Hello my friends –

It has been a long time since I have written in this blog.

Do you remember the story in the book of Luke where the angel causes Zechariah to be silent for many months? I used to see that story as a harsh punishment because of an old man’s doubt. Now I see a merciful, kind God working with a person who needed silence to awaken his soul, help him listen in a new way, and prepare him for the child that would be miraculously birthed months later.

With that story in mind, it has been an unexpected gift for me to be silent – not writing or speaking publicly for over a year. In this season, I have listened and been transformed by languages I don’t think I could have fully heard before. For example:

• The people who have come to my doorstep (or zoom screen) and trusted me with their stories. I am forever changed by them.
• A visual translator who I met when I least expected it. She impacted me with her drawings and stretched me without words. 
• A diverse group of speakers at a Spiritual Directors Conference. They showed me how to hear Love in a whole new way.
• A leader who teaches how to listen to the Sacred through nature. She deepened my breathing and made me lean into what is speaking all around me. 
• A First Nations version of the New Testament. It has refreshed me through the gentle yet powerful perspective of those I need to increasingly hear. 
• And the Holy Spirit. She has whispered tenderly to me through silence.

Language forms us more than we know. And hearing perspectives through new languages transforms us. I am forever grateful for these new voices and more over the last year.

Now as I step forward from silence, I am pleased to announce that God is birthing something new through me and several others. We are launching a non-profit called Wilderness Well – a safe space for the spiritually hungry and thirsty, bringing healing and empowerment through curiosity, compassion and connection. 

Our spiritual direction approach, which has always been offered as a pay-as-you-can model, now will allow for tax-deductible donations. As we continue to co-create with the Spirit, we hope to offer group sessions and retreats… and we’ll stay open to whatever else this “baby” will become.

So thank you friends for your patience in the silence. I am not sure when the voices of Wilderness Well will be written in a blog, but I hope you will take a look at WildernessWell.org, follow along as we continue to develop, and join us when you can. 

In the meantime, may you trust in the One who meets you in the silence, lean in and listen to the unexpected voices that are worthy of our attention, and believe that all the while, God is creating good things in and through you. 

Bless you,

Julia

I woke up with the strangest thought the other morning – “This is the year I start my life over.” Sometimes thoughts like this pop into my head and I know it is not just me because it takes me by surprise. If I pay attention, God seems to invite me to ponder something on a deeper level.

What would it look like for 2022 not to just be a new year, but a time to start over? 

At first, I thought of circumstances I could change or opportunities I could try. But then I began to wonder if starting over might mean something deeper. What if it is more about how I think and live – rather than what I am doing?

All of us have grown up in systems and ways that might make us feel uncomfortable, anxious or frustrated. These systems might include perfectionism, little white lies, hiding, finding the ‘right answers' outside ourselves, being judgmental or hyper responsible, or allowing others to define success for us. The list goes on and on, but ways like this feel like territories of exhaustion. At the same time, they feel “normal” because it’s all we’ve known. It’s a bit like a fish trying to imagine fresh, clean water when they have only known tainted water. How do we really start over?

If we take a few minutes to sit with the Presence of God each day, quiet enough to listen for the voice of the Spirit and our own deepest voice, I believe we are invited into a new territory of love and grace. 

It’s more than just trying to change our attitude or learning to function well within systems. I think it’s about God inviting us to step onto a completely different land. We can rest there in a sense of belonging, knowing that we are accepted – warts and all. Over time, the new territory of love and grace begins to feel normal. We might occasionally step back into the old territories, but something has changed – those old territories don’t feel normal anymore. We recognize them faster and in a moment, turn and step back onto the land of grace and love – for ourselves and for others.

I wonder if the greatest miracles happen when God leads us out of old systems that were all we knew, into new ways of love and grace. We turn around and invite others into this new space. And slowly, old systems in our world are broken down – one by one.

This is what starting over means to me this year. My hope is that in 2022, I will live more consistently in a land of love and grace – a place where I rest in the flow of the love between the Father, the Son & the Holy Spirit, where I listen to my deepest voice and the voice of the Spirit, and where I look and believe in the image of God in all people – no matter how buried it may seem.

What does starting over mean to you? What lands do you need to leave behind to step more fully into this land of love, grace, rest and acceptance? May you start today by imagining that new place – with the One who created it. 

On March 15, 2010 I had a God encounter that only now am I beginning to comprehend.

It was an ordinary day. I had been at a planning meeting at a place where I would be speaking a couple months later. I came home, ruminating on the topics we discussed at the meeting. As I moved about, I began to recognize an uncomfortable stirring inside me. It was a combination of stretching, wrestling, tension, and invitation.

I stopped and prayed a simple prayer (with a bit of irritation)... “What do you want, God?” God’s immediate response (which doesn’t happen very often) surprised me. In that moment, I began to see all the ways I had been living smaller than how I was made to live. To the world, I looked like a confident, passionate woman who spoke on living fully, but God knew I held parts of me back and hid the real me behind walls of protection.

I remember sensing God’s invitation to live differently, and journaled my response -- “I have been living too small! God wants me to be large, to shine bright, to explode.  But I have chosen the more “acceptable” path -- the path that keeps me quiet and pleasant and reserved.  Oh forgive me, God.  Forgive me for being so much less than what you desire...

And then my prayer culminated in one commitment -- “No More Small Living.”

I wrote those words and then landed in a fetal position on the floor. What would this mean? Would I have to be weird? Loud? Obnoxious? Offensive? I didn’t want to be any of these things, but I wanted to say yes to this invitation. I then sensed a gentle whisper, “Trust Me.” 

