really give it a shot. I’ll keep you posted!
Spiritual Direction
In my training to become a spiritual director, we were tasked with coming up with a brochure of sorts about our spiritual direction practice. I thought I’d post mine here, in case anyone would like more information about it!
Resting in Belovedness
“May I invite you to drop the old names, come out from under the shame that tries to hinder your intimacy with God and others, and step onto the spacious path. Child of the living God, sing to the living God.”
--Tamara Hill Murphy in The Spacious Path: Practicing the Restful Way of Jesus in a Fragmented World
I wrote a couple months ago about shedding old coping mechanisms to live more intentionally and to walk in truth and today I’m going to write about another. This one has been a longer journey for me, with many iterations. But it ends with a tattoo.
It began recently as it always does: with an awkward encounter with an acquaintance.
In the past, I would have left the encounter and verbally berated myself about how weird and awkward I am, asking myself what was wrong with me. Looking back, I am sad about how cruel I was to myself - knowing that if someone else had said to me what I said to myself, it would be labeled abusive. I am happy to say I am past that, as that was a more obvious affront to God and His good work that is me.
But as I fought that old habit, it morphed into the thought that (and this is embarrassing to admit) “Wait until I lose weight, then they’ll want to be friends with me.” It was a mostly sub-conscious thought, but it somehow gave me (false) hope that someday I’d be better and more deserving of people’s love. As I was slowly convicted of loving myself as God’s image-bearer, I again realized that this was not a healthy thought and began to fight this one as well.
Soon though, the thought turned into the more subtle “well, that was awkward but wait until (fill in the blank) happens” pattern. I had become more comfortable with my weight and physical self, but still wasn’t happy with just being me.
This pattern took me a while to suss out. I had shed the verbally abusive comments, the negative thoughts about my weight, but I still put my hope it a false idea that someday people would love me for my accomplishments. I was idolizing some false ideal to help with the pain and fear of just offering my true self, take it or leave it. But the Holy Spirit is faithful and even revealed this one to me after a while, and I believe it was to bring me right here, to this moment.
After the aforementioned awkward encounter the other day, I started mentally going through different ways I could prove to this person that I wasn’t actually a weird person. I can be fun! I am a good friend! I give good gifts! (Yes, these are literally the thoughts that ran through my head…) I thought of texts I could send or offers of favors I could make. When suddenly it hit me: I am already beloved. I don’t have to prove myself to people. They can just accept me for who I am: broken, fragile me. Because the good news is that I am already beloved.
I am already beloved!
It has taken me a long time to see what a restful truth this is. I can stop my striving to prove myself and rest in my belovedness. Because the truth is, I am a good friend. I can be fun. I do give good gifts! I am a good and beautiful Creation of the God of the universe. And most importantly, I was loved by Him even before I came to be.
I absolutely love this quote from Tamara Hill Murphy in her book The Spacious Path: Practicing the Restful Way of Jesus in a Fragmented World:
Our parents name us at birth, and God gives us our forever name at the second birth of baptism. In baptism, we step into the water of death with Jesus and are raised with him, the beloved. Because belovedness begins in God, we do not name ourselves beloved; instead, we receive the name—the reality of ourselves, fully seen and loved by God—as a gift. We accept beloved as our name, and we accept ourselves as being loved. Our temptation is to live as if we are beloved without letting the truth sink down into the true state of our souls. We may believe God loves us, but we haven’t allowed that love to help us discover the truth about ourselves. Any rest we feel that doesn’t help us discover the truth about ourselves is a false rest.
And oh! The rest and freedom that comes in truly believing that I am beloved. No more coping mechanisms after awkward encounters. Instead, I will snuggle into the truth of my belovedness. I’m so grateful that God calls me his beloved. And I’m grateful that my parents gave me the name that means beloved.
And that’s why I got a tattoo, to always remind myself of that truth and find rest.
Announcing "The Enchanted Grove"!
I am so excited to announce the publication of my first coloring book! As you probably already know, I love to make coloring pages as a restful hobby. It began for me in early 2020, during the first lockdown days of the pandemic. I realized that making art felt too overwhelming, but I still needed a creative outlet. That’s when I first posted this hedgehog coloring page. Something about the simple black lines felt soothing to me, so I kept going. I was soon putting coloring pages like this one in our church’s Easter book and doing customized pages like this one.
Since then, every month, I’ve posted a few more, including some activity pages. Finally, earlier this year, I took a class on how to publish your own coloring book. In my excitement, I was tempted to rush its completion, but I tried to take my time so I could be proud of every page, and especially the cover.
If you do color any of the pages (either by purchasing a copy here or by downloading some of the sample pages I’ve posted), please share your versions with me. One of my surprising joys in creating these coloring pages is seeing how other people use color to make them unique and beautiful.
