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ОглавлениеJANUARY 1 • A New Beginning
Winter is quiet. Winter waits. Winter respects the organic changes taking place under the surface. Listening to winter means that we dare to follow its example.
The dawn of a new year always carries the seeds of potential—ready to sprout, eager to grow, throbbing with unrealized life. Twelve fresh months spread before us like a buffet. We learn to write a new year on our checks. We wonder what will fill the sparsely noted calendar pages. Often we rush to figure it out, proclaim resolutions, compose to-do lists. But if we’re listening to winter’s guidance, we may hear whispers that we’re running ahead of the unfolding process. Winter invites us to hold the reins on our runaway spirits, to reflect before we stampede into action.
Expert fire-builders tell us that the empty space between the logs is necessary for fire to kindle. And so it is with us. We must create space to spark the soul’s wisdom. The soul, somewhat shy, speaks in whispers not in shouts; it requires unhurried time.
The ego protests this slowdown, shouting at us to get organized, start moving, attack the looming projects. But the soul pulls us in another direction, urging us to carve out a few reflective moments to consider those calendar entries, to become aware of who we are and where the Spirit is leading us.
We make this process a priority because in the soul’s growth, it is. Prayer, reflection, sipping a cup of tea while staring out the window—anything that allows spaciousness also allows a wisdom greater than we know to pay a winter visit. Be ready to open the door. Slow down and sit a spell.
Reflect: Create a time today (even five minutes) when you can sit in silence and allow your spirit to settle. Don’t expect anything; don’t evaluate the content of the time. Just know that your soul is opening to love and wisdom.
JANUARY 2 • New Year’s Resolutions
I’ve never been a fan of New Year’s resolutions. Like many other folks, I make them, usually break them, then wallow in guilt as I revert to business as usual. That being said, it still seems prudent to project some sort of intention as the new year begins, some evidence of movement toward healthy changes.
This year I’m altering my usual program by engaging in times of silent reflection, reviewing the past year’s moments of joy and challenge and focusing on the lessons offered. What occasions brought delight? What brought pain or suffering? Did I open myself to greater compassion and love because of them? Through this reflective process, I can sense divine presence moving through life’s experiences.
Rather than regarding the difficult times as occasions of God’s absence, it helps to recall the support that bore the wings of love during those thorny passages, the kindnesses that made situations bearable—all signs of God’s encompassing presence. On the other hand, remembrance of the surprising joys teaches volumes about what nurtures and delights. It’s a mixed bag and a total package that spell LIFE, full of light and dark places. Seeing ourselves and our lives as a whole lends a perspective that is illumined by attention and unlocked with the key of gratitude.
So I hope to be a more reflective learner this year—stopping often to do some spiritual fishing, throwing my net into deep waters and seeing what life-giving lessons I can catch. Want to join me?
Reflect: Spend some time reviewing the past year and its events. What invitations to grow did you perceive and accept? How did you change as a result? Give thanks for the ways in which the Spirit can shape you through whatever occurs in your life.
JANUARY 3 • Fallow Time
Farmers speak of the value of allowing a field to lie fallow for a while, to remain idle in order to rejuvenate the soil for future productivity. Listening to winter teaches us that we too can find refreshment through lying fallow.
Joining this cycle of nature—work and rest, action and contemplation, productivity and passivity—puts us in harmony with creation itself. Jesus modeled this rhythm for us. On occasion, he left needy crowds behind to commune with God in prayer, to celebrate with friends, or just to be alone for a time.
When our souls lie fallow, they become aware of the quiet infusion of God in and through everything—not merely the moments we might deem spiritual or religious. Divine creative energy is the animating force that undergirds all of life, all the time. Words from the book of Acts give us a glimpse of this life-giving energy: “In him we live and move and have our being” (17:28).
Though we may not have the luxury of a week’s retreat or a spa vacation, we can find pockets of refreshment even in a busy day—soaking in a hot bath, reading a few pages from an inspiring book, watching the cardinal flutter at the feeder, petting the new puppy, sitting in silence.
Our souls need the same kind of renewal as the farmer’s field. Perhaps we too will be more fruitful if we respect our need to lie fallow occasionally.
Reflect: Make a list of minivacations that can provide respite during your daily round. Post them where you can refer to them often. Find some fallow moments today, simply to be rather than to do.
JANUARY 4 • Cocooning
Once I plucked a cocoon from a tree and pried it open to see what was inside. Bad idea. Inside it was dark, unformed, unfinished. I had disturbed the darkness essential to its unfolding.
The darkness of a cocoon does not reflect an absence of life but rather the activity of life being formed. It takes patience. The gradual maturing of our own souls also takes some cocooning. A time of stillness, even when it feels like a gloomy laziness, allows this process to evolve while we watch and wait and pay attention to what is happening.
Science tells us that each chrysalis attaches to a cremaster—a tiny spiny protuberance that serves as an anchor point to connect the pupa to a stem, twig, or other “holding place”—nature’s Velcro™, if you will. We too stay connected in dark times to that quiet core inside our souls where God meets us, comforts us, sustains us, “cocoons” us—with a giant cosmic hug. Spiritual disciplines can strengthen this connection through prayer, meditation, worship, spiritual friendships, and service to others.
Creativity can also serve as that still point. After all, an artist isn’t a special kind of person so much as each person is a special kind of artist. Your own soul is the canvas, the weaving, the song, the poem—and with every stroke or word, you’re joining the creative dance of life.
Listening to winter leads us to discover a whole host of cremasters—our companions in a growth group, the support of our families, a spiritual director—and above all, our trust in a loving God who champions our wholeness.
Reflect: What connections and creations serve as your anchor points? May you feel blessed today as you allow those still points to nurture your own cocooning process.
JANUARY 5 • My Soul Waits in Silence. . . .
It’s almost impossible to reflect in the midst of a whirlwind. Every day the noise of crowded homes, busy highways, chattering workplaces, and media entertainment—not to mention our techno-gadgets—bombards us! Sitting in silence invites us to focus on matters of the heart, communing with something greater than the cacophony around us—in other words, listening to winter.