Over the next few weeks, I was a bit odd. I wrestled, blurted out bold phrases, pulled back in, and then jumped back out. I felt a bit like a scary jack-in-the-box that leapt out, practicing “largeness” at unexpected times. But as the wrestling continued, I began to consider something different -- perhaps the opposite of small living is not about being weird, loud, obnoxious or offensive. Perhaps it’s about being open. Completely open to the presence of God. 

In Genesis 15:1, God invited a man named Abram to lay down his own protective inner shields when God said, “Do not be afraid, Abram. I am your shield, your very great reward.” God promised to protect Abram’s innermost being if he would lay down his own self protection, let his deepest thoughts speak openly to God, and trust God to meet him there. And God did meet him there. Together, Abram and God began to experience intimacy and connection that changed the world. 

Friends, this is what God has been teaching me for the last 11 years -- to let go of my own inner self protection, and to imagine and experience the powerful yet loving presence of a God who desires to hear my deepest thoughts, to show me when to share them with others, and to cover and protect me with the strongest most loving shield that exists. Is it easy? Absolutely not. Hiding and staying small can feel much safer. But a life of self protection doesn’t bring real love or connection in the world. 

Consider a few questions in this advent season... Are your shields up? Is part of you hiding and afraid? Take a moment to sit with Emmanuel, God with us. Ask Jesus to help you lower your own shield and to experience the presence of God as your shield and great reward. If the thought of lowering self protective walls is too scary and you can only lower them a little bit, that’s okay. God will meet you where you are at.

Join me as we walk through this Advent season of hope, lifting your eyes to say, “No more small living,” Together, let’s discover a relationship with Emmanuel that is open, intimate and full of love.

It has been quite awhile since I have written for this blog. A new puppy, a family member’s broken collarbone, a busy summer… all these things can throw a regular rhythm out the window. 

But I think there is another reason I haven’t written in several months. Sometimes words just don’t cut it. I have promised that I would share the things I am learning along this spiritual journey. But the deeper I walk with the Spirit of God, the more inadequate words feel. 

But today, I will try to write again. 

I seem to be learning about what I would call a deep pool of Love that is waiting beneath all of the world’s chaos, confusion, failures and words. So much can tempt us to buoy ourselves above this Love. These distracting “buoys” can feel natural and even important. But Love is always calling to us -- without words. If I had to give it words, it seems to communicate something like, “Come sit with Me. Don’t settle for the shallows. Plumb the depths. Call out to me -- with whatever word or image your heart needs -- and I am there.” 

This Love goes deeper than what any human can give with words or actions. There is no offense or failure in this Love. But there is healing, grace and peace that goes beyond our circumstances. It helps us walk in a way where no person in our life has the last word. Only Love does -- because it’s not about words.

Let that sink in -- People’s actions and choices cannot have the last word in your life because there is always something deeper, more real, more true, more pure, more life changing, beyond them. And we have an open invitation to this everlasting Love, if we might be willing to let go of the nagging thoughts that tell us to avoid the depths, and instead, take a deep breath, dive in, and let our longings for real love and truth drive us forward.

Perhaps my biggest concern is that talking about this Love can sound like foolishness or it can be perceived as trivializing, or even shaming and cruel to those who haven’t tasted it (yet). But this Love is possible; it never trivializes our pain or struggle; and it doesn’t have a problem with our doubts. Somehow it embraces all of this with peace and grace. When we begin to open ourselves to the possibility of this Love, we begin to discover something that will not fail us. And then we are better able to begin extending it to others -- without words.

So my friends, don’t stop acknowledging the hard things in your life. But don’t let thoughts about these things buoy you to the shallows. Remember, they do not have the last word. Hear Love calling you to plumb the depths. Call out to Love with whatever words or feelings you can muster. And know that somehow in the lack of words, Love is there with you -- it always has been and always will be.

Love is a safe place of shelter, for it never stops believing the best for others. Love never takes failure as defeat, for it never gives up. Love never stops loving. It extends beyond the gift of prophecy, which eventually fades away. It is more enduring than tongues, which will one day fall silent. Love remains long after words of knowledge are forgotten… so above all else, let love be the beautiful prize for which you run. (1 Corinthians 13:7-9,13 TPT)

“I feel stuck in the weeds!” That’s what I found myself shouting recently when dealing with a stressful situation. I couldn’t think straight, was anxious and angry, and desperate to figure out the right answers for what seemed like bizarre chaos spinning in my head.

See, the field of weeds is my “autopilot pathway”. That’s where I tend to go in certain situations that trigger a loss of control and a need for quick answers. I frantically pull as many weeds as I can, point out the potential destruction of their fast-growing leaves, and have conversations in my head with people who aren’t even present. Have you ever been there?

Except this time, something different happened. I paused for just a moment to seek God’s presence in the field of weeds. As I breathed deeply and pictured Jesus sitting with me, I began to realize that I learned this form of over-performing weed pulling at a very young age. It helped me feel some sense of power and control. I began to feel compassion for that little girl who didn’t know what else to do except try to pull weeds. 

I sensed Jesus whispering, “would you like to come up on the mountain with me?” I lifted my eyes and began to reimagine a new place -- our place on a mountain where I could see from a new perspective. Peace began to fill my lungs and body. Clarity began to return to my brain. And I suddenly saw a much bigger picture... 

The struggle I was going through was not only about the circumstances in front of me. It’s actually a pattern that’s been going on in various ways in my family for generations. And I have the privilege with God to form new patterns for future generations. My circumstances suddenly had greater clarity and purpose. I was no longer stuck pulling weeds, but was lifted to a place where I could rest, see, and trust a loving God who knows the new pathway forward -- one step at a time.