Two things I refuse to do anymore
Wish away the time (or “push through”)
Try to “get ahead”
I’m going to be honest and say this is a rushed blog post because I wanted to have something to post for the month of August! But what with vacation, back to school, and being sick, among other things, I haven’t sat down to write at all the entire month. But I have been pondering those two points for a while now, as I try to embrace a more restful lifestyle, even in the chaos of life, and had written those two points down a few months ago.
First of all, for many years, I would whisper to myself “just push through to bedtime” or “once this week is over, everything will be better”, but recently I realized I’ve been saying those things for nearly 40 years! So obviously these are lies I tell myself to get through a hard thing or week and something needed to change. I have been working on this because it’s a pretty big mental shift but I refuse to wish away the time anymore. It goes too quickly on its own!
I just finished Anthony Bloom’s Beginning to Pray and these are some of my favorite quotes from the chapter “Managing Time”:
“The moment I began to feel ‘I must be quick”, I would sit back and engage in small talk for a few minutes just to prevent myself from hurrying…
“Learn to master time, and you will be able - whatever you do, whatever the stress, in the storm, in tragedy, or simply in the confusion in which we continuously live - to be still, immobile in the present, face to face with the Lord, in silence or in words.”
He argues that we should practice sitting still and doing nothing for five minutes, gradually increasing that time the better we get at it (it makes sense that we should have to practice this, given that we are naturally very “busy” creatures!). So I figure that if I need to take a break for 5-10 minutes to gain some perspective, take some deep breaths, whisper some prayers, or write some laments or gratitudes, then that is worth stopping and doing in order to stop wishing away the moment.
My second point, “trying to get ahead”, is related to the first. This is another lie I’ve told myself for a long time! You know the one: if I just do this thing now, I won’t have to do it tomorrow and I’ll get ahead (I suppose the goal of this is so maybe we can gain some rest tomorrow? Which never happens!)*. I realized this one Sunday night when I threw in a load of laundry to “get ahead” for Monday. It hit me that there would always be laundry. It’s laughable to think there’s a “getting ahead” with laundry! So I should just rest now, when I’m supposed to be practicing Sabbath rest anyway!
And isn’t this true with so many other things in life? The work will always be there. The idea of “getting ahead” is almost universally a lie (I suppose we can all come up with exceptions) that I don’t want to buy into anymore. I need to rest when I can, which is probably still less than I need.
So these are two things I am working on not doing anymore. Does anyone want to join me?
*Weirdly, I also do the opposite. The famous procrastinator phrase “Why do today what you can push off until tomorrow?” also applies. What can I say? People are complicated.
Selah Residency #1
Pictured: Feelings cards from Elise; St. Benedict quote from Tamara Murphy that goes with her new book “The Spacious Path”; prayer cards by W. David O. Taylor.
It’s been a while since I’ve posted anything, but I’m learning that’s #momlife in summer! Most things have been good, but some have been hard and sad. But before any more time goes by, I wanted to post a short update about my first residency with Selah.
Selah is a program designed to train Spiritual Directors. There is a lot of reading, contemplation, retreat, practicing Spiritual Direction, and there are 5 in-person residencies total. This post is about my first residency. Much of what I took away I am still processing and will leave between me and God and a few close friends. But some of the gifts of the weekend, I would like to share here more publicly.
The weekend started very hard for me, a shy introvert unused to big groups of strangers! I felt unloved, unknown, and unwanted, if I’m completely honest. Those feelings were very familiar to me once upon a time, but not recently, so it was upsetting to have them come back. This is why I started journaling gifts. It felt important to notice them.
Gifts
I forgot my phone charger. This doesn’t sound like a gift, and I would not have said so at first! In fact, in all honesty, I panicked a little. Not even just at the thought of not having my phone, but the thought of even asking someone for a charger felt overwhelming to me. I did get to the point, though, that I realized this was actually a gift. I was able to be fully present without any social media or other distractions on my phone.
I shared, through tears, my true feelings. Again, doesn’t sound like a gift! But in speaking those feelings out loud, to a woman that I immediately trusted, took away their power. I was able to put voice to the fact that I believed God to be inviting me to deeper levels of healing.
I loved my peer group. We separated into smaller groups and I loved all the people in mine. It felt easier to open up in a smaller setting, and easier to make connections.
Someone had an extra phone charger. Somehow the first person I shared with about my phone had brought an extra charger and she gave it to me on the last day. She offered to just let me have it, but I returned it to her, thinking I’d be home the next day. (When my flight was cancelled, I really wished I had kept it!)