So how do we do that? The first obvious answer comes when we choose to stop talking, which includes the ticker tape running in our heads while our lips are closed. Sacred silence is not the silence of a graveyard but the silence of a garden growing. If you stand in a winter garden, it appears that nothing is happening in the somber stillness. Yet biology reminds us that vigorous activity, cellular movement, and unseen life abound underneath the ground—life that we can neither see nor control. Eventually growth emerges in leaves and flowers and, ultimately, fruit.
Intentionally entering the silence signals radical trust. Do we believe that the Spirit can form us without our expert micromanagement? If so, we offer the garden of our hearts for divine tilling and planting with no questions asked. As we relinquish control and judgment of the process, we find over time that green growth emerges—in the form of answered prayer, fresh insights, and an awakening to God’s presence in everything. It seems as if our souls are shaped just as organically as the flowers in this amazing underground process.
Think about it—a garden offers itself to the light and lets go of control. Lilies turn into lilies, tomatoes become tomatoes. Maybe we too can be shaped into what we were meant to be as we trust the divine Gardener in the silence.
Reflect: Try sitting for at least five minutes in a quiet place with eyes closed. Breathe deeply, imagining that your inner garden is being tilled and planted by One wiser and more loving than you’ve ever envisioned.
JANUARY 6 • The Ancient Path of Silence
Ask for the ancient paths, where the good way lies; and walk in it, and find rest for your souls” (Jer. 6:16). Silence is an ancient path that has stood the test of time.
As an extrovert, I used to consider silent prayer a waste of time, a time I should use more productively. Why sit when I could be feeding the hungry? For compulsive “doers” addicted to productivity and measurable results, stillness is a tall order indeed.
The practice of silence had to change my life before I could change my mind. Studying the witness of others convinced me that God could nurture my hectic soul, if I could learn to be still. The practice didn’t seem to fit my wiring, but I felt compelled to give it a try.
My first guide in this endeavor was Father Thomas Keating through his method of Centering Prayer. I rose early each morning, his book Open Mind, Open Heart: The Contemplative Dimension of the Gospel in my lap, and sat comfortably—spine straight and feet flat on the floor—trusting that God was tilling the soil of my soul. Keating suggested the choice of a “sacred word” to which I could return when distracted. Since he cautioned against using a word that carried lots of meaning (to avoid thinking about the word rather than emptying the mind), I had to experiment with several words before I found something workable. I finally chose empty.
Even though I sensed no results that fit into my usual patterns of evaluation, I continued to show up—first for five minutes, then ten, then twenty. As the practice became more comfortable, I sat for even longer periods of time. I held fast to the perception that something was occurring in the hidden recesses of my spirit. The lengthening silence brought with it a sense of trust. I slowly realized that silence is the true training ground for the art of listening.
Reflect: Take a chance on this ancient practice. Find a quiet spot and commit to a power greater than yourself. Be gentle with yourself as you plow new spiritual ground.
JANUARY 7 • Drowning in Words
I love words—the sight of them on the page, the vibration of them in the ear, the delicious feel of them as they roll out of my mouth, their power to describe and enchant. I love water as well, but I try not to forget that I can drown in it as well as delight in it. Truth is, most of us are drowning in words.
We are seduced by sound and print in all its forms—from stimulating discussions to vivid descriptions. We become so enthralled with words that we begin to mistake the “right words” for the real thing. We can easily confuse reading a book about prayer with the practice of praying. Words can become an end in themselves rather than a means to the experience of the holy. On the journey of spiritual formation, words can point to God but not provide the experience of God. In the words of poet John Keats, “Nothing ever becomes real till it is experienced—even a proverb is no proverb to you till your life has illustrated it.”1
Silence offers the divine language that enriches the growth of introverts and extroverts alike, yet it can be both deafening and disturbing. Being silent can also feel like a colossal waste of time. We usually try to fill it, obliterate it, or enliven it by inner and outer chatter. I once considered silent practice as one of many forms of contemplation, a mere appetizer on the rich buffet of spiritual options that we could take a bite of—or not. I now believe it forms the foundation of true communication with God.
Psalm 46:10 says it plain as day: “Be still, and know that I am God!” Not “Read another book, and you’ll know”; “Tackle another worthy project, and you’ll know”; or even “Study the Bible more, and you’ll know.” It says to be still and know.
Reflect: Pause several times today to pay attention to your feelings. Sense God’s presence in small details: a sudden surge of love for your family, the taste of hot cornbread, the smell of a fresh rose. Just stop and feel it rather than describe it.
JANUARY 8 • Stumbling through the Silence
My novice attempts at silence, while sporadic and unsatisfying, encouraged me to “keep my appointment with God.” So I did—morning after morning. My mind wandered; I got twitchy. I noticed no immediate change and heard no booming voice from on high. For a person accustomed to being proactive and trying harder, I found it a tough discipline.
At first, silence felt like my enemy; a chorus of chattering voices competed for attention—the “monkey mind.” I had to accept that minds just do that—leap from thought to thought like monkeys leaping from limb to limb. My spiritual guides urged me to remain patient, releasing thoughts without self-judgment or evaluation—in short, to trust the process. Those who write about the contemplative life refer to silence as “the language of God.” To experience this holy voice, I had to present my soul as an empty container to be filled with . . . whatever.
After weeks, I began to notice subtle—almost imperceptible—differences that no one would have noticed but me: a kinder response to an irritation; more patience, less judgment. Not a major spiritual overhaul but slight changes nonetheless. My exterior behavior seemed to receive silent support from inside—oh, so slowly.
But all wasn’t roses and light. Along with budding fruit of the Spirit, I experienced a heightened awareness of my real motives and hidden agendas. Ouch. Ultimately, I came to accept this revealing light as part of the process, encompassed not by judgment and shame but by forgiveness and mercy.
Eventually, the silence turned from adversary to adviser, from foe to friend. Rather than inverting a life of service into mere navel-gazing, silence can charge our spiritual engine and set it into motion. Silent practice is far from lazy inactivity. A lifetime endeavor, to be sure, but it begins with that first brave step into the silence.