As I have shared this autopilot metaphor of weeds with a few clients, I have seen smiles and heard descriptions of feeling lost in cattails or unable to see in tall alfalfa fields. When the presence of Love enters the picture, there is a sense of being lifted above the chaos of circumstances to see from a higher place. Peace, clarity and purpose begin to return.

Where do you go when stress or confusion hits? What is the image that comes to mind for your autopilot pathway? Can you begin to notice it and show kindness to that child who didn’t know where else to turn? What happens now as you turn toward Love? See how Love might lift you to a new place with a new perspective.

If you are tired of feeling stuck in a field of weeds, try lifting your eyes to the mountaintop…  “I lift my eyes to the hills. Where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the maker of heaven and earth…” Psalm 121:1-2

So, my dog died last week. 

Not the most compelling start to a blog post, but it’s all I could think to write. Kodi was almost 14 when he sadly, but kindly let us know it was time. He left a vacuous hole in our house that subconsciously peaks around the corner all day long.

I remember taking a class on grief in seminary. As an assignment, we had to map our grief story -- the times in life that we had grieved. Over and over again people would say something like, “I’m so embarrassed that I cried harder over my dog’s death than when my grandma died.” We would all nod because somewhere in most of our grief stories there was a beloved pet. 

And then my professor shared that animals have a way of allowing us to grieve many griefs. Their simple, consistent love opens our heart to spontaneous joy for years, but ushers in grief when that dreaded last day arrives. So, Kodi has allowed me to grieve the things that I have been holding at bay. He is letting me grieve even more the division in our country; grieve that my eyes still need to open more to the pain of my black and brown brothers and sisters; grieve with my clients who are trying to reconcile their faith with their circumstances; and grieve my own disappointments from the past. 

Grief. It’s good. Unexpressed grief has a sneaky way of hiding, festering and disconnecting. Expressed grief feels vulnerable, but seems to open things up through sighs and groans, and through connections with one another. This open-hearted grief brings much to the surface and somehow finds relief in a God and a community who nods and understands.

I have heard that in other countries, people will wear “grief” clothing for weeks or months after they have lost someone they love. Their grief is expressed outwardly to their community, so that people can come alongside them for as long as it takes. We don’t always grieve well here in our western world.

I have been fortunate to grieve with my family, but also with two other groups that are able to hold grief with one another and with God. One is a small “listening faith community” where together we are learning to ask real questions, raise doubts, share laughter, express disappointments, and hold one another’s grief as sacred and holy. Another is an interfaith virtual prayer tent that runs for half an hour every morning called healingourcity.org. It is here that the hearts, grief and hope of people of color are expressed. And it is here that I am learning even more how to grieve with hope.

It’s okay to be sad sometimes and it doesn’t mean you have lost your faith or your hope. Might you have some grief that needs to be allowed and expressed? May you have the courage today to pause and feel it, sit with God in it, and then risk telling someone about your grief. 

And as I walk through my home and expect a little fuzzy face to come around the corner, I can simply say, “Thank you, Kodi, for helping me grieve. You’re a good boy.”

“What’s my purpose? What if I’m wasting my life? I’ve spent so much time caring for others, I don’t even know what I want. Why won’t God just tell me what to do?”

These are the words I often hear from people as I sit with them seeking God’s presence and leading. If even one of these phrases has crossed your mind lately, you are not alone. Most, if not all of us, know what it feels like to be stuck, and to long for life that is fulfilling and unique to our making. The pandemic seems to have only amplified these longings. 

Here’s what I have discovered after years of my own searching, while also listening to others: The path to outward purpose and fulfillment requires us to simultaneously go on a different journey -- a journey that requires great courage -- a journey inward. 

This inward journey can look like a dark forest too scary to enter. It often includes experiences like grief, regret, doubts, wrestling, anger, forgiveness and letting go, and it can feel self-indulgent. It’s much easier to subconsciously or consciously avoid it. Yet when we muster up the courage to enter this inward forest with God, God promises to lead us through it. This journey through thorny vines, rubble and brush leads you to a space inside where only you and God can meet. And it’s in this space that we find more of God’s voice, and ours, and we discover a new path that leads us outward to purpose and fulfillment… for the sake of others.

Some of you know from my last post that I decided to be more intentional about this inward journey during Lent this year. Thirty days in, this journey has been uncomfortable to say the least. I have questioned, wondering if my thoughts and feelings are just my own self-induced frustrations or maybe just my own body chemistry! Yet as I look back, I can now see that together, God and I have hacked through some vines of things like vanity, momentary adrenaline rushes, misdirected longings, insecurities, and even my ability to enable chaotic relationship triangles!

As awful as the thorny vines in the forest feel, there also eventually comes a moment with each one -- a moment of seeing clearly, of grief or regret turning to a more expansive breath, of an opportunity to try a new way of thinking instead of repeating an old pattern, of thanking God for grace and mercy, and of deeper self understanding and purpose.

The journey inward is challenging, but worth it. It leads us to more of God and more movement outward.

As we head into Holy week, may you find time to go inward with God. May you not rush too quickly to the outward resurrection, but may you feel the thorny vines that were placed on His head. May you sit at the foot of the cross and nail something of yours there. May you grieve at the tomb. And then, may the moment come when you celebrate God’s undeniable way of leading us through the dark forest to bring new life, more purpose, joy and love... for you and for the sake of others!