We had a story time with a picture book. What a gift to be ministered to with a medium that I love so much! How often have I said that adults should be reading children’s fiction? And that they can teach us so much?!
The picture book was about a bunny. This felt like a gift just for me! I’m not sure if anyone else in that room had sat with a bunny and snuggled, but for me it is almost a sacred experience. To hold a bunny is to quiet your body and be silent, which is such a perfect picture of Spiritual Direction.
Walking the labyrinth in community. I’m not sure I can put words to this one, but it was a highlight of my time there. We all walked into the labyrinth unsure and thinking it was a little weird, but most people left in tears. There was something about everyone being on the same path, just different places, but with the same goal. And sometimes we would be close to the center and sometimes we would be farther from the center, even though we were further along the path. During some of the hard things these past few weeks, as I have battled old demons, I have thought of this image, telling myself that I am further along the path, but maybe just not so close to the center right now. I know that God is inviting me to deeper levels of healing and intimacy with Him.
Spending 8 hours in the airport with T. What could have been a long afternoon by myself was made much more pleasant with a new friend from Selah who was also waiting on her flight. We spent 8 hours getting to know each other and it really was a joy. I’m so thankful I could end my time by processing, debriefing, and just getting to know her!
Good Friday Testimony
I recently had the privilege of sharing part of my testimony at our church’s Good Friday service. If you know me, this was way out of my comfort zone! But that is all part of the testimony of God’s work in my life. I decided to share what I wrote/shared on here, as well, in case it encourages anyone else. (The service had testimonies that corresponded to the seven last words of Jesus. I was assigned “I thirst”.)
I thirst.
I’m going to start off by reading an excerpt from a blog post I wrote in August of 2021. I often use my blog to try to put into words things that I’m learning or wrestle with the things I’m thinking about, so I feel like this post is a good starting point for what I want to talk about tonight.
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The fear is a mountain, a living mountain with arms that reach out to me.
I know that the mountain can shrink over time. But it’s not the mountain that goes anywhere. It’s a mountain. It doesn’t move. It doesn’t get smaller.
It’s just a matter of whether I stay in its shadow or not.
It’s a matter of whether I look at it or not.
It’s a matter of whether I give it space in my thoughts or not.
It’s a matter of me saying “God is good.” And then realizing if I really believe that, then fear can have no room in my heart.
It’s a matter of me saying “Do I trust God or not?”
If the answer is yes, then I can’t even look at that mountain. I can’t even glance that way. My only response is to stare into the face of Jesus and never look away.
The fear mountain is still there. It is a mountain of fear. A scary mountain with rampaging arms and gnashing teeth.
But it’s getting easier not to look at it.
I am walking and the mountain that used to loom above me, completely obstructing my path, seems smaller now.
It’s walking with Jesus in the helpless moments that gave me the way around it, and I am slowly making my way towards him, away from the mountain. The mountain never shrinks, it’s just easier not to look at it all the time because I have taken steps away from it.
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This journey from fear towards freedom started a few years earlier when I was talking to our pastor about possibly leading a small group. I told him no, I’m not a group person, I don’t feel comfortable speaking up in groups, I prefer one-on-one. I remember the moment very clearly, because he sat back in his chair and sort of pointed at me and said “You can be set free of that.” I think it took me by surprise and I may have even been a bit insulted! I was thinking this is just who I am! I don’t need to be set free of anything! I’m fine, I just don’t like groups, it’s OK to prefer one-on-one!
But I think he must have heard the fear in me that day and I just couldn’t see it. I didn’t even know how trapped in fear and old wounds I was and that God was offering me something better.
But since that day, I have heard God’s invitation with that sentence so many times.
Fear of speaking in groups? “You can be set free of that.”
Self-loathing and insecurities? “You can be set free of that.”
Anxiety over health problems? “You can be set free of that.
Fear for your children and their future? “You can be set free of that.”
Fear of speaking in front of people? “You can be set free of that.” (That one is a work in progress! They all are actually.)
My eyes have slowly and gently been opened to all the ways that I was trapped, and even paralyzed, with fear and I didn’t even know it.
I wish I could say how it works. I think about that a lot. When I hear that invitation to freedom from God, how does it work then to actually make it happen? And I really don’t know. All I know is that I have to say “OK, I want the freedom that you’re offering” and then it happens, God takes care of the rest. Sometimes it’s like I have to cling to that “OK”, but clinging to an OK to God is still way better than being trapped in my wounding and fear.
When Jesus was on the cross and said “I thirst”, he was offered only sour wine. When I echo the Psalmist and say “My soul thirsts for you, my body longs for you, in a dry and weary land where there is no water” he offers me all of himself. He died for me so my thirst would be quenched and that I would be set free.
