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.

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.

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:

1. Become aware of God’s presence.

2. Review the day with gratitude.

3. Pay attention to your emotions.

4. Choose one feature of the day and pray from it.

5. 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.

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.

Practicing the Presence | Prompt 1: Sunlight Through Leaves

“Photograph sunlight filtering through leaves.”

There is something quietly holy about the way light moves through the world.

Not just the sunrise or sunset kind of light—but the soft, ordinary light that dapples through trees on your morning walk, glints off the kitchen counter, or spills across the carpet when no one is watching.

This light doesn’t demand attention.
It just arrives.

And when we notice it—when we stop for a moment, breathe, and look up, we’re reminded:
God is here, too.

What is “Practicing the Presence”?

It’s an old phrase, most often associated with Brother Lawrence, a 17th-century monk who found God not only in prayer but in washing dishes.

It means learning to be with God in the everyday: in the chopping of vegetables, the tying of shoes, the folding of laundry. In birdsong. In traffic. In sunlight through leaves.

It’s not about doing more, but about noticing more.

About looking again.

Try This

At some point today, pause and look for the light, not just where it is obvious, but where it’s slipping in quietly.

Take a photo if you like. Not to perform or impress, but to practice presence. To hold the moment. To remember.

Ask yourself:

• What does this light reveal?

• What is God like in this moment?

• What happens in me when I pause to notice?

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.