In this season of Lent, I decided to pray daily what I would call a dangerous prayer. Ruth Haley Barton of the Transforming Community Center suggested it… to pray Psalm 139:23-24. Here it is from the Passion Translation:

God, I invite your searching gaze into my heart. Examine me through and through; find out everything that may be hidden within me. Put me to the test and sift through all my anxious cares. See if there is any path of pain I’m walking on, and lead me back to your glorious everlasting ways -- the path that brings me back to you.

I knew that the pathway of this prayer would not be “fun.” In fact, I had to spend time journaling about my fears -- was I really willing to not only pray this prayer, but to genuinely lean into God’s stirrings? It is not easy to intentionally seek the places we prefer to keep hidden, or our shadow sides that are dressed in pretty thoughts. But I believe this is the pathway toward new life and the resurrection. And as I heard one person say recently, I must trust that God’s new is better than my same. 

I want God’s new. I think.

It’s no surprise that within the first 1.5 weeks of Lent, I have come face to face with my privilege, anxiousness, fears, insecurities, and dark thoughts covered by a smile. They’ve always been there, but now, instead of pushing them down or dismissing them with comfortable thoughts, I link them back to the prayer, and pause to lean in (and wrestle).

Moment by moment, I discover another broken fragment that I am tightly holding. One more fragment that I would prefer not to see. One more fragment that feels painful to release, yet important to expose. And truthfully, one more fragment that I sometimes set aside for another day. It’s uncomfortable, disruptive and feels a bit like death. And at the same time, I hold on to hope -- hope of the resurrection. How often have I missed a resurrection because I preferred to avoid the feelings of pain and death?

I was hesitant to write this blog because I don’t want to portray myself as some brave hero. (We Enneagram 3s are really good at even making our ugly look pretty!) The truth is, I am weak and I bluff well -- especially to myself. But this Lent I felt compelled to take this path and to tell you, it’s hard, but so far, it’s worth it.

I am thankful to have a spiritual director and friends to process this. Perhaps I am most thankful that after the many highs and lows of my life-long faith journey, I still believe in a God who is good and loving in the midst of our darkness -- perhaps especially in the midst of our darkness. And I am confident that the resurrection will come -- over and over again.

I hope for you in this season of Lent that you will not move too quickly to celebrate the resurrection, but will allow this season of letting go and turning more fully toward God to play out in your heart. And I hope that when the resurrection comes -- not just on Easter Sunday but to you personally, it makes you new. Have courage my friends and trust. God’s new is better than your same.

Recently, I was with a group of women when a conversation began to unfold about the presence of God appearing in ordinary and extraordinary ways. The stories awakened life, hope, light, breath and the reminder that God is right here. 

At the end of our conversation, I offered a prayer of thanks and said, “you knew what I needed today, God.”  While I didn’t know what I really needed, God knew I needed to hear those stories that day.

This experience began to remind me of other times I have unexpectedly prayed that simple prayer of thanks, recognizing with hindsight that God knew my deepest needs of Love, Healing, Presence or something else beyond myself. 

One time, I uttered that prayer after a day of deep connection with my mom. She and I have lived in different cities for my entire adult life. While we love each other dearly, neither of us are great phone talkers. So that day of laughter, conversation, good food, and just being together, was so important. God knew what both my mom and I needed that day. But God also knew the memory I would need now, as Mom and I attempt to connect the best we can amidst dementia.

You knew what I needed, God.

This morning, I was tired after an unusually restless night. I felt a little detached and glum. As I sat quietly in prayer, I was taken to a visualization of sitting with Jesus at the bow of a sailboat. The ocean was outstretched before us. I didn’t know why I was seeing this, but then the porpoises began to jump, and a huge whale lept in the air and crashed down with a splash. Tortoises came by, and birds flew to Jesus, whispering something in his ear that made him smile. I began to grin, connect to my own heart, and breathe deeper. I remembered that Jesus can be trusted to lead us forward on a path toward life.

You knew what I needed, Lord.

I don’t know what you need today. And you may not either… but God does. Immanuel, God with us, is here. Consider taking a few minutes with God, simply asking, “What do I really need today, Lord? Awaken me to Your Presence around me.” Then watch for Life… it comes in unexpected ways. But it comes. And I think you’ll find that it’s just what you need… today.

Has a word ever popped off a page when you were reading and then kept showing up everywhere you turned? That happened to me recently, as one simple word kept grabbing my attention. “Mercy.”

I felt like God was whispering that there was more for me to understand about this word. So I did what I always do. I googled it. :)

The first definition that surfaced was “forgiveness shown toward someone whom it is within one's power to punish or harm. The boy was screaming and begging for mercy."

I was not fond of that description. Power to punish? Harm? Boy screaming for mercy? It felt like a nice gesture cloaked in anger and fear. 

“Look again.” The Whisper said gently. 

As I looked deeper, I began to realize that the word mercy, especially in biblical stories, was typically connected to another word -- compassion. Mercy did not come from an angry God who was controlling his temper. Mercy came from a compassionate God who loves, sees and understands us  -- particularly in our short-comings, failures and mistakes.

My lessons on mercy continued one morning, as I entered into a time of prayer. I was unexpectedly flooded with memories of a season full of disappointments and regrets. Oh, I didn’t want to go there. It was a confusing time, where people hurt one another. Some hurt me. And I hurt others. Darkness felt like it was squatting on my shoulders and a knife was stuck in my heart.

How will I ever heal from that time, God? Will I ever get over it?

The Whisper gently said, “when you think of that time, Julia, do you look into darkness, partnering with shame and blame. Or do you turn to Me, the light of mercy?”