Reflect: Sit comfortably in a straight chair, feet flat on the floor, settling into the silence with deep belly breaths. Set a timer for ten minutes. As each thought arises, mentally let it go like nudging a butterfly off your shoulder. Then return to your breathing or your sacred word. Don’t judge yourself as inadequate or inept—only faithful!
JANUARY 9 • Trusting the Hidden Process
So how can we take part in this astounding process of growth? We begin with patience. The Spirit’s guidance doesn’t usually operate in fast mode but rather on “winter time.” In silence, we can offer questions and concerns to God’s wisdom, not so God will fix us or our problems arbitrarily but so we can take our next step in harmony with divine guidance. The Spirit can comfort us in suffering, come to us through others’ actions and words, and nudge us into action in subtle ways. In our microwave minds, we want that guidance pronto and without ambiguity, but patience paves the way.
We offer our full presence by noticing what is occurring now. We do not regret the past or fear the future but focus on being here now in love. Is what we are thinking or doing furthering the service of love?
We open ourselves to deeper perception. Our awareness of this growth process sharpens as we acknowledge what energizes us as well as what drains us. What causes anxiety, despair, joy? What triggers our reactions? How does this perception invite us to change?
Finally, the growth process requires our participation. Once we perceive the guidance, how can we do our part? We summon the courage to take the next step, to move toward the next point of light that we can see.
Reflect: Creation itself grows in silence—plants, trees, flowers. The sun and the moon move in silence. Silence itself gives us a new perspective. Slowly consider your awareness of God’s presence in the silence. Be aware as the vast emptiness, free of sound, fills with a larger and more loving presence.
JANUARY 10 • Getting Unstuck
I remember the wise words of a mentor voiced many years ago: “One of the best ways to get unstuck is to take chances.” He then posed a question that hit me right between the eyes: “When will you learn to take a risk on your own behalf?”
Struggling with the meaning of that question, I realized that I regarded such questions as selfish and egocentric. I had to learn the hard way that taking a risk on my own behalf is a movement toward wholeness rather than selfishness.
Becoming an authentic person means daring to be your true self—not being less than you are capable of being or pretending to be more. Strength comes in congruence and freedom comes in authenticity, but both are part of a risky business.
As we become more comfortable in our own skin, we gain the courage to say what we mean and mean what we say. In doing so, we risk the reactions of those around us whose love and approval we so desperately seek. Prior to this helpful risk taking, most of us fell into the habit of parsing our words to elicit the best response. To put it bluntly, we tried to manipulate people’s feelings toward us.
Rather than using our honesty as a hammer to pound others with our opinions, we can learn appropriate ways to remain true to our values while not leaving ambiguous impressions of who we are and what we think. After all, tact is the intelligence of the heart. As the writer of Ecclesiastes cautions, there is “a time to keep silence, and a time to speak” (3:7). However, sitting on feelings that demand expression can drive them down an emotional rabbit hole, and they often fester into resentment and buried anger—all because we didn’t risk speaking authentically.
Yes, getting unstuck requires steadfast loyalty to the true self, guided by God.
Reflect: Notice your communications today. Are they clear and congruent with how you truly feel? Pray that God will teach you the value of honesty in all you say and do so that you can be free of unhealthy mixed messages.
JANUARY 11 • Stepping Off the Treadmill
The feeling of mindlessly spinning in circles or running in place is common to all of us. The mundane tasks of living—showering, dressing, driving to work, preparing meals, changing the diapers—seem to drain the hours from the day, as if we are running as fast as we can while getting nowhere. In truth, it’s easier to complain about this treadmill than it is to actually break the cycle of running in place.
Dislodging the patterns of “same old, same old” can require some creativity in reframing simple tasks, which enables us to spark new life into a humdrum day:
• Take a different route to work.
• Plan a week’s meals at one sitting.
• Introduce a new spiritual discipline into your devotional routine.
• Dress in clothes you haven’t worn for a while.
• Get dishes and place mats out of storage and use them.
• Eat dinner on a card table in front of the fire.
• Play soft music instead of using the TV as background noise.
• Promote a positive attitude among family members by asking, “What was the best thing that happened to you today?”
A powerful shift in perception can occur by doing an ordinary thing with extraordinary mindfulness. Pay your bills with sincere gratitude for the services rendered; set the table while saying a prayer for the person who will occupy that place; as you wash your face, be cleansed of falseness and vanity.
In other words, allow commonplace happenings to bless you with uncommon meaning. Daily life is more about loving what you have to do than doing what you love to do. It’s more about wanting what you have than having what you want.
Reflect: Be attentive today to the small things, taking nothing for granted—the smile of a loved one, your dog’s wagging tail, the sun on your face, your own breath. Breathe a silent thank-you for simple joys.
JANUARY 12 • A Clean Slate
Something about a new calendar book brimming with clean blank pages excites me. Or in this digital age, perhaps a smartphone date book with no entries brings joy. Either way, we choose how we will fill the blanks. The new year affords us an opportune time to take responsibility for ourselves. After all, it’s our voice that says yes and our hand that writes on the calendar. The new year becomes a good time to quit agreeing to a flurry of activities and then blaming others for putting too much on us. We can take time for deliberate consideration of what brings life to us and others.
First off, we need to fire the interior “drill sergeant” who pushes us around—the one who barks, “You ought to, you need to, you should, you must.” We often project that bossiness onto God by assuming the Almighty’s displeasure with our errant behavior and our need to “straighten up.” But our own inner sergeant, not the loving source of life, motivates us through guilt.
How different it feels inside when we can say, “I choose to, I want to, I will!” instead of “I’ve got to, they need me to, God requires me to.” When we change from the inside out, we can make difficult, sacrificial choices from a loving heart rather than from a grudging obedience. This freedom may seem to run counter to the religious mandate that most of us grew up with: the virtue of obedience. This “virtue,” as we have mistakenly defined it through the years, maintains an aura of coercion—doing things because others expect it. My experience has been that the Spirit invites, not coerces. God’s guidance comes as invitation not condemnation.
