contemplative life

As I read Richard Foster’s “Streams of Living Water” and his description of the “contemplative life” (living life with the steady gaze of the soul upon the God who loves us), I find that I can relate to the movements through a prayerful life that he describes so very much.

I am going to paraphrase Foster’s second chapter here:  but he describes the fundamental movements of a Christian living their life with a steady gaze upon God, or the contemplative life.  These fundamental movements flow through love, peace, delight, emptiness, fire, wisdom, and transformation.  Oh, how true! 

As we first come to think upon God and cast our gaze on Him, we sense a delicate but deepening love, a love that in the beginning is so quiet and unobtrusive that it is hardly even perceptible.  But little by little, this love comes, high and low, hot and cold, but in time always growing deeper, stronger, and more steady.

As love grows, in slips a peace that really cannot be analyzed – truly it is a “peace that passes understanding” (Phil 4:7).  This peace is not due to the absence of conflict or worry or grief, but rather due to a Presence with us in the chaos.  And in time this quiet peace wins over the chatter and clatter of our noisy, restless, or hurting hearts.

Love and peace are then followed by delight – a deep joy.  A playfulness even.  Or a childlikeness.  This delight is not uninterrupted, it will ebb and flow, but it is an exquisite delight often mingled with a painful yearning for more.  And that yearning brings us to an opposing, almost contradictory movement – emptiness.  The delight of finding God’s love and peace leads us to realize it is not a complete finding.  We have a “dissatisfied satisfaction” or as John of the Cross calls it, “a living thirst… the urgent longing of love.”

The awareness of the incomplete feels like emptiness, and can also have a deep darkness as we realize we are experiencing a God who feels hidden or veiled from us.  But the emptiness, the darkness, the grief, the dryness - these are all forms of prayer themselves too.  While delight is the feasting of the Lord, emptiness is our fasting – and both are needed for the growth of the soul.

As we pass through seasons of delight and emptiness, we eventually experience fire.  Our varying experiences with God intensify our love for Him, becoming a steady flaming fire.  And we come to the point of feeling and welcoming God’s fire because we know it is the purifying fire a love that burns away the dross – the stubbornness, hate, self-promotion, and self-sins of our life.  Fire leaves fertile ground for love to be planted and flower.  As God’s love blossoms, wisdom appears. 

The knowing and inflowing of God himself arrives and we “filled with the knowledge of the glory of the Lord” (Hab. 2:14).  We know as we are known, as we are privileged to listen in and participate in the self-communication of the Trinity. 

God is using this process to slowly capture first our hearts and wills, then our mind and imagination.  The result is the transformation of our entire personality into the likeness of Christ as we take on his habits, feelings, hopes, faith, and His love.  What a beautiful process.

💔

“What’s going to happen is, six months will go by, and everybody’s going to think, well, it’s passed.  But you’re going to ride by that field or smell that fragrance, receive that flashing image, and you’re going to feel like that day you got the news.  But you know you’re going to make it when the image of your dad, your husband, your friend, crosses your mind, and a smile comes to your lip before a tear to your eye.  That’s when you know, and I promise you, I give you my word, I promise you, this I know, that day will come.  That day will come.”~ Joe Biden (National Grief Day)

How true those words are... at some point the memories do begin to bring a smile before a tear, and you know you will make it.  Grief is such a difficult road but also such a transforming one.  Grief breaks a heart wide open in such a painfully shocking way.  But you know you will make it when you begin to see and realize how God does not waste a thing.  God even (especially) uses brokenness for good.  A heart busted and split right open in pain can then be used to allow love and compassion to flow in and through it.  It is our job to keep the heart open, to stay tender, to hold the space grief and sorrow created, and to not let our hearts scab over in bitterness or hardness.  For God uses the tender, broken hearts the most.  I think those hearts are capable of loving harder and stronger than ever before, if we let them.

“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.  Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.  Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.  Blessed are those who hunger and thirst, for they shall be satisfied.  Blessed are the merciful, for they shall receive mercy.  Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.  Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God.  Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” (Mt. 5:3-10)

love as God loves

I am reading “To Love As God Loves” by Roberta C. Bondi this week and I am struck by her practical, tangible steps for living a life of love.  Below are a few passages I was particularly moved by.

Excerpts from Chapter Five:

If the passions (our own thoughts, emotions, and habits) are the enemies of our ability to love other people and God, how do we fight them?... Prayerful introspection and prayer itself.

Introspection means looking inside ourselves to see what it is that makes us tick, or fails to make us tick, in order that we may love.  It has to do with observing ourselves to see what we think or feel or do that hurts us or makes us hurt others so that we can do something about what needs to be corrected, and strengthen what needs to be strengthened…

All of us know ourselves at some level much better than we want to admit we do.  No matter how blinded by passions (our own thoughts, emotions, and habits) there always is a bit of us that can see the truth.  Nevertheless, we often do not care to see it, and so we use up a lot of energy hiding from that seeing part of ourselves and denying what it sees.