It was so clear that I was partnering with shame, punishing myself for failures more than anyone else could. And when that got too exhausting, I turned to blame, punishing others for their mistakes. At that moment, I made a decision. I would choose to say no to the darkness of shame and blame, and visualize turning toward the light of mercy.

In my spirit, I saw Jesus put His arm around me and walk me forward, away from darkness into light. Perhaps what I loved most was His silence while walking. He didn’t reassure me that it wasn’t my fault or that others were to blame. He knew we had all made mistakes. He saw our brokenness. 

But what I sensed in that moment was that His mercy was big enough -- big enough to cover my failures and wounds, and big enough to cover others and the wounds I had caused. Big enough to change us going forward. 

The darkness lifted. The knife was removed. Healing happened. And I felt peace.

Weeks later, mercy continues to change how I see myself and others. Shame and blame cut us off. Mercy embraces.

As we reflect on this particularly difficult year of 2020, and look forward with anticipation to 2021, what will we choose? Will we look back to regrets and frustrations, partnering with shame and blame? Or will we walk forward embracing mercy? 

Together, let’s keep turning toward mercy.

Often when I sit with clients, we practice closing our eyes and inviting God to sit with them in a safe place. It’s something I have personally done through prayer for years and it has brought me healing, peace, and connection. 

As clients breathe deeply and settle in, the images of God that they experience are beautiful and numerous. They describe light, colors, Jesus, Father, Mother or trees in the wind. Sometimes they don’t picture anything, but they simply have a sense of being surrounded by love, peace, or kindness. 

If a specific safe place comes to mind, a variety of locations have been described. Some places are real -- a person’s bedroom, a childhood home, an overpass looking at a field. Others are imaginary -- an unknown bus stop, a mountaintop, or cloud. The locations themselves often speak something unique about the season the person is in or a longing of their heart.

It is truly amazing for me to hear what happens in those safe spaces as they engage with God. People ask questions they have been afraid to say out loud. They share their fears and frustrations, or simply watch what God seems to be doing or saying. The list of things that happen is endless, but in this safe, intimate space, God seems to meet them in the core of their being and surface some of their deepest needs.

Lately, I have been hearing an unexpected image described repeatedly by several people. They have seen Jesus calling them to step away for a moment to sit with Him as He simply smiles into their faces and holds their hands. “Holding hands” has come up so often, I decided to do a little digging to decipher its significance in dreams. It turns out, this uncommon dream imagery can indicate tender intimacy and deep affection with a loving friend.

Could God be saying something universal through this repeated image? In this hard, isolating Covid season, is God inviting all of us to even deeper intimacy in our prayer life than we have known before? Could God’s deepest longing be for us to step away from what our minds think we should do, to sit quietly with God and simply hold hands?

Pause for a minute and take that in. You are loved, valued and wanted -- just as you are. It makes God smile to look into your face and hold your hands.

Yes, we are in a challenging Covid season. But we also have entered the Christmas season where together we remember Immanuel -- God with us. Take a moment today to be with God. Find a comfortable place, breathe deeply, and ask, “God, is there a safe place where you would like to meet today?” And don’t forget to open your hands… you might be surprised.

Several years ago over a short period of time, I had the privilege and sadness of conducting three separate funerals for women who left behind young adult sons and daughters. As I looked into the faces of these dearly loved children, my heart ached with this thought: “They need to know God as Mother, too.”

It was then that I realized the importance of knowing God, yes as a good Father, but also as a loving Mother. God reflects both male and female, father and mother, brother and sister, and beyond, depending on what we need. When we experience a mother’s love on earth, we taste the love of God.

One night shortly after that season of funerals, I was feeling discouraged, wondering what I was doing with my life and having one of those, “do you care, God” moments. I prayed whatever you pray when you feel despair. “Jesus?” I said out loud, hoping He would answer. “Yahweh? Abba?” calling out names for God, hoping I would connect. 

And then I whispered it. “Mama?” 

Instantly, I saw myself sitting on a hill under a tree. The fullness of what we call the Trinity surrounded me. And She was in front. She. The feminine of God. The Mother heart of God. 

I began to weep. She was who I needed most at that moment. She wrapped her arms around me and cared for me. And She told me everything was going to be okay.

Jesus said, “How often I have wanted to gather your children together as a hen protects her chicks beneath her wings...” (Luke 13:34) That is just one example from the Bible of how Jesus and God are painted as a mother, and there are more.

Knowing God as Mother can bring healing. Some have had  painful relationships with their earthly mothers, and need to know that God, their Heavenly Mother, is different. Others have had beautiful relationships with their earthly mothers and therefore can experience God in a deep and intimate way as Mother. Some women have been hurt by men and the thought of drawing close to a male God is not only frightening, but just not possible in that moment. The feminine presence of God is real and needed. By doing this, we are not eliminating the importance of the Heavenly Father. We are recognizing that there is more to God when you also know God as Mother.

And women, by knowing the Feminine Heart of God, we can know confidently that we are completely created in the Image of God too. We carry the powerful, beautiful, strong, fierce, loving, breathtaking feminine Spirit of God into the world. By knowing Her, we value ourselves and others as women in a whole new way.

I encourage you today to invite God to reveal Herself to you. If this is uncomfortable, perhaps ask yourself, “why?” (I had to do that for years.) See how your faith builds and your view of God and yourself expands. And know that She is saying, “You are going to be okay.”

I know I am not alone when I say that I wrestle with how to make a difference in our country right now, when there seems to be so much strife, confusion, and conflict. What can I possibly do in this unprecedented season of life? 