My church on Easter morning
He was pierced for [my] transgressions,
he was crushed for [my] iniquity;
the punishment that brought me peace was on him,
and by his wounds [I am] healed.
The journey away from fear is the long game and I am not totally out of its grasp, probably in ways I still don’t even know about it yet. But I do know that I am a better friend, wife, and mother now that I’ve been set free of so many things and I know that I want to keep being set free for the rest of my life.
I thirst.
The Hospitality of Jesus
This was a painting that I had painted with houses representing my three words, which I then tried to recreate digitally as seen here. I think it represents the topic of the hospitality of Jesus pretty well.
Occasionally I write about my work as a Director of Children’s Ministry for our church, but I’m not sure if I’ve ever mentioned our unique worship space. My Christian church meets every week in a Jewish synagogue. And not only that, we have an entire hallway in the building that is just ours, including 3 classrooms, office space, and a sanctuary. The space is perfect for us in more ways than just because the space suits our needs so well: it has also done more for my faith and my understanding of God’s love for us than I ever could have imagined.
One morning, early in our time there, I asked one of the synagogue volunteers if they minded having us there and treating it like it was our building, too. I was quickly assured - completely sincerely - that they love having us there sharing the space with them. I was then offered a tour of their sanctuary, which I had never seen at that point, because they keep it locked. It is very sacred for them, and I was honored to be offered the chance.
We walked upstairs and she unlocked all the doors on the way. I felt the sacredness of the moment and the space. My children were with me, so I was a bit worried that they wouldn’t show the place its proper respect. But I needn’t have worried. As we were shown each beautiful stained glass window, depicting Old Testament scenes, my kids were quick to name every story. I could tell that their knowledge of the stories brought joy to my tour guide’s face.
As I walked around looking at the windows, and ultimately, the ark with the scrolls, I had a brief moment of sadness. I found myself wishing that I had something this precious and old and beautiful to call my own.
That’s when it hit me: this is my heritage and these are my stories, too, because I have been adopted into the family of God. (Remember the old Sunday School song “Father Abraham”?) And instead of pushing me away and declining me this, the people of this synagogue had welcomed me (us!) into their building and their most sacred spaces. And in doing so, they revealed to me more of God’s character and love of His people than I had ever understood before. He is truly the God of love and hospitality and adoption.
My church was welcomed into a Jewish synagogue to worship as Christians and isn’t that the perfect picture of what Jesus did for us? He broke the barriers between God and people and allowed us to enter in to God’s presence and be adopted into His family. My heart swells at the beauty of this and the enormous gift it has been to me, my faith, and my church!
And I am eternally grateful for this Jewish Congregation for teaching me about God, love, and the hospitality of Jesus.
What of Salt?
You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled underfoot. You are the light of the world. A town built on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven. (Matthew 5:13-16)
These are familiar verses, but a recent conversation helped me to see them in a new way. The idea of light and darkness makes sense to us. We talk about the looming darkness all the time. We focus on the darkness, probably more than we should. So the idea of Jesus being the Light, of us being the light, makes sense. This poor, sad, dark world needs light.
But what of salt? Why do we care about being the “salt of the earth”?
In those days, salt was used more for the preservation of something than for just adding flavor. If we are called to be the “salt of the earth”, what then should we be preserving?
I’ve heard it said that this metaphor is about “good, Christian living”, about being faithful to Christ in the world, about preserving what is good. But I don’t think that’s completely true.
What if being salt was actually a question of remembering our identity? And perhaps helping other people recognize their identity, worth, and purpose as well.
In my life, I have been amazed that the closer I draw to Jesus, the more I want to be like Him, the more I submit to Him, the more I actually feel like my true self! It is one of the greatest mysteries to me of being a Christian: that I can work to emulate someone else, and in turn, become more me. What a gift to feel secure in my identity because of Jesus! Jesus is my salt: the preserver of my true identity. I want to be salt for others: to help them see who they really are in Him.
It’s interesting to me that salt doesn’t actually ever lose it’s saltiness. Then why would Jesus have said that? But if we think of salt as a question of identity - made in God’s image, made to be His children, loved by God - than that can absolutely never change, even whether you believe it or not.
But we can forget.
Or not even know it in the first place.
I don’t think that being the “salt of the earth” is about preserving some sort of Christian sub-culture. That interpretation of the metaphor is far too weak.
Our job as salt is to remind or show others that they are salt, too. Each and every person, whether they know Jesus or not, has been made in God’s image and is loved unconditionally by Him. That is what gives us hope and makes us worthy. That gives us purpose. That is our identity.
Salt and light working together help us to know each other and ourselves better. And most importantly, they point to the true and greatest Light, Creator, and the One in whom our identity is complete: Jesus.