This certainly does not mean that since we can almost always see the truth, no matter how faintly, we should just grit our teeth and overcome our thoughts, emotions, and habits by self-control.  We are all like Paul: even when self-deception does not get in our way, much of the time the good that we want to do we cannot, and the evil we do not want to do, we cannot seem to help doing (Rom. 7:19).  Often self-deception keeps right on functioning even when a part of us knows better… We cannot seem to change our behavior.

Being able to look inside ourselves and see what is going on is a crucial part of breaking free of destructive passions (thoughts, emotions, and habits).  Watch yourself as you interact with others and the world around you and puzzle over what you see until you know what your destructive passions are: pride or depression or restless boredom, or whatever else.  Looking inside and seeing things is the first step away from these.

Find your own real needs.  Too many times as Christians we believe we have a problem with, say, irritability, and we try to conquer irritability head on, by prayer and self-control.  But the truth may be that we are not taking seriously our own anger at something that needs to be corrected.  Anger is not hiding reality from us, rather it is our fear of anger and lack of humility in the form of low self-esteem that needs to be tackled.  Real needs that are not met are among the sources of our destructive thoughts, emotions, and habits – such as a need for rest and quiet, for prayer, for leisure, for food and sleep.

Often, however, we are not able to see what is causing our problem, or if we can, the information is not helpful.  We may not even know we have a problem.  Having a teacher, guide, or trusted friend is of real importance to the process of learning to escape our own distortions of reality in order to learn to love. 

Rooting out self-deception can be excruciating.  And we are in need of people we trust outside ourselves who, when we are in trouble or trying to grow in the Christian life, can tell us what they see us thinking or feeling or doing.  Theoretically, a Christian could live in isolation from other Christians, but it would be a very sad thing.  We need each other.

The place of a teacher can be taken by our Christian community.  Ideally, this often happens in worship.  Sometimes the words of scripture or prayer or the sermon can cut right through our self-deception to speak the truth to us; we might be jolted out of a fearful and helpless frame of mind by the hearing of a the words of Psalm.

Just as important, we also need to be able to count on individual friends, or a group of friends to function in this way for us.  Somehow, in most of our churches, we are not prepared to take enough risks with each other.  We need our friends to help us by being real with us.  It will most certainly feel awkward at first, and it may continue to be a bit uncomfortable until you are both used to it.  It is well worth the discomfort, fear of embarrassment, and the work because a Christian can never be a matter of only ourselves and God.  We are part of the body of Christ, and were created to need the other parts as well.

Being able to look inside ourselves deeply takes real humility.  Each of us is vulnerable in all sorts of ways, and God who made each one of us also loves each one of us in all our fragility.  This means that we need not feel set apart from others by whatever introspection or conversation turns up within us, no matter what it is. 

Cultivating humility also means that we will begin to stop measuring ourselves continually against others.  Humility takes the fear out of a lot of introspection, making us courageous and strong.

Humility also makes us patient with ourselves when we do find the things we probably will see in ourselves.  We will be able to accept it as true that the thoughts, emotions, habits, feelings, attitudes, obsessions, and certain kinds of behavior do not go away all at once simple because we have identified them.  Humility reminds us that the process of becoming free of our destructive passions is often a long one, and that is all right.  Do not try to do everything at once; take on only one thought or emotion or habit at a time.  Learning to love is a slow business.

Humility, finally, will enable us to hear what others tell us and will help us cultivate within ourselves a continuous attitude of listening to the world around us, to friends, to those who are not so friendly, to what we encounter in prayer and worship.  Humility makes us receptive to all that comes to us that might bring us to love of God and of each other.  Humility is the only possible attitude out of which we can ever speak a word of truth to another person without doing terrible harm to ourselves and the other.  After all, what we are about is never ever executing God’s righteous judgment on another person, or ourselves.  

plumeria blooms in my front yard

meadow blooms in Sequoia National Park

 

quotes

Two quotes I read this morning that spoke to me:

“Life is good, but it also holds great pain for us that we would be better off acknowledging than redescribing.” -Roberta C. Bondi,To Love as God Loves

“If He who in Himself can lack nothing chooses to need us, it is because we need to be needed.” -C.S. Lewis, The Problem of Pain

Giant Forest, Sequoia National Park

proposal

Six months ago today a wonderful guy asked me out for lunch.  After two hours of conversation over yummy Mexican food, I realized I really wanted to get to know this sweet person better. We then spent most of the spring and summer going on all kinds of adventures together - some awesome hikes, Disneyland, local plays, cooking together, painting together, and even meeting up with our kids in Hawaii.  I have watched our children play and bond and I have had someone to ask parenting advice to when being a single parent just plain stinks.  In the past six months a beautiful, loving, and joyous friendship has formed.  And our four children - his daughter and son and my daughter and son - have all built giggly, fun, precious friendships that warm my heart.  They ask when we are getting together and my children seem disappointed when they have to do something with just mommy alone.  Laughter and noise and joy fill my home when Dan and his kids visit.  And it’s a joyful noise that my kids and I have just craved after the grief and quiet of past seasons.  God has been so good to us these past six months and I am so thankful. 