As I was praying (and struggling) with this question, an ancient Hebrew story stirred in my mind -- the story of a woman named Ruth. I can only touch on the highlights, but stick with me as I explain how it spoke to me… (Feel free to read the book of Ruth in the Old Testament if you are interested in more detail.)

Ruth was a widow who had not only lost her husband, but her brother-in-law and father-in-law as well, which at that time could have left her penniless and destitute. Rather than stay in the comfort of her own country of Moab, she chose to follow her mother-in-law back to her mother-in-law’s homeland of Judah. In doing this, Ruth lost everything she had known -- her family, her people, her faith, and even the hope for her future as she once knew it. She now was a foreigner in a land that was often hostile to her heritage.

Yet God. God wrote a new story with Ruth’s life.

Once Ruth arrived in the new land, she “just happened” to find herself working in the field of a man named Boaz. Boaz noticed her as she walked among the poor, picking up leftover grain. He told his workers to watch out for Ruth and leave extra food for her. Through kindness, Boaz provided for and protected her, and even stood for her when her fate was later being determined by the men in town.

Can you imagine the healing that happened in Ruth as she experienced kindness in Boaz’s field? I wonder if her internal story of being “just a foreign, destitute woman” began to change -- even before her external story played out. Ultimately, out of Boaz’s field, Ruth became one of the most honored women in history -- the great-grandmother of King David, and one of only three women listed in the lineage of Jesus.

So what does this say about my role in the midst of this challenging season in our country? I sensed God whispering to me, “create Boaz fields wherever you go. Don’t underestimate the power of kindness.” 

Amidst all of the division, confusion and pain, we can create Boaz Fields -- environments where people experience kindness through compassion, protection, provision and hope. “Fields” where those who are different from me are honored and respected. “Fields” where people can breathe deeply and know that their thoughts and perspectives are welcomed -- just as they are. And “Fields” where people are seen, known, heard, and loved. 

Can I fix all the struggles in our country right now? No. But I can create Boaz fields, whether meeting with an individual, a group, or a whole community. I can be part of God’s plan to create places where people are healed and empowered to change the world… beginning with kindness.

Will you join me in creating Boaz fields wherever you go?

God is up to something in women. I’ve been seeing and hearing it for at least the last two years. Ideas and longings are stirring more than I have seen in a long time. Women’s hands are open and they seem more willing to move forward into the unknown. 

Unfortunately, glass ceilings can get in the way. We have all heard about the glass ceilings that women have faced for centuries -- those invisible barriers that keep us from advancing in our careers, our ideas and desires. Yes, they are real. And it’s important to name them and be part of removing those ceilings.

However, what if one of the glass ceilings is actually an internal one? So many of us have an internal story we wrote for our lives at a very young age that can establish a glass ceiling over our ability to move forward. No shame in that… we did the best we could to interpret our experiences. But that story, written so long ago, can keep replaying in every place we show up, whether we know it or not. It affects our relationships, our abilities, our callings, and our faith.

Mine can go something like this -- if I am with others who speak confidently or sound like they have an expertise, I assume they know what they are doing. And I begin to assume that I don’t know what I am doing. When that begins to play in my head, I subliminally question what value I could possibly bring, and as a result, I show up living smaller and more withdrawn than what God created me to be. There are a million reasons why that story developed in me so young -- perhaps starting with being born as the fourth daughter after three amazing sisters. Yep, it starts early, whether anyone meant it or not.

So recently, I wrote out this devaluing story that can play in my head. Once I named it outloud, I was shocked because of how absurd it sounded. I thought I had dealt with all of this! I went to God with it, focused on what I knew to be true, and felt God helping me rewrite the story. 

The new story goes like this -- when I go anywhere, I bring value just by showing up. It’s in me. I don’t have to have everything figured out, nor do I have to be the complete package. I carry the unique presence of God that looks like me wherever I go. I get to be part of whatever is going on in the world, and my part holds value, no matter what. 

As I internally speak that new story, I began to see a crack forming in my glass ceiling. Step by step, truth by truth, the ceiling breaks open, and I walk more consistently in my value and worth.

So how are you showing up today? Where are you living small? What is the story you are telling yourself and what happens when you bring that story to a loving God?

Women, God is up to something in us. I see it. The glass ceilings are coming down -- especially the internal ones. We are stepping out into a new way of being, and God is calling us forth. Let’s rewrite the stories so we can live the ultimate story intended for our lives.

I am reading a book called “The Way of the Mystics,” by John Michael Talbot and Steve Rabey. Each of 13 chapters describes the life and way of a different Christian mystic, living anywhere between 200 AD and the 1960s.

These men and women had three things in common, according to the authors. The mystics believed:

• God exists
• God is personal
• God desires a personal communion with each and every one of us.

But a few other things popped off the pages for me. Most of these men and women struggled with attempting to put their spiritual experiences and love for God into words. Some didn’t have the words. Others were afraid they might sound crazy. They weren’t looking for an emotional high. They simply wanted intimacy with God. Mystical experiences didn’t replace sound theology, but ended up being a result of sound and healthy theology.

Their lives were simple -- many lived in deserts, beyond the walls of an intense culture, while others lived in town. Suffering was not a surprise to be avoided, but was part of the journey with God. And material wealth was the least of their concerns. Somehow God provided.

One by one, the mystics described a daily way of being where God was intimately personal, and knowing God as a loving God of grace was their foundation. It was that simple.

We might picture these men and women as “ungrounded” and isolated -- what a waste. They should be serving others. But that’s not an accurate picture! The more they connected with God, the more they connected deeply with others. Communities formed around these imperfect people. Communities where people learned to love God, love themselves and love their neighbor. Communities where people learned to walk at a slower pace and to value relationships. Communities where people believed in the gifts of others, walked beside one another in suffering, and were a part of a counter-cultural way of being. 