So in these reflective winter moments, consider moving from duty to devotion. We usually do our duty with gritted teeth, but we can choose freely with a smile.
Reflect: Monitor your thoughts and words today, noticing each time you say “ought” and “should.” Instead, try saying “I choose,” so you can claim responsibility for what you say and do.
JANUARY 13 • Parable of the Rocks
A professor stood before his time-management class with an object lesson. He picked up a gallon-sized jar and began to fill it with fist-sized rocks, then asked the class members, “Is this jar full?” They all answered yes. Then he reached for a bucket of gravel and poured it into the jar, allowing the smaller rocks to settle around the larger ones. Again he asked, “Is the jar full?” And again they replied with a resounding yes. He then produced a container of sand, which he added to the jar. It filled in the empty spaces. Again the same question, “Is it full?” This time, only a few participants said yes. Finally he brought in a pitcher of water, which indeed did fill the jar to the brim. His demonstration completed, he asked his class, “Now what is the moral of this lesson?” A clever student immediately raised his hand and proclaimed proudly, “The point of your illustration is that no matter how much you have to do, you can always fit something else in!”
“No,” replied the professor. “The moral of the lesson is that if you don’t put your big rocks in first, you’ll never get them in at all.”
In deciding what our “big rocks” are, we’re likely to let some lesser things go, at least for a while. Of course, our priorities constantly change as our lives evolve. Tasks like child care, tending a sick family member, starting a new business, completing an important project, convalescing from an illness can occupy prime space in our lives until the need for them disappears. However, if we prayerfully keep our deepest values in view, we are more apt to parcel out our time and energy prudently.
Reflect: What “big rocks” fill your life right now? What activities and tasks can only you do? Which items can you delegate or postpone? Allow the Spirit to reveal what is truly important at this particular time.
JANUARY 14 • The Stuffed Schedule
I bumped into a friend in the grocery aisle recently. After the customary hellos and how are yous, she swiped a wisp of hair from her eyes and sighed with exasperation, “I’ve just been soooo busy!” Then I heard myself saying the same words. It’s a recurrent refrain. We rush past the abundant life and jeopardize our own souls when we live such hurried and harried lives.
This flustered attitude is an equal opportunity employer that rules people, regardless of race, creed, or gender. From doctors to doorkeepers, life piles endlessly upon itself until the beautiful experience of being alive melts into one enormous obligation, leaving us exhausted and stripped of joy.
Once in a while we acknowledge the unpleasant truth: Our busyness holds a hidden psychological payoff. Our culture rewards busyness, but another underlying motivation bears scrutiny. We proclaim our “busyness” to one another with some hidden degree of pride; we claim our exhaustion as a trophy; we pretend our ability to withstand stress is a mark of real character. The busier we are, the more important we seem to ourselves and—we think—to others. Unfortunately, this busyness has become the model of a successful life.
When we cram our days full with people, projects, and schedules, we affirm the familiar bumper sticker that mirrors our reality: LIFE IS WHAT HAPPENS WHILE YOU’RE BUSY MAKING OTHER PLANS. Our intuition toward simplicity is not enough. We must act on this awareness rather than pick up yet another catalog and place an order for unnecessary diversion. Simplifying our life doesn’t usually mean selling the house and giving away everything we own. It’s often enough to begin to clean off the messy desk or pare down the crowded calendar. Old habits will push back, tempting us to return to normal. We smile and say, “I know you!” and then gently let them go.
Reflect: Consider honestly your relationship to busyness. Does it remain a constant in your life or a sometimes occurrence? Each time you feel overly busy, take a deep breath—breathing in peace and breathing out the harried feeling. One step at a time, one task at a time.
JANUARY 15 • Paring Things Down
H ave you ever noted the correlation between exterior clutter and interior clutter? Studies that try to measure such connections point to one certainty: Disarray in the outer world contributes to confusion in the inner world. No wonder wise teachers through the centuries have lifted simplicity as a virtue and asserted that less is more. The spiritual life is fundamentally one of subtraction, not addition. Simplicity is a simple idea, . . . or is it?
If we start with visible possessions, we know that simple doesn’t always mean easy. In married life, if one person is a pack rat while the other is a neatnik, just cleaning out the garage can create trouble. One such couple reached a truce when they agreed on a useful litmus list to guide their cleanup:
• Do I love it? (item of beauty and meaning)
• Do I need it? (How long since I last used it?)
• Does it support who I am now in my life? (Do I still need these ski boots when I’ve given up skiing?)
• Does it need repair, and am I willing to do so now?
Using these questions as a guide, the couple sorted the bounty into containers marked Throw Away, Give Away, Sell, Lend, and Keep, setting a firm date and destination for each collection of goods.
This process involves both reflection and physical activity. It reminds us of what we value and why, with the added benefit of a more serene atmosphere of order and spaciousness.
Reflect: Start with a crowded closet or a cluttered kitchen drawer. Or simply unravel the jumble of computer cords. As you sort and toss and unwind, be aware of the interior release you feel. Give thanks that you are taking a step toward simplicity.
JANUARY 16 • Programming Your Frustration
Last January I prayerfully asked, “How is God inviting me to grow this year?” I got a very surprising answer. Over the next few days, a strange phrase kept nudging my consciousness. It returned again and again: You’re programming your own frustration. When I finally decided to deal with what seemed to be a “message,” I noticed a sea of anxiety and hurriedness underlying my days. The outward manifestations may be familiar to you: constant glancing at the clock; driving too fast, trying to make it before the light turns yellow; concern about being late, rushing to finish my to-do list; a slight tightening of the muscles that felt normal. I felt like I was living behind an imaginary eight ball most of the time.
Since the pesky phrase wouldn’t leave, I figured the Spirit was inviting me to deal with it—not simply to list all my reasons for feeling that way or all the people and projects that were supposedly responsible for my malaise. I needed to examine my complicity in my condition.
I knew from experience that to wallow in self-judgment (or judgment of others) would only land me in a pit of guilt and resentment. Yet I didn’t know where to start. I needed a “tool,” a spiritual practice that would facilitate the needed change. Thus evolved the Preparation Prayer.