This past weekend, while out on one of our many adventures together, Dan and I stopped for a picnic lunch at the beach.  There by our picnic blanket I “found” two geode rocks just lying amidst some other shoreline rocks.  One sparkly rock was cracked open and the other one still whole.  I was so amazed at what I found and excitedly showed Dan.  He encouraged me to crack the second one open so we could see what was inside.  I worked on it and cracked it open.  Inside was a ring.  And then Dan asked me to marry him and spend forever with him.  I was surprised, I teared up, was speechless, and I said yes.  I love you forever, Dan.

I am happy.  I have been happy here and there in every season, but I feel deeply contently happy in this season.  I feel spoiled that I get to love both Ryan and Dan.  That I have permission to do that.  I am thankful for a past that shaped me and Ryan’s love that matured me but also that God would allow me to keep all that and still move me forward into a new season.  It is a gift I do not take for granted.  Dan and his children are a gift in my life.  And I am humbled to see my children cling to their daddy in heaven but now will have Dan come alongside them for future years, along with new friends to laugh and grow with.  It is absolutely beautiful for me to see my children hold that space for their daddy, knowing no one fills that space, but also see them let their hearts enlarge enough to allow others to come in to love and support them.  I have said before that my prayer has been that God use all my pain to keep my heart tender and loving, not hardened or closed.  And He is faithful.  I have been brought to tears to see joy and love begin to form and then bloom.  And I know there will be challenges as the two of us (the six of us) begin to blend our lives together, but we all are so excited about the challenges and the adventure that we can’t wait.  God is so good.  All the time. 

the geodes I “found” 

 

attempting to take a picture under a waterfall  

 

 

 

   

 

Dan made this cute graphic 

bread of life

I loved every word of this article by Leslie Leyland Fields:
When You Need to Know Your Story is Not Over Yet

“Who does not want the bread Christ feeds us sometimes more than Christ Himself?  Which bread feels more real?

Tonight I look around my table.  Look how filled we are!  I am so in love with all that Jesus has given me, so often I want only that.

But take all this away—no children, no husband, no sea, no tables full of halibut and bread and will I love Him still, this Christ?”...

Lake McDonald, Glacier National Park, MT

"remember"

     Summertime is so strange to me.  Three summers ago I remember thinking it was the worst summer of my life because I was stuck in bed, unable to walk for almost two months.  Summer 2015 I had a horrible back injury that left me with such intense sciatica pain that I could not sleep or walk or function.  I had never, and have not since, ever experienced such horrible physical pain.  In August I had back surgery that required another few months of intense physical therapy before I was back up and fully functioning again.  But I was determined to bounce back and fought hard at it that summer.  And by nine months post-surgery, I was fully cleared for all normal activity again.  The physical pain of that injury and the frustration of that summer is now just a distant memory.  And it would actually be easy to even forget it had happened at all if I did not have some lasting side effects.  The damage done to my nerves from that injury left me with numbness in my left toes, bottom of my left foot, and the back of my lower left leg.  My neurosurgeon told me that nerves are quite unpredictable and sensation to those areas could possibly return within a few weeks, a few years, or not at all.  Now, three years later, those areas are still mostly numb but it is something I do not even notice anymore, except when any feeling does occasionally return.  Every now and then sensation returns to my foot or leg and because I am so used to it being numb, it feels almost painful, like the hypersensitive pins-and-needles feeling you get when an extremity has fallen asleep and you are trying to wake it back up.  It is so disturbing to me that when it happens I often just wish the familiar numbness to settle back in.  But each time it happens, it is also a reminder to me of what happened that summer.  And with that reminder, I feel thankful for my recovery and the ability to be active and fully functioning again.  The little random waves of sensation (usually occurring when I am most active) keep me from forgetting the injury or the frustration of being in constant pain - and that gives me a spirit of gratitude for my ability to walk and run and jump and climb and hike now!  There was a short period of time three years ago that I was not sure I would be able to do those things again, it certainly did not "feel" like it would ever be feasible three summers ago.  But I am stronger than I think, I had an amazing neurosurgeon, my physical therapists were so encouraging, and I was determined to bounce back.  So I am grateful for the jabs of pins-and-needles reminders of that summer that occur, as ways to remember to be thankful for the little things.
     And God calls us to remember, just as he called the Israelites to remember his deeds of old.  Moses was constantly reminding his people to remember, remember, and not forget.  But we, as humans, so often have soul amnesia and forget the past movements of God.  The Israelites were literally led out of Egypt and through the dessert by a cloud of smoke and a pillar of fire, yet they forgot God.  Moses reminded them how important it was to talk to their children diligently about God's deeds, whether when walking or lying down.  He told the people to keep reminders of God's movements in front of their eyes and even written on the doorposts of their houses and gates if need be (Deut. 6)!  And they still often forgot...  Which makes me feel better when I forget to give God credit for his healing and his movements in my life.  And I am thankful that God uses my situation to help me remember. 