I think I might be a modern mystic. I relate to the fears, desires and simplicity of these ancient people. It gives me hope that this way of being might be possible -- even today.

It’s not for everyone, but I wonder if some of you can relate to these longings, and you are trying to figure out where you belong or fit. Talbot and Rabey said, “the mystics of the past were not spiritual superstars or privileged members of some esoteric elite. They were people like you and me.”

I think God is up to something. God seems to be calling forward the current day Christian mystics and healers. If my words are speaking to you, let’s believe together, attempt to put our thoughts and experiences into words, encourage one another, and trust in a loving God of grace as we simplify, breathe, and love.

In this past month of September, I was moved by a motivational guy named John Acuff to take on something he called the September-January Challenge. John noticed that every January, we seem to have a fresh determination to establish a new habit. John said, why wait till January? Why not try it in September? 

In his September-January Challenge, we would commit to doing something every day for one month to develop a new skill or way of being. We were challenged not to overthink, but simply try something you have been putting off. A Facebook community would cheer you on. 

People came forward with a variety of ideas. Some decided to eat healthy, while others wanted to think positively, get out of their pajamas (Covid season!), paint a new picture, or work out each day. I decided to write a potential blog post every day for the month of September. I might or might not ever share the posts, but I would write them and see what evolves.

28 days of writing later (I missed two days), I am amazed at what surfaced throughout the month. It felt different from “journaling.” I often journal to process my own feelings, hopes and struggles. But writing a potential blog post had me think more about others -- about you if you are reading this. What would I want people to know from the depths of my soul? It didn’t feel too risky because I never had to show anyone if I didn’t want to.

I learned a lot about what is important to me. I learned that what I have to say isn’t going to be for everyone, but it could encourage the intuitives, the dreamers and the feelers who sometimes don’t feel like they have a voice in the world. It also might help those who are in a relationship with an intuitive to know better how to work with them.

I wrote about visions and spiritual experiences, attempting to put into words what is so difficult to explain. I didn’t worry about whether my language might cause questions or be laughed at. And because of this writing, I found myself actually talking more openly about this deepest part of me than I had in the past.

Perhaps the biggest surprise was the joy and life I felt every time I wrote. Each time, I seemed to experience a tender moment with God as we co-created and then smiled together.  

So why am I sharing this? For two reasons:

• What do you want to try in October? What could you do everyday to develop a new skill or a new way of being? If you miss a day, no shame. Try it the next day. Invite God into it and see what you might learn this month. You don’t need to tell anyone, but if you want someone to cheer you on, you could tell me. As a spiritual director, I am sworn to confidentiality!

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• I have decided to share some of the posts. Don’t worry, I won’t bombard you daily, but perhaps I’ll pick four of them and share one a week. Maybe I’ll start with the safe ones and then see if my courage builds…

Take a risk this month, my friends. What part of your body, soul and mind needs space to breathe or encouragement to develop? Step out and see what happens.

I promised to share things in this blog about what I have been learning in this new chapter of life as a spiritual director. This post has been stirring in me for awhile… It’s a concept that isn’t completely new to me, but is reawakening in me in a new way. I know I have more to learn, so this won’t be the last time you hear me talk about it.

It’s about my spirit.  Not the Holy Spirit, but I am talking about the innermost part of my being. I’m sure there are many things you could call this part in us -- some might say soul, heart, essence, breath, your deepest voice. The list goes on. It doesn’t really matter to me what you call it… it’s simply that deep place of knowing, longing, doubting, hiding, risking, connecting and desiring.

And I wonder for what percentage of my life I have suppressed this place. 

This place in me can be scary. It doesn’t follow the status quo. It questions, doubts, feels both pain and joy, remembers, wrestles and wonders. For many people, this place doesn’t always feel safe to let out in the world, or in the church, or even in our own minds with deeply formed synapses for that matter. So it is easier to silence it, and go back to assurances of what we have been told, what is accepted, and what keeps things pleasant. Saying things from this place out loud seems to make this voice more real… and that can be just darn scary.

Yet something is happening in me as I sit quiet enough for that part of me to consistently breathe, reawaken, open and exist. My whole being feels deeper, truer, more connected. It’s painful and hard and beautiful. It takes more courage than I thought possible to value that voice and keep that part of me open. But when I do, I experience deeper love. More grace. Broad spaciousness.

Don’t worry. I haven’t completely lost my mind or my faith. I still love Jesus. But I also believe Jesus, God, Pneuma (the Holy Spirit) are big enough to sit with me in my questions, doubts and desires. I actually believe it is God who is stretching me and calling this part of me forward. I am reawakening.

As I look back over the last year, I realize this is why it was so important for me to start this spiritual direction practice. I have wanted to be a safe place for all people -- where their spirit can open up and this part of them can come forward. Where they can say anything and I won’t be shocked or rattled, or quickly try to “save them.” I will listen. I might cheer, nod, smile or cry. But I will be with them as they learn to listen and honor their deepest place and voice. And it’s in this place that we often find God waiting for us, not with criticism or anger, but with love. 

I also think God may have called me to be a safe place for others so that I would actually start being an even safer place for myself. I needed to be kind to my own thoughts, allowing my true self to come forward without hurried criticism, but with genuine love. 

Do I still suppress my spirit? Of course. But not nearly as much as I did in the past. 