At first waking, I silently repeated Psalm118:24, “This is the day that the LORD has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it.” Then, with a cup of coffee in a quiet place, I followed this pattern:
1. List all activities/appointments/tasks to be accomplished today. Include everything—even minor tasks: trip to grocery store, dental appointment, picking up the kids, as well as work hours, and so on.
2. Survey list to see if to-do items extend beyond the time allowed. Does the list demand more energy than I have? Will I be running late by afternoon?
3. If there are too many entries, target activities to delegate, move to another day or month, or discard altogether. Eliminate them from the list.
4. When the list is a manageable size, rewrite the entries in chronological order so that you can see the flow of the day ahead.
5. Pray through the list. Imagine the light of God surrounding each activity, as if the Spirit goes before you and beside you, empowering you with energy, focus, and purpose. Inhale each task mindfully and slowly; exhale the sense of urgency.
Affirm that This is the day the Lord has made. I will rejoice and be glad in it.
Reflect: While suspending all judgment, put your day under a microscope of grace and wisdom. Then notice ways you may be “programming your own frustration.”
JANUARY 17 • Decluttering the Calendar
Listening to winter leads us to take responsibility for our own choices. We learn to get real about our physical and emotional limitations. We discover that it’s better to do a few things with joy and competence than a bevy of things with fatigue and resentment. We learn that No is a complete sentence that doesn’t require a string of becauses and excuses. Our false guilt and martyr complexes fade away into authentic living.
Here’s a simple beginner’s tool. Write down every single item or activity for which you are responsible and the various activities that occupy your time. Then form several lists:
• List items or activities that only you can do; if you don’t do them, they won’t get done. (Being a loving spouse or responsible parent, caring for an ailing family member, remaining employed . . .)
• List items or activities that someone else can do. (President of PTA, committee chair, board member . . .)
• List items or activities you would like to do but can postpone. (Taking a weaving course, learning to play bridge, going on a golf outing, helping with the literacy project, teaching a Sunday school class . . .)
• List items and activities that feed your soul. (Painting, sports, book club, cooking, gardening . . .)
Only you can move commitments around on your list and decide where they belong. The list is never permanent or static because life isn’t!
Despite the numerous worthwhile tasks, a significant difference exists between seeing what needs to be done and being called to do it. As you make these choices, remember this: If what you’re doing has an underlying sense of joy and fulfillment, it’s probably yours to do. On the other hand, if joy is missing and you feel like the victim of constant drudgery, then you’ve probably picked up someone else’s task.
As the old adage reminds us, “People begin to cut wisdom teeth the first time they bite off more than they can chew.” We need to act on that wisdom!
Reflect: Sit quietly with pen and paper in hand and slowly craft your own list. Allow time for a thoughtful, honest, and reflective process. Pray for the courage to act on what you discover.
JANUARY 18 • Produce and Possess
Oh, he’s very successful,” I heard myself saying as I described an up-and-coming young executive. A red warning light started blinking in my mind. Once again, I had unconsciously reflected our culture’s idea of success.
Even though we intellectually embrace the call to simplicity and acknowledge our soul’s yearnings for it, we run smack into the cultural message to produce and possess. Regardless of what we say, when we look at how we actually spend our money and time, it appears we’ve bought into this flawed notion. We accept society’s measurement of us by what we generate and accumulate, and we apply the same rationale in our evaluation of others.
The twin imperatives—produce and possess—can lead us away from our authentic selves if we don’t pay close attention. They start eating up time and money until our planned purchases, trips, and activities begin to drive all our decisions. Before we know it, life is cluttered with the maintenance of the stuff we’ve acquired and the life we’ve enshrined. It can become a vicious cycle indeed.
As we listen to winter’s wisdom, we explore ways to reverse this trend, finding real joy in what we have without being caught in the whirlwind of more, more, more. What would it mean in our lives to lean toward less, less, less?
Reflect: Take a few moments to reflect on your relationship to your stuff. Does it own you, or do you own it? Make a realistic plan to reduce the volume of possessions you no longer need.
JANUARY 19 • The Muddled Mind
In many ways, the mind is like a whiteboard, and we hold both the marker and eraser in our hands. The thoughts we choose to hold carry incredible power, affecting us and those around us for good or ill. In other words, thoughts produce feelings; feelings produce emotions; emotions produce actions; actions produce experience—a cause-and-effect process that is both gratifying and terrifying.
Addressing a muddled mind requires some serious thought management. A mind full of racing thoughts robs us of peace and stability. When we choose to go over the same hurts and resentments again and again, we deepen harmful neural pathways and can become stuck in a sea of negativity. Unconsciously, an internal victim stance can slowly become part of our identity, and we often wear our victimhood like a badge of honor. Even if the feelings are justified, they do their toxic work in our bodies and minds, plus giving us an aura of “See how much I’ve suffered.”
I’m not suggesting that we suppress negative feelings. However, after some time for venting, exploring the lessons, expressing concerns, making amends—whatever appropriately honors those legitimate feelings—the time comes to “erase the whiteboard.” Our continuing to replay grievances in our heads is like drinking hemlock and hoping someone else will get sick!
This “erasing” opens us to the challenging territory of forgiveness. We forgive people, not bad behaviors. We forgive—not for the person who wronged us—but for ourselves. If indeed, God has created us in the divine image, being true to our divine heritage calls us to forgive as God forgives.
So when thoughts of complaint or judgment keep returning, switch gears and choose other thoughts that contribute to healing, such as thanks for what we do have rather than regret for what we don’t; gratitude for life as it is rather than complaint about what it isn’t.
Reflect: Today pay attention to the terrain of your own mind. As the gatekeeper of your thoughts, do you allow unwanted visitors to enter? Feel the freedom of your soul as you bid farewell to each negative visitor.
JANUARY 20 • Junk Food for the Brain
There’s no such thing as idle thought. Just as radio waves or telephone transmissions carry messages, so do the invisible vibrations produced by our thoughts. No wonder Paul counseled, “Be transformed by the renewing of your minds” (Rom 12:2).