"I will remember the deeds of the Lord; yes, I will remember your wonders of old" (Ps. 77:11)
"Then take care lest you forget the Lord, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery" (Deut. 6:12)
"Remember the former things of old; for I am God, and there is no other" (Isaiah 46:9)
"Only take care, and keep your soul diligently, lest you forget the things that your eyes have seen, and lest they depart from your heart all the days of your life. Make them known to your children and your children's children" (Deut. 4:9)
"I will remember your name in the night, O Lord, and keep your law" (Ps. 119:55)

     So I am keeping the idea of what a blessing it is to "remember" front as center, with that example of my pins-and-needles sensation reminder, as I currently deal with a different kind of pain and reminder.  In the last six months I had two separate incidents happen that triggered a physical response in my body that did not seem rational to what was happening around me.  In talking it through with my therapist (I still check in with her once or twice a month because I really like hanging out with her), we have come to realize that I have a mild form of PTSD from the shock of Ryan's death.  Sigh.  The good news is that it does not have to be lifelong diagnosis, I can work to fight this.
     The two situations that occurred in the last six months both had with saying a good-bye to someone while I was traveling.  The first was the intense wave of anxiety I felt upon leaving Hawaii by myself (with just my kids) in June.  The other one occurred while I was in Canada last week.  The kids and I traveled to Glacier National Park and up into beautiful British Columbia with my sister's family.  We had such fun hiking and kayaking and taking in the beauty of that area!  And the plan was that my kids and I would stay in Canada an extra two days before flying home, while my sister's family drove home.  It was a plan I carefully thought through, put together, and scheduled, so it was not a surprise in any way.  And yet the day my sister's family left, I found myself sitting in my hotel room with my kids while my heart beat wildly and my skin felt like it was burning on fire.  My body went into a physical fight-or-flight mode.  And yet, in my mind I was totally fine.  I told myself: I planned this trip, I am perfectly okay and safe, I can do the last leg of this trip alone, there is nothing to worry about and there is nothing wrong.  But the scary part was that even though in my mind I was calm, my body was responding in a very scary way.  My body "remembered" its response to the news of Ryan's death and how I was suddenly scared and "alone" from Ryan.  When I said good-bye to my sister's family that morning, my body automatically went to that "panic" mode, just as it had when I said good-bye to our friends in Hawaii in June.  June's episode was milder in that I only had to endure that feeling for the five-hour flight before I was home and back in familiar surroundings again.  Once back in California, it all subsided.  Last week however, I had to fight the waves of "panic" for two days before I was back to familiar sights and surroundings.  And it was a really scary place for me to be, mostly because I did not understand what was happening.  I really disliked being in another country (it was just Canada, but still) and these waves of my body reacted in a way that made no sense to what I was thinking.  And so my thinking began to dwell on my body's "panic" response, wondering if the beating heart and burning skin were telling me that maybe I could not do this last leg of the trip by myself and I was alone and I was not okay...  But I made a choice each time the wave of panic hit, I decided to just do the next thing that needed doing and ignore the physical response.  I took Charlie out kayaking that afternoon to clear my head (being on the water always clears my mind) and I just kept going.  It was scary to me, but I just kept going.  It turns out that what I did was the right thing to do - to not give in to the physical response happening to me, but simply to use my knowledge and rational thinking to reassure myself that I was indeed safe and secure and capable and not truly alone.  And I somehow survived two days of having those physical reaction waves hit me over and over until I was back home to familiar sights and surroundings.  Only once I was home was I then able to reflect over what had happened last week...  And with the help of my counselor I see now that my body was reacting to the trauma of Ryan's death when triggered by saying good-bye to someone, away from home, and feeling alone.  When Ryan died I was away from home and felt very alone - even when surrounded by loving others I still felt abandoned by Ryan and so scared of what was going to happen next.  And so now I begin the work of unpacking what that means and fighting this stupid PTSD response... because I will not let my body decide to "remember" things that are simply untrue.