So with all that said, may you and your spirit breathe deeply today. May you listen to your innermost voice, respond to yourself with kindness, risk speaking it out loud to God or a safe person, and know that you are loved. Always. 

“God’s love broke open the way and brought me into a beautiful broad place.” Psalm 18:19 (TPT)

I recently read a quote that won’t seem to let me go.

“The world for which you have been so carefully prepared is being taken away from you, by the grace of God.”  Walter Brueggemann, author and Hebrew scholar.

Chew on that for a minute before you continue reading. Is it disruptive? Probably. You might even hate it or vehemently disagree with it. That’s okay. But let yourself ponder it for just a little bit.

See, if we eliminated the last phrase, “by the grace of God,” it would be a terribly depressing quote. Many have spent a lifetime carefully preparing for something in this world. Through education, training, certifications, internships, jobs, we achieve our greater purpose, right? And now this unusually troubling season seems to be full of stripping away and loss. Is everything we’ve known being taken away? What the heck?!? This isn’t what we planned!

But then we read the last phrase of the quote again, and it changes everything. “By the grace of God.” Suddenly this quote carries potential and hope amidst a season of unknown.

Do I believe God has caused Covid or any suffering? No. My beliefs stand firmly on a God who doesn’t pull strings to punish or cause us to suffer. Instead, this is a God who by grace and love leads us forward on a trajectory toward wholeness and is all about making things new.

Scriptures describe hope that comes after despair, greater joy after suffering, discovery after loss, growth after pruning, and new life after death. 

Could it be that God is involved and is making us and our world new in a profound way right now?  Is it possible that amidst loss and disillusionment, God is simultaneously relieving us of some of the things we have been so carefully preparing, SO THAT we can be increasingly made into new, whole, true human beings? With that in mind, can we also begin to see others -- people, systems, institutions that appear to be imploding -- actually as something worthy of being made new, by the grace of God?

Oh friends, this is hard. I never want to minimize pain or loss. “New” can be scary -- we want to get back to what we know. And we don’t know what the new is! But in this unprecedented season in the world, can we believe that God could be uprooting things that need to change and be moving us forward on a trajectory of wholeness, making us new? Let’s hope, believe, engage in change, and watch for the new together.

“I am doing something brand new, something unheard of. Even now it sprouts and grows and matures. Don’t you perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and open up flowing streams in the desert…” Isaiah 43:18-19 (TPT)

Questions: What have you been preparing for and/or holding tightly to? How might you need to loosen your grip to begin seeing something new… by the grace of God?

So much of me is tempted to run around, have answers, explain myself, try to impress others with the things God might be doing after I stepped away from my job as a pastor and preacher… and “do something” to reassure myself that I still have value. 

But as I sit in quietness, I know from a deeper place in me that actually, I need to simply be quiet for a little while. (Maybe a long while?)  It is in quietness that I am rediscovering my true value, peace, longings and voice, and the temptations to run around seem to decrease. 

I was hesitant to write the word quiet. I have seen the signs in the protests that say “silence is violence.” And I know there is much pain in our world over how we as white people of privilege have been silent. Please understand that I am talking about something different. I promise not to be silent on topics like standing for my brothers and sisters of color. Yet even as I say that, I would rather give them the space that I used to fill up with my words so that I can listen to their perspective. Really listen.

So I am being changed in a season of my own quietness. Zechariah, a reputable priest and the father of John the Baptist from the Bible, was given the gift of silence for 9 months. He couldn’t speak a word. It was there that he simply watched life around him, and experienced God’s love, presence and renewed hope. He rediscovered his deepest longings that he had given up on so long ago. And he saw them fulfilled in a way he never thought possible.

The funny thing is that the more I sit in my own quietness, the more I am able to offer others what I think they may need most too… quiet. There is so much noise in the world that I can fool myself into thinking that I need to say something really profound to cut through the clutter. But actually, what people seem to need most right now is a quiet, safe place… to be loved and heard, so they can actually hear the profound whispers meant for them from deep inside themselves.

And as I listen, I too am changed.

So, my friends, I am practicing being quiet. Listening. Breathing. Making space for the voices of others. And my prayer for you today is that you will receive the gift of enough silence to actually notice the life-changing whispers from your Creator and from your own thoughts that lie deep within you.

“In quietness and trust is your strength.” (Isaiah 30:15)

In so many ways, I am jumping with both feet into another chapter of life. And this blog seems to be a part of it.

After much prayer, discussion and wrestling, I have decided to step away from my role as a pastor in a large church and move more fully back into the life of a spiritual director.  It comes with risk and trepidation, but also peace, hope and great anticipation. 

What will this blog be about? Well, let's see what happens... I could describe all my deepest thoughts and plans, but I think I would just look back someday and laugh. 

I remember when I left my first career 24 years ago, stepping off my successful hamster wheel to stay home for a little while with my new baby. At the beginning, I could have told you that I anticipated changing diapers and cleaning spit-up. But what I didn’t know then, was that it would be a season where I would begin to learn how to be quiet, to notice God’s stirrings, to play and color (again), to experience God amidst tears and trials, to laugh from my gut, to hear and appreciate others who think differently than me, all while having my heart explode with love as a mom. I never could have anticipated all that God had for me in that season, nor can I now as I walk forward in this new one.

Isn’t that our hope? While we think we are doing something specific, God might actually be at work in a deeper place, breathing life, stripping away, and making something new -- or maybe gently clearing away what’s been hidden for far too long.

So, here I go. For now, I will... be. Be a safe place for others to sit, cry, laugh, talk or color, and to look for God in our midst. 

And I can’t wait to see what I will learn. I’ll share it along the way.