Our culture seems more obsessed with what we eat than what we think: How many calories? How much fiber? Did we get our five servings of fruits and vegetables today? I wish we paid that much attention to what we feed our minds. We take “bites” from a buffet of offerings—violent movies, ridiculous TV sitcoms, trashy novels, idle gossip—all junk food for the brain. In order to monitor what we feed our minds, we must first become aware of the part we play in the feeding. An old American folktale drives this truth home.
An elderly man listened as his grandson described a battle between two friends on the playground. The grandfather got a faraway look in his eyes and said, “Yes, I know what you mean, but the real battle is somewhere else, . . . and it’s between the two wolves!”
“What do you mean?” asked the boy.
The old man replied, “We have a battle raging all the time inside every one of us—where no one else can see. One wolf is negative—he wears anger, envy, jealousy, greed, arrogance, self-pity, resentment, false pride, inferiority, superiority, and bravado. The other wolf is positive—he wears joy, peace, love, hope, humility, kindness, generosity, truth, and compassion. It’s an ongoing war—a true battle!”
“Well,” said the boy, “ who wins, Granddaddy?”
And the wise man replied knowingly, “Oh, that’s easy. The winner is the one you feed.”
After first hearing that story, I began to notice the subtle (and not so subtle) ways I feed the negative wolf by repeating a criticism, by calling a friend to complain about someone who has slighted me, by engaging in vengeful fantasies. Just as life-enhancing emotions grow by being fed, so do the emotions that choke the life from us. To state the obvious: Energy flows where attention goes.
Reflect: Notice today which wolf you feed through your thoughts. Be compassionate with yourself, even as you become aware of your complicitity.
JANUARY 21 • Changing Your Mind
Some folks are fluid and some congeal,” said one observer of the maturing process. We often confuse stability with rigidity. Even though we like to think of our values and opinions as the “right” ones, we can remain open to deeper understanding and to refining our positions when reality dictates it.
Oftentimes, we tend to hold on to the familiar, even when it no longer serves us or when modern discoveries shoot our opinions full of holes. When science revealed that the earth was round, many maintained their belief that it was flat so they could “stand on their beliefs.” Life surprises us with shifts that may not exist in the script we planned, and we are called to rewrite the lines over and over again.
In our culture of confidence, three phrases we dread confessing are these: “I’m sorry,” “I’m not sure,” and “I’ve changed my mind.” Unfortunately, we associate them with the weak and lily-livered—people we believe cannot stand up for themselves or stick with a decision. We label politicians as flip-floppers and judge those who compromise as unprincipled. The world might be a better place if folks were willing to change long held opinions when they become untenable.
Being able to consider many points of view is a virtue of the strong, not the weak. The capacity to change our minds reflects humility and the intelligent pursuit of truth. Those who hang on to an opinion like a dog with a bone remind me of the old cliché, “My mind is made up; don’t confuse me with the facts!” None of us has a corner on the truth.
Reflect: As you reflect during these winter contemplative moments, notice your own rigid feelings. Summon the courage to consider opening your mind to new ways of thinking.
JANUARY 22 • The Humble Spirit
The words of Jesus in the Sermon on the Mount point to the value of genuine humility: “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven” (Matt. 5:3).
Perhaps being confused and spiritually restless is not such a bad state of being. It implies our acknowledgment that we can always learn something, that we can expand our horizon, and that a wider truth exists. After all, growth of the soul is about expansion, not contraction.
“Poor in spirit” can also mean we’re at the end of our rope, out of answers, and uncertain. In that condition, we naturally respond by reaching for something greater and wiser. Being poor in spirit points to true humility and a willingness to subvert our pompous egos. Of course, we usually think that refers to someone else, but what about the times when we think we are better than others—more principled, more “right”?
Spiritual uncertainty leads us to the startling reality that doubt can form the cutting edge of faith. Quite a number of my beliefs have been challenged, dissected, and reshaped during the course of my life. Though it didn’t seem so at the time, the intellectual wrestling has strengthened rather than weakened my faith. Our concerns about our beliefs can propel us toward authenticity. Our concerns can rattle our spiritual cages in a way that won’t allow falseness or blind belief. The Spirit often uses our failures and doubts to lead us to deeper truth.
A humble spirit also opens us to what I call “nonthinking thinking,” which exposes us to intuition, feeling, and deeper divine guidance.
Reflect: Explore the content of your doubts. God may be inviting you to expand and grow!
JANUARY 23 • Divine Discontent
Years ago, an insightful spiritual director taught me something profound about spiritual restlessness. I still recall the words of my lament.
“I’ve sort of ‘fallen off the wagon’’,’ I confessed. “My devotional time is dry and boring. My mind wanders, and I feel as if my prayers are bouncing off the ceiling. What used to be so fulfilling just isn’t working anymore. There’s something wrong with me.”
Rather than the concerned response I expected, my spiritual director’s lips curled into a soft smile. “Mmmm,” she mused, “sounds like you have a serious case of divine discontent!”
My director’s response puzzled me. Then she added, “If we never felt a spiritual ‘itch,’ how could God lead us into deeper truth? We would simply stay with the status quo and never grow. Look at this experience not as a condemnation from the Spirit but an invitation!”
I assumed she would help me fix my situation—give me a stricter discipline, a better book maybe. So I got out a pen and paper, ready to record her cure.
“So what am I supposed to do now?” I asked expectantly.
“I have no idea,” she replied. “Just continue to show up, and be open to God’s guidance.” I was disappointed.
For months, my morning routine had been as precise and punctual as I was, as I studied and prayed in a predictable formulaic manner. That is, until the dryness and boredom set in, accompanied by a vague guilt that somehow I was being lazy or disobedient or not doing it right.
I tried to dismiss my own judgments and pray through the discontent, asking God to reveal unexplored methods of connecting to the sacred. Soon I felt a need to explore my natural ways of feeling and expressing, even incorporating prayer into my walking routine. My body began to connect with the sounds, sights, and smells of creation, breathing fresh energy into my spiritual practice. But the guilt remained—that fear of divine displeasure.