     So I think back to my back injury three summers ago and then I let my mind settle on a different kind of pain two summers.  Ryan's death felt like a physical pain, but it was mostly an intense emotional, spiritual, and mental pain.  Grief kind of just consumes all types of pain I guess.  Unlike that previous summer though, when Ryan died I was able to walk - I just did not want to...  And, again, I "felt" like my life would never be okay or functioning again.  But I somehow decided to fight and find a way forward.  I found good counselors and support systems and I began to navigate the road of grief, kind of like navigating my physical therapy after my back surgery where I had to learn to walk again.  I had to learn (emotionally and mentally) to walk again after Ryan's death.  And I think healing from grief is kind of like my nerves healing - it is unpredictable.  I can picture my neurosurgeon telling me that sensation could possibly return in a few weeks, a few years, or not at all.  It felt like my joy after grief could parallel that - would joy return in a few weeks, a few years, or not at all?  And two years ago I could occasionally "forget" or distract myself from the pain of missing Ryan for just a very brief moment, but only to re-remember my reality with an intensity like losing Ryan all over again.  So I did not want to forget or distract myself from that pain because the return of it felt like going back to the raw beginning each and every time.  And just as I still prefer the numbness of my left foot over the hypersensations I sometimes get, I preferred the pain of missing Ryan over letting it go and having it return to me again.  The waves of emotional pain were strong and intense the first months after Ryan's death.  Two years ago the "pain" of missing Ryan physically felt like my heart speeding up, my skin burning with heat, and my body entering its flight-or-fight response, but with no relief.  I stayed in that flight-or-fight response for several weeks, unable to eat or sleep.  It was such an intense time that my body "remembers" how it responded to saying good-bye and feeling alone.  But somehow, in time, I began to get little breaks from that panicked response - little rests of calm in between waves of my heart beating wildly and my skin feeling on fire that I could begin to grasp onto.  And at some point those times of calm finally began to outweigh the wild panic.  And just as I fought hard to learn to walk again after my back surgery, I fought hard to learn to calm my body again after Ryan's death.  By six months out from his death I was able to function day-to-day without the waves of heated skin and beating heart taking over, except when something (a memory, a reminder, a specific event) triggered the response back.  By that point the waves were very few and far between and joy had returned in small doses.  I was learning to live with joy and sorrow coexisting, and that was how I moved forward.
     So now, two years later, having lived in the reality of having joy in my life, while also missing Ryan, but having accepting that as my functioning normal, it was scary and confusing to have a wave of physical response so intense kind of disrupt my normal life last week.  PTSD is surprisingly intense.  But now that I can see that physical response for what it is - as an unwanted (and irrational) post-traumatic response, I am going to take those waves as reminders, just like I did with my back injury.  If a situation triggers my fight-or-flight response again and that wave of beating heart and burning skin shows up again without actual cause, I will remember that that is what I felt two summers ago and I will be thankful that I am not there anymore.  Just like when my foot tingles uncontrollably and I acknowledge my back injury, I remember how God healed me.  So I will do the same when my heart beats wildly and my skin burns - I remember that that was once my 24/7 reality two summers ago and I will acknowledge with gratitude that it is not my reality anymore.  And I will breathe and I will thank God and I let my body calm back down again.  I am going to use that PTSD type response as reminder of God's goodness and I am pretty sure over time that acknowledging the response in such a way, reframing it with thankfulness, I will take the power it has over me away and reprogram my body to not respond automatically in that way any longer.  I will take the wave as reminder to remember God's goodness and healing in my life - we can all always use reminders in our lives. 

