Tag Archives: spiritual journey


Walking the path of vulnerability

“I feel like I am in a free fall,” a friend recently commented when we were talking about upcoming life changes. “Have you ever felt that way?” she asked.

“More than once,” I said.

One time was the day I met with Jim’s neurosurgeon and he told me the grim facts about Jim’s cancer—that it was non-curable and very, very aggressive. When he said that, “even with surgery and treatment, Jim will probably not live very long,” my stomach knotted and I felt dizzy, as if I was in a free fall.vulnerability-faith-spiritualityJim had been my anchor; he helped keep me stable. He supported me in prayer and work. His was the voice of reason when I was going off on some rant. He was my best friend. And here was a doctor telling me Jim would soon be gone.

This may sound selfish—given that Jim was going to lose his life—but, in a way, so was I. Who would keep me grounded? Who would tell me to “take it in” when someone complimented me? Who would remind me that the best is yet to come? Who would do and be all the things Jim had been and done for me?

What had been was no longer, and what would be had not yet been revealed. I felt untethered, without direction, as if I had stepped off a cliff and was in a free fall. I felt so very, very vulnerable.

My inclination is to run away from vulnerability, to try to ignore it or deny it or minimize it, because I am so uncomfortable feeling vulnerable. And that is what I wanted to do on that day.

Jim’s illness was not my first experience of that kind of radical vulnerability, but it was an opportunity to remember what I had learned from those other times—that God was with me through it all.

Shifting my focus toward God lessened my panic. Within a day or two of Jim’s diagnosis, I had every confidence that Jim was in God’s hands—and so was I. The vulnerability did not go away, but I was able to lean into God and trust that God was keeping me safe.vulnerability-faith-spiritualityVulnerability reminds me that God is really in control and that any illusions I have of control are just that—illusions. Accepting this basic truth can be freeing, even though vulnerability may feel more like terror or panic.

I want to believe that what is today will still be tomorrow. But, in truth, there is no certainty, and those of us who have experienced great loss know this truth. In the end, vulnerability is where God meets me and reminds me that even though I feel like I am in a free fall, God is there to catch me.

I have learned from my losses that sitting with my vulnerability and accepting it—even embracing it—creates a path to trusting God. And that is the path I want to follow.vulnerability-faith-spirituality


Spiritual practices

My heart was a theme during my retreat last month. I sometimes worry that my heart has become too guarded or even closed.

The last seven years have been a time of great loss for me, so I understand my inclination to protect my heart from being broken again. I also know that a broken heart can be the most loving heart if I allow the fissures to heal rather than become deep crevices, if I allow the breaks to be entrances rather than chasms that are impossible to cross.

At the end of the movie Frozen, Elsa declares, “Only an act of true love can thaw a frozen heart.”

I cried as I watched this children’s movie—and not just a few tears trickling from my eyes, but wrenching sobs escaping from my heart. Did Elsa’s insight touch me because my heart is frozen? And what act of true love could thaw my frozen heart?spiritual-practices-love-prayer

Many people have touched my heart with friendship and great acts of generosity and kindness throughout my life. I have been abundantly blessed.

So in an attempt to unthaw my heart and as an act of love, I decided to write a letter every day during February and connect with people who have been loving toward me. Twenty-eight days of love—that is how I have been thinking of February.spiritual-practices-love-prayer

Every morning in prayer, I pay attention to who comes to mind, whose name is planted on my heart that day, and then I write a note.

Two things I learned from this practice:

The first is that praying about the people I love sparks memories and gratitude. Images float into my consciousness, recollections of friends rush in and warm my heart. I am reminded of how blessed I am to be so loved.

The second is a reminder of the benefits of discipline.

Discipline disposes us toward whatever we are practicing. Prayer, meditation, acts of kindness, service, etc., dispose us toward positivity. Starting my day with thoughts of love predisposes me to look for love during the day—and helps me to more quickly identify words and acts that are not loving. Awareness helps me make better choices throughout the day.

Facebook reminded me this week that I started this blog four years ago. Writing daily and posting weekly has been a good discipline for me.

Discerning what to share in my blog helps me see more clearly where God is calling me to grow, especially when I write about a frustration or some old hurt and its residual anger. The discipline of writing also helps me to be more aware of everyday blessings and the many, ordinary ways God touches my life.

What we focus on becomes a bigger part of us.

I want to focus on trust instead of fear and on love instead of hate. I want my words and actions to remind me daily that Jesus’ heart is all love and that I am invited to live that love.spiritual-practices-love-prayer







Saying yes

Has God ever asked something of you that was not in your plans?

Our pastor began his sermon with this question, reflecting on Mary’s pregnancy and how having a baby was probably not what she had planned for her life at that particular moment.

My reflection on his question helped me see the many times God has asked me to do things that ran contrary to my plans.

Sometimes what God asked was clear, as though an angel appeared and announced God’s desires. Taking care of my friend Jim was one of those times. An incurable brain cancer was not in the plan, but it was a clear indication that God was asking something of me.

Other times, though, God has whispered his desire in my ear, and I have had to listen carefully to know what God was asking of me.

Years ago, I visited a friend when she was eight months pregnant with twins. She hadn’t asked for help, but something in her voice suggested she might need some, and I drove the three hours from Newport News to South Boston, VA, to see if there was anything I could do for her.

It was summer, and her garden was ready to be harvested. Her family depended on the garden to get them through the winter, but being pregnant made it difficult for her to bend down and pick, and she was behind in her canning.

With three young children and a very large garden, my friend was overwhelmed and exhausted.

I stayed for several days, picking vegetables in the mornings and canning into the nights. I did laundry and cooked meals, while she sat with me and we caught up on our lives.

I remember wondering if this was how it was when Mary visited Elizabeth. Did Mary help with chores that Elizabeth, at six months pregnant, was struggling to accomplish? Did she do laundry and prepare meals? Did they sit and chat, sharing confidences and fears?

God continued to ask things of Mary and Joseph that were probably not in their plans. Having to travel to Bethlehem just when Mary was ready to give birth and later fleeing to Egypt are two that come to mind. Leaving what was familiar seemed to be a theme in their journey with God.

Setting aside my plans and moving out of my comfort zone also seem to be a theme in my journey with God. Whether the message comes as a neon sign or a quiet whisper, hearing God’s invitation and saying yes has always led to an experience of incarnation, of God being present.

I only need to trust, and like Mary, I will be blessed when I believe that what was spoken to me by the Lord would be fulfilled. (Luke 1:45)