Then a lightbulb flashed. I realized that my belief in God as stern judge was constricting my spirit. I had to let that punitive image go in order to relate to God as enlivening joy. Loosening my demanding grip on myself began to have a domino effect. I became less exacting and legalistic with those around me too. I began to cut us all some slack!
I caught a glimpse of spiritual freedom.
Reflect: When have you experienced divine discontent? Consider the restlessness as an invitation rather than a condemnation. Be open to God’s leading to the next step of your faith journey.
JANUARY 24 • Learned Ignorance
One hallmark of spiritual growth comes in knowing that we don’t know. We make friends with uncertainty and become aware of our own ignorance—even embracing it as necessary to our growth as human beings.
Certainty about what is true pits us against one another and keeps us from learning anything new. Paradoxically, our admitting that we don’t have a corner on the truth opens us to revelations of truth.
Over five hundred years ago, the German cleric Nicholas of Cusa was sailing home from Constantinople when a personal experience of God changed his life and philosophy forever. God slipped in past his intellect, bypassing his brainy certainties. Cusa’s writings coined the phrase, “learned ignorance.” It reminds me of God’s warning to Moses on Mount Sinai, “You cannot see my face; for no one shall see me and live” (Exod. 33:20). Mystery cannot be caught in our net of words or fully known by our finite minds.
Wise sages through the centuries have attested to the value of mitigating intellectual knowledge with experiences of the heart and soul. In contemporary life, we sense this need when we contrast reading a book about prayer and actually engaging in prayer! Whether we call it “holy emptiness” or “poverty of spirit” or “beginner’s mind,” knowing that we do not know is the beginning of wisdom.
Reflect: Today be willing to suspend your need to know and allow the Mystery to be mysterious. Sense your soul opening to whatever happens, knowing that the Spirit goes with you.
JANUARY 25 • Being Right
Being right is highly overrated. Even our cherished dream of being able to say “I told you so” never feels quite as good as we think it will. And sweet revenge is not sweet at all. It leaves a rancid aftertaste in the depths of the soul.
Many of us would rather be right than happy. But our compulsion to be right can thwart our communication with others. We all recall conversations that deteriorated into a ping-pong game of one-upmanship. We know what it’s like to give an opinion, only to realize that the other person is busy formulating a rebuttal rather than a response. We also know the feeling of intense competition that wells up inside us as we get attached to winning the verbal battle—the stuff of which ulcers are made and friends are lost.
In addition, the determination to be right—to win—prevents us from learning the crucial difference between tolerance and acceptance. We pat ourselves on the back when we reach a point of tolerance for the opinions of others. We vow to be magnanimous enough to “allow” them to have opinions contrary to ours. We might even go so far as to agree not to interfere with their practice or beliefs, to refrain from trying to convince them of the rightness of our position. However, this level of tolerance still carries an unspoken tinge of judgment, a silent message that “I’m right and you’re wrong.”
Acceptance goes a step farther. It implies a willingness to consider that others’ points of view are as valid for them as yours is for you. It admits the possibility that you may not have all the answers or see the whole picture. We often have much to learn from each other.
Reflect: In dealing with those who disagree with you, notice the difference between tolerance and acceptance. Let grace surround every communication you have today.
JANUARY 26 • Treasuring Time
The passage of time can resemble a speeding train or a snail’s crawl, depending on whom you ask and what’s happening in their lives. Experience dictates time’s meaning, no matter what the clock and the calendar proclaim. Consider these comparisons:
• To realize the value of one month, ask a mother with a premature baby.
• To realize the value of one week, ask a person with a project deadline.
• To realize the value of one hour, ask lovers rushing to a dinner date.
• To realize the value of one minute, ask a person who missed the plane.
• To realize the value of one second, ask a person who just slammed on the brakes to avoid a crash.
• To realize the value of one millisecond, ask a person who just won a silver medal instead of a gold.
You get the idea. And what’s the point of all this? The awareness and appreciation of the power of experience to alter our concepts of time. That knowledge can lead us to suspend our judgments of others who are living through events that affect their sense of time differently.
For example, someone who has recently lost a spouse through divorce or death often eagerly seeks companionship or desires to start dating. To them, three months may feel like an eternity, while observers with busy lives may regard it as “too soon.” A healthy person may experience time as fleeting, while someone with chronic pain agonizes through laborious moments, one at a time.
We can deepen our compassion when we make an effort to walk in someone else’s shoes as the clock ticks.
Reflect: Notice your awareness of time as the day unfolds. When does it speed up or slow down? Allow yourself to breathe a prayer of compassion for others who may be caught in a time trap different from yours.
JANUARY 27 • And Then the Phone Rang
The day spreads out with every moment planned, when the inevitable happens—an unexpected interruption upends your tight schedule. A sick child needs to be picked up at school, a snowstorm approaches, an accidental bump shatters cabinet glass, a friend needs to talk. An old adage states that you can tell a lot about a person by the way he or she handles three things: stalled traffic, a rainy day, and tangled Christmas tree lights. I would add a ringing telephone.
Interruptions dot life’s landscape. We can approach them as land mines or oases, as reasons to explode or to take a breather. An intrusion tests our ability to shift gears, to be flexible in order to accommodate someone’s needs. Above all, it invites our presence in the moment rather than wishing to be elsewhere.
Part of our growth in the Spirit comes in recognizing how small our world can become—that is, we all tend to interpret everything in terms of how it affects us. Why is the mail carrier so late when I need that letter now? Why didn’t she call someone else to help—I have things to do! Why can’t this line move faster so I can get on with my day?
So the next time the phone rings, take a deep breath and welcome it as fodder for the soul’s growth in patience and flexibility—not to mention grace! Your tense muscles and harried spirit will thank you as they relax.
Reflect: Observe your normal reaction to interruptions. Consider moving from irritation to an invitation to be present and grace-filled.
JANUARY 28 • Inner Assets
In the aftermath of 9/11—that is, before anger, before analysis, before retribution—an automatic human response erupted all around us, regardless of politics or religion. People acted in a similar and instinctive way: They didn’t call their stockbroker; they called home.