"And you shall remember the whole way that the Lord your God has led you these forty years in the wilderness, that he might humble you" (Deut. 8:2)
"I remember the days of old; I meditate on all that you have done; I ponder the word of your hands" (Ps. 143:5)
"Bless the Lord, o my soul, and forget not all his benefits" (Ps. 103:2)
"Remember the days of old; consider the years of many generations" (Deut. 32:7)
"Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous" (Josh 1:9)


Nelson, British Columbia, Canada

transformation into the image of Christ

Some research paper notes from the topic of "is it actually possible to become like Jesus and how then do we cooperate with God in His desire to transform us?"

     In my last paper I talked about hearing from God. The communication that is available to me is the same provided to the incarnate Jesus as God works "an ever-deepening re-formation of my inner personality" towards "an ever more radiant conformity to the life and faith and desires and habits of Jesus" (1). Living in the fullness of the image of Christ begins by studying and understanding the specific habits Jesus cultivated to place himself before the Father. God invites me into the transformative process of becoming his disciple, but the changes only come in accordance with my own willingness to respond and flexibility to adjust my expectations. Jesus demonstrated how this lifelong conversation with God is as dynamic, real, and practical as any relationship I will ever have.
     Because God initiates, no skill or prior knowledge is needed in the transformation to having the mind of Christ. God was at work in my heart long before I was recognizing his movements; he only desires my devoted heart to begin this work. With willingness, God can move me forward by leaps and bounds, even as I sleep (2). As my spirit and heart are being renewed, at some point my mind begins to actually sense these movements and then my response can no longer remain passive. To mature into the fullness of the image of Christ I have to - am compelled to – enter the conversation. "We must continually work hard so that each of our actions is a way of carrying on little conversations with God, not in any carefully prepared way but as it comes from the purity and simplicity of the heart" (2).
     In the simple desires of my heart, my goal is to please God, as my friend. I know I need to pause when my goal in communicating becomes the seeking after of a particular experience or specific guidance, recognizing that God is always greater than how I feel. God’s desire is not to simply improve my immediate happiness, he wants to truly transform me into the joy and fullness of who he created me to be. And sometimes this "everyday means of character transformation lacks fireworks" or "seems painfully slow" (1). Sometimes it does not even feel good. But I have to remember that God’s goal is not "a scheme for human betterment," or of "Jennifer betterment," but always a matter of a loving God "penetrating a fallen world" by means of building a willing friendship with me (3). Building the foundations of a trusting friendship comes at an unhurried pace, and becoming his disciple is simply my growth into a companionship where I act within God’s will because I truly know him. I have spent enough time in his presence that I know the things that would be right or good without him having to dictate my every step. "He does not delight in having to always explain what his will is; he enjoys it when we understand and act upon his will" (4).
     Knowing God well enough to naturally step into the initiative he desires for me is a very practical type of friendship. Close friends can usually anticipate each other’s actions, needs, and wants. Jesus set an example of what this friendship looks like with his constant awareness of the Father, his study of Scripture, and his own varied, creative prayer life. My friendship with the Trinity is to be similar, but natural and unique in the way I immerse myself in God’s presence. "Immersion in the Holy Spirit purifies the heart" and then "action follows essence" (1). God communicates with me uniquely and he desires a response to his gentle leadings in any way my spirit can creatively conceive to respond, with no rule or specific system in how my friendship with God should look (2). "Strain does not seem to do good" (5). Jeanne Guyon even goes so far as to say "it is wisest for you to stay away from any set form, or pattern, or way" and that "elaborate forms and meaningless repetition" create large roadblocks to communication (6). My dialog with God is to be as natural as breathing itself, so that I can be engaged with God in a continuous conversation of my heart, even while doing other tasks or listening to others. This maintaining of a silent inner conversation, while still engaged with the busy world, is the example Jesus set and what I am called to pursue as well, however that looks for my own unique personality and situation.
     For a disciple of Christ, there truly is a lot of wiggle room for exercising creativity and movement within God’s will. "God does not have an ideal, detailed life-plan uniquely designed for each believer that must be discovered in order to make correct decisions" (4). God’s desire for me is to stay in constant communication, always learning, and I think he delights in watching me move and wiggle around inside his will, cheering me on as I can be trusted to exercise the full extent of the creativity and initiative he created inside me. 
     But being trusted to move around freely inside God’s will does not just happen automatically. I cannot merely "want" to be the full person God created me to be, I have to actually "make plans to become so" (7). The transformation to having the mind of Christ involves effort to recognize ingrained habits that prevent God’s work, and conversely, to identify tendencies that will promote the character changes God would desire of me. Action is needed to remove the hindrances and carefully substitute in that which assists movement towards Christlikeness. This path to becoming his disciple will be just as individual to me as my communications and relationship with the Trinity are, but the common thread to every choice and action I make is always "a longing after God" (8).
     Meeting with and dwelling with him is where I learn to wisely choose actions, rhythms, and disciplines that constantly reposition me to receive God’s will. Jesus did this in his life as an example for me to learn from. "People we admit to be far greater than we are – and, in the case of Jesus himself, even divine – found it necessary to practice disciplines," so I should expect no less (9). My transformation into the fullness of discipleship begins with my desire to make spiritual disciplines part of my daily life in the same manner Jesus did, but uniquely suited to fit the situations of my current life. "The inner attitude of the heart is far more crucial than the mechanics for coming into the reality of the spiritual life" (8). The exact "how" of transformation is not a rulebook or a prescription to be followed. Instead, it is simply becoming attuned to the inner cooperation of my spirit, knowing God will extend, amplify, and empower even my most awkward and meager attempts towards his will. "The needed change within us is God’s work, not ours" as "divine Love has slipped into our inner spirit and taken over our habit patterns" (8).
     God so deeply desires my character to be transformed into his, so that I can intelligibly take initiative in my life, exercise the creativity he gifted me with, and act with love as he would - all automatically. If I do not submit my actions to disciplines that fit my distinctive personality, I will not enter into a "powerful, virtuous new life in a psychologically real way" (9). Just as friendship cannot be simply desired but must be intentionally sought after, transformation must also be sought after as well. Engaging in any discipline is not a matter of seeking to transform myself, it is only placing myself in the meeting place of God so he can work. A discipline is like an inner heart coffee date with a friend - it happens out of a desire to go a little deeper into an undistracted conversation, and it needs to be as natural and freeing as breathing. In that meet-up, God does his work because I am fully willing and present to him.
     The whole earth was created as a place for my spirit to interact with God, if I let it be so. Frank Laubach says "that this earth is but a brief school,’ which paints a picture of the world as a training ground for my eternal spirit (5). My personality is not separable from my body, so in order to let God transform my spirit, it becomes necessary to choose disciplines for my body that aid my spiritual growth. This in my part in the process of redemption. I wonder if God enjoys watching me "surprise" him by the actions and choices I make once I can be trusted enough to act from the inner and whole self he designed me to operate from? If the disciplines can "bolster common sense in such a way that it alone can often function as an immediate and reliable guide in spiritual matters," then it must just please God to see me act out this "common sense" automatically (9).
      In my practical friendship with God, I listen to the voice of my creator, I reposition myself to hear him, and I act on the heartfelt promptings placed within my heart. This is the example Jesus set of becoming a disciple, living my life to its fullest potential. And because of God’s great love for me, I can step into this life of love, knowing that "the shortest path to God was by a continual exercise of love" (2).

Sources: _______________________________
1.) Foster, Richard J. "Salvation is for Life." Theology Today, October 2004: 297-308.
2.) Brother Lawrence and John J. Delaney.　The Practice of the Presence of God. New York: Image Books/Doubleday, 1977.
3.) Yancey, Philip. "Be Ye Perfect, More or Less: Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, and the Impossible Sermon on the Mount." Books and Culture, July 17, 1995.
4.) Willard, Dallas. Hearing God: Developing a Conversational Relationship with God. Downers Grove: InterVarsity Press, 1999.
5.) Laubach, Frank C. Letters by a Modern Mystic. Colorado Springs: Purposeful
Design Publications, 2007.
6.) Guyon, Jeanne. Experiencing the Depths of Jesus Christ. Sargent, GA: SeedSowers Publishing, 1975. 7.) Willard, Dallas. "Looking Like Jesus." Christianity Today, August 20, 1990: 29-31.
8.) Foster, Richard J.　Celebration of Discipline: The Path to Spiritual Growth. San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1988.
9.) Willard, Dallas. The Spirit of the Disciplines: Understanding How God Changes Lives. San Francisco: Harper Collins, 1988.


Foy's Lake, Kalispell, Montana

hearing from God

Below are some notes from one of my second semester research papers on the question of "Can We Really Hear from God?" that I wanted to preserve.

Hearing From God
     I was created in the image of a loving God for the purpose of living in action with God, my creator and friend. But I was not born with the ability to engage in this action without first learning and growing into that purpose for my life through a process that begins with a God-initiated conversation.  God’s desire is to bring me to a place of friendship with him. And a true friendship is most solid and sincere when characterized by constant communication. Communication is the way I get to know the community of the Trinity and the means in which we share our presence with each other. And just as with any other relationship, connection requires intentionality in being present towards each other.

     The Trinity speaks to me very individually, "which is only expected between persons who know one another, care about each other, and are engaged in common enterprise" (1). God desired fellowship with me before I was even created and he has been speaking to me every day since. I, however, as a child learning to interact, must take steps to meet God where he initiated. Brother Lawrence stated that "we can make a private chapel of our heart where we can retire from time to time to commune with Him… Everyone is capable of these intimate conversations with God" (2). Entering this intimacy with God requires active listening and deliberate steps to recognize his voice.

     The first step to fully entering conversation with God is to listen expectantly with my heart, attempting to quiet the noise inside my distractible and results-driven mind. "The only way you can live in His presence in uninterrupted fellowship is by means of prayer... not a prayer that comes from your mind. It is a prayer that begins in the heart" (3). Dallas Willard stressed the importance of simply cultivating a quiet, inward space in our hearts that is constantly listening, over trying to approach God with my own agenda or asking for specific direction (1). In fact, Brother Lawrence found listening with the heart to be so important that in prayer he "does not advise much talking… long discourses often being the cause of wandering" (2). Listening for the familiar, sweet voice of God is the first step to a loving relationship with the Trinity. Listening is always the prelude to loving (4).

     Practically, for me, this intimate listening usually begins in Scripture, by reading praise psalms or the events of a gospel. But the invitation to converse can also well up inside my own deep longings or within an interaction with another imagebearer. Whatever the means God chooses to originate the conversation, it begins with careful listening to a message forming inside my heart. "I wait and listen with determined sensitiveness… and sometimes it requires a long time" to quiet my own thoughts enough to be fully receptive to receiving God’s thoughts (5). But God’s word does come to my heart, and more so with regular practice.

     God created the physical universe to function by the communication of thoughts and intentions shared through the use of words, symbols, or images (1). Even my awareness that God is present in my heart has to eventually take the shape of a certain kind of thought in my mind, represented by words or an image I can understand. This is a beautiful, quiet, and heartfelt exchange of an infinite God making his movements in my inner spirit known to my finite mind of flesh. And it is in that communicative exchange that I often receive an inward rebuke – Jeanne Guyon called it a "deep inward burning" or a "tender confusion" (3). Whatever the wording, it is an inner impulse that leads me towards the notions God wants to reveal and cast his light upon. Or conversely, I sometimes get a deep sense of joy and peace, as if my "innermost being seems to say, ‘Yes, this is true and right’" (1). These messages come from within, moving outwardly towards the events and people in my life.

     Dallas Willard taught about God’s movements from inward to outward and even asserted that "the form of one’s own thoughts and attendant feelings is the most common path for hearing God… because it most engages the faculties of free, intelligent beings involved in the work of God as his colaborers and friends" (1). God tenderly moves through my heart and personality, but with such power that the revelations bubbling up have a distinctive quality of being "reality" rather than just "knowledge" (3). It is the mystery of unrestrained and divine love patiently working its way through my predictable and limited bodily processes. In Genesis, God spoke chaos into a beautiful and organized cosmos. If he can do that on a universe-size scale, I trust he can do that in my own heart as well. So I am learning to watch for these organized inner impulses that have the voice of the Good Shepherd written all over them and then to let my thoughts simply dwell and reside there.