People reconnected with old friends in Oregon; they asked forgiveness of someone they had wronged; they mended family fences; they said thank-you; they slowed down; they went to church. And they hugged. They hugged their children, strangers on the street, trees.
In individual ways, we all began to wonder not only what our “big rocks” were (see Jan. 13) but beneath that, what our inner assets were. What would remain if all externals disappeared? Many people found they had undervalued those basic assets. They didn’t know they had them until their own behavior surprised them—when helpful, often heroic deeds instinctively came forth as those inner assets became actions. On the other hand, many overvalued their inner assets, assuming they existed but finding they had atrophied from disuse and benign neglect while they had focused on other matters. In either case, people were struck with the need to invest in assets that really counted, those with long-term yields.
This primal reaction to tragedy revealed a transcendent bottom line that speaks about the nature of our spiritual wiring, the way we’re created as human beings. God built something potentially magnificent into our human DNA. Some might call it a survival instinct. Maybe. But it seems higher on the evolutionary scale than that. We evidence an impulse toward life, beauty, love, and compassion that goes beyond cognitive decisions. It’s not about what we believe but about what we are as God created us.
At a basic level, we seek connection to people, to nature, to God, to community. On 9/11 that yearning for belonging and connection filled us with a patriotic surge. And the connections felt good, real, true . . . evidence of an inner reservoir of valuable assets that help us not only survive but thrive in this complex world of ours—that is, if we nurture those inner sparks of goodness.
Reflect: Ponder the value of your inner assets. What are they? Today intentionally invest some time and energy in strengthening those assets.
JANUARY 29 • Investing in Bonds
If asked the value of our portfolios or how much cash is in our bank account, most of us could spout a number, perhaps even naming our investments. We’re accustomed to attending to that part of our lives, checking on it, celebrating it, or agonizing over it. We give it the time and focus we think it deserves.
The inner asset stuff doesn’t organize well into columns of figures or predictable formulas. But when something rocks our world, what’s inside us helps us cope with questions like these: What does all this mean? What really matters?
Our inner assets involve family, relationships, community, and the divine love that cements those bonds. What keeps us from making regular investments in these lasting assets?
As a young person, I remember the glow I felt when standing in a circle of friends, arm in arm, singing “Blest Be the Tie That Binds.” I felt a sense of belonging, of caring, of common purpose to love God and others. Perhaps we need to recapture the value of those bonds of friendship and mutual encouragement.
A much-repeated sentiment at funerals is, “I wish I had one more chance to tell this person how much they meant to me.” Say it now, tell someone today how much you care. Don’t be stingy with your thankyous and I love yous. You’re investing in valuable bonds of connection with yourself, your Creator, and the world around you.
Reflect: Review the precious bonds that bind you in your life. Make a conscious investment in those bonds through a phone call, a hug, a word of encouragement, or simply a smile.
JANUARY 30 • Investing in Securities
What spells security for us: a gated community, a hefty bank account, an efficient alarm system, good medical coverage? We yearn to feel protected against calamity and harm.
Understandably, we pray that God will keep us safe from all harm, though assurance of that doesn’t mesh with the facts of life. For reasons we can’t comprehend, events take place that are not God’s will, and the world is a dangerous place. We are not puppets on a string, nor are we entitled to divine protection by virtue of Christian belief or our supposed goodness. We all share the divine gift of free will, which fills our world with uncertainty and saps our feelings of security.
But we have sacred foundations to stand on. Years ago teacher and author Flora Wuellner responded wisely to a question about God’s role in times of turmoil. The questioner implied that many mishaps were God’s way of helping us grow, of “teaching us valuable lessons.” Flora disagreed, encouraging us to focus not on causation or protection but on the ongoing presence of the holy—no matter what happens or why.
Wuellner’s explanation went like this: It’s one thing to say that if my child falls down the concrete stairs and breaks his leg, I as a good parent will do everything in my power to bring good out of that experience. I’ll help him heal, teach him that he shouldn’t have left his Rollerblades™ at the top of the stairs, encourage him to learn life lessons through the experience of pain and recovery. However, it’s quite another thing to say that as a good parent, I would push that child down the stairs so that he could learn those valuable lessons!
We rest secure in the words of Romans 8:28: “All things work together for good for those who love God.” No matter how the circumstances came about—through our mistakes or someone else’s or a random event—God will help us pick up the pieces of whatever has shattered and fashion them into something new.
The security this world offers is an illusion because it is all subject to loss. God offers the security and promise of eternal presence.
Reflect: What makes you feel secure? Spend time today investing in a deeper connection with God, who will always support you.
JANUARY 31 • Investing in Trust
W hen a friend and I explored the meaning of trust recently, she confided, “Sometimes we think things to death. I try not to stick my head in the sand. I know there’s meanness in the world, but I also see unexpected explosions of grace all around me!” The reality of trusting in God puts us in league with Albert Einstein, who is credited with saying, “The most important question a person can ask is, ‘Is the universe a friendly place’?” Do we trust that a mysterious benevolence lies at the heart of life? Does Somebody up there like us?
We know plenty of reasons to answer no to those loaded questions. People’s inhumanity to others is well-documented. But wisdom through the ages comes down on the side of yes. To answer yes changes the way we view life and the way we live it. Something harmonious happens when we lean into that affirmation with heart, soul, and mind. Science tells us that our cells actually change structure, the immune system is strengthened, relationships deepen, and irrational joy and peace emerge. Surely these characteristics are evidence of God’s healing, justice, peace, compassion—and a love greater than any concept we can imagine.
Even though we can’t always understand the divine Mystery at the heart of things, we can trust it. When we take the radical leap of faith, we find our true home, as reflected in the final stanza of the familiar hymn by Isaac Watts, “My Shepherd Will Supply My Need”:
The sure provisions of my God attend me all my days;
O may thy house be my abode and all my work be praise.
There would I find a settled rest, while others go and come;
No more a stranger, nor a guest, but like a child at home.
When we know how much God cherishes us, love finds its way into the pulse of our lives and moves us into the world with compassion.
Reflect: What does it mean to you to trust God? Pray that your understanding of that reality will grow and deepen so that you feel like a child in a nurturing home.