     God has been conversing with me my whole life. And I have instinctively followed his soft, gentle voice because the peaceful tenderness of the invitation was something my spirit craved, especially when my outside world could be chaotic or confusing. I am in awe of how often I have been drawn to God, even in the complete unknowing of who or what was doing the drawing forward. Apparently this can be a somewhat common occurrence, as Dallas Willard says that "whatever the reason, it seems that we must be told that God is speaking to us" and "only later do we come to distinguish his voice as his voice" (1). My experience is that deep inner peace leads to clarity and often direct guidance – and this is God communicating and leading me, sweetly and subtly, as I allow him. "The thoughts and feelings in the mind and spirit… should be treated as if God were walking through one’s personality with a candle, directing one’s attention to things one after another" (1). This describes a majority of my experiences with God, as the Good Shepherd has indeed been like a candle lighting my way. Truly this must be what Paul meant when he says "we must have the mind of Christ" (6). God’s action of moving through my heart and slowly revealing that movement to my mind, in words and images, is how I come to have the mind of Christ and learn to live fully in the kingdom of God.

     And lastly, as God illuminates my inner thoughts, my response is not passive. I have a responsibility to stay engaged in the conversation – to stay inside his candlelight. Whatever steps I can take to divert myself back to God’s constant presence is good and pleasing to him. "Take delight in and become accustomed to His divine company, speaking humbly and talking lovingly with Him at all times, at every moment" (2). The habit of turning my mind inward to my heart brings such joy because my thoughts, my imagination, my mind, and my heart intensely crave the tender voice of their creator.


Canadian geese, while kayaking on the Kootenay River in British Columbia, Canada

Sources:____________________________
1.) Willard, Dallas. Hearing God: Developing a Conversational Relationship with God. Downers Grove: InterVarsity Press, 1999.
2.) Brother Lawrence and John J. Delaney. The Practice of the Presence of God. New York: Image
Books/Doubleday, 1977.
3.) Guyon, Jeanne. Experiencing the Depths of Jesus Christ. Sargent, GA: SeedSowers Publishing, 1975.
4.) Hudson, Trevor. "Listening to the Divine Whisper." Renovare Residency II, Cedar Springs Conference Center, Sumas, WA. February 20, 2018. Lecture.
5.) Laubach, Frank C. Letters by a Modern Mystic. Colorado Springs: Purposeful Design Publications, 2007
6.) The Life with God Bible. New Revised Standard Version, Harper Collins, 1989.

LA seminar

The kids and I were at the Southern California Regional TAPS Seminar in Los Angeles this past weekend.  The kids attended Good Grief Camp again, which is always a blessing to me as I see these kids come together and bond and heal and work through hard stuff together, while mentors and counselors love and care for them in a fun environment.  While the kids were at camp, I attended several seminars and sharing groups over the weekend.  At the last seminar I was trained as a peer mentor, so this seminar was a little different for me.  Instead of being poured into, I was able to do some pouring into others.  I pray I was a source of hope and light for them in some way.  But truly, these ladies, so raw and tender with new grief, blessed me.  Allowing me to hug them and listen to their stories was a blessing to me.  I could immediately relate to them and go right back to those completely overwhelming feelings of mine from two years ago.  But I could also see and and sense the distance I now have.  It felt good to be reminded of where I was so I can see with more clarity where I currently am.  And I am grateful.  So those sweet ladies, carrying the burdens of grief that are just too heavy to be carried alone really blessed me by sharing their grief with me.
And at the end of today, I was in my last seminar group before packing up to drive home and the topic was on choosing gratitude.  Part of that session we were given 10 minutes to write about what we are thankful for.  I immediately thought about summertime and how it was my favorite season until Ryan’s death.  Ryan died just a few days into the summer of 2016 and then that whole summer was the worst season of my entire life.  Then last summer I really just tentatively accepted that summer might be okay and tried to enjoy the sunshine, but I know my heart did not fully embrace the season.  But this summer I have decided to purposefully change my perspective on the season.  By changing how I decide to look at things, I can redeem them.  The summer of 2016 will always be a horrific season for me but this summer, and future summers, do not have to be sorrowful.  Summer can be my favorite season again.
Below is what I wrote during our 10 minutes of writing time and then I was asked by one of the other mentors to be brave enough to share my words with the group.  Several teared up and thanked me for my words, but really it is me that is thankful for them.  We bless each other when we walk together on the journey.

I am thankful for summertime, time with my kids to explore and travel and adventure and do new things together.  I am thankful for the healing warmth of the sunshine and time outdoors, the roar of ocean waves, the smell of saltwater and sunscreen, the sight of exhausted kids sleeping after a day of joyful play.  A season of play after the darkness and heaviness of winter.  I am thankful for love and life and light and new beginnings.  I am thankful for the return of joy again; joy so longed after and so craved for.  I am thankful for the loss of fear, fear that the sunshine and the joy may never emerge again.  
But they did emerge.  And they continue to emerge.  
And so I bask in summertime’s light and warmth, as they embrace me.