“There’s a secret place. A radiant sanctuary. As real as your own kitchen. More real than that. Constructed of the purest elements. Overflowing with ten thousand beautiful things. Worlds within worlds. Forests. Rivers. Velvet coverlets thrown over featherbeds, fountains bubbling beneath a canopy of stars. Bountiful forests, universal libraries. A wine cellar offering an intoxication so sweet you will never be sober again. A clarity so complete you will never again forget. This magnificent refuge is inside you. Enter. Shatter the darkness that surrounds the doorway...Believe the incredible truth that the beloved has chosen for his dwelling place the core of your own being because that is the single most beautiful place in all of creation.”
St Theresa of Avila
Time passed and so did the fog. Finding healing through physical support brought greater clarity to my mind as well. Every mental health journey is unique, for me, discovering adrenal fatigue and fixing nutritional depletions helped me get back into the space behind the eyes of my body. To a space of clarity and more confident communication. The pain that I had mentioned before, did not leave my body. Instead it transferred into compassion in my cells for others in pain or in struggle with God. It's funny how pain, through grace or mercy- I'm not sure which, has this common, perhaps universal, habit of transferring into compassion. Then that compassion births purpose if we are lucky, and I found myself fortunate enough to work with kids at our church.
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A number of years ago, the women in our church were generously given the opportunity to have a retreat at a beautiful cabin up north. During this time, I was working in children’s ministry at our small church. At our weekly staff meeting we began to discuss the upcoming event. I painfully, and of almost disorderly conduct, yet unashamedly blurted out, ‘I’m going but I don’t want to talk to anyone while I am there’. (Yes I was awkward, and I wish I could blame that purely on exhaustion). Perhaps it is my imagination, and this is only speculation, but their eyes at first opened wider and each of them sat back in their seats just a smidge. After a half breath, their eyes smiled back into a resting state. And in their grace, they invited me to share more about my feelings before a simple continuation of the meeting. Without too many specifics, just know that I felt grace and comfort in the air, as I typically did in this meeting place. These are the kind of people that after I cried, yet again, at another team meeting (Side note: when you work in a loving caring church that cares about your spiritual development, you work together to uncover wounds and dive into things like family of origin. How am I not going to cry?) they continued to hum that tears are a spiritual gift. And with almost weekly crying, speaking for a friend here, one might feel a little vulnerable, so the affirmation and encouragement was welcomed.
Back to the dreaded retreat (I say that sarcastically). I invited my best friend. I think Andrew requested that. While I wanted to shut myself in a closet door and never talk to anyone again and only always read a book and have time to journal, sleep and eat healthy food. Excuse me, I was tired and overscheduled, people. He suggested it would be fun. I did and obviously it was. My sweet soul nurturing best friend helped to shift my tense air on the drive up to laughter as we bounced stories of motherhood and being a woman and marriage throughout the entire ride. I love her. And our silly memories that bring perspective to our growth. And the not so growth.
We arrived after our ping pong conversation and belly laughs to a stunning space. We toured the cabins in awe of the beauty and solitude. And also the lack of bags and mom gear on our arms, as we awaited the arrival of the other women.
The women entered and I surprised myself with the joy that bubbled up inside of me to see them. It’s not that I didn’t love these people, in fact, many are my closest friends that feel like an extension to my authentic self. Being with them is as easy as being alone. At that time though, my exhaustion had convinced me that solitude was my only prescription. And while sometimes it is, here I was genuinely happy to linger and chat in the kitchen, shocking my inner hermit. We connected over driving and where everyone was at emotionally. Okay this may seem obvious for some, but for those that, like me, had not been social for some time may also need the reminder of what it is people commonly discuss during times of what they call ‘small talk’.
I was on staff, but made it probably obnoxiously clear that while here, mama was retreat-ing. We had an itinerary. Meals, a tinge of meal helping, opportunity for massage, or spiritual direction, games or snowshoeing, what have you. But the overarching schedule was to embrace the retreat. As in listening to our limits and the call of our souls.
After dinner, we met by the fireplace. Each of us marveling over the beauty of boulders mirroring the structure of the space. As we marveled, a gentle faced, soft spoken person entered. Her peace calmed and almost irritated me.* Our pastor introduced her to us, and peaceful person took over from there, introducing the idea of spiritual direction and her gentle aim while she was there with us. She said she would begin by leading us in a collective quiet time as we sat together around the grand fireplace. And later, she told us, we would have the opportunity to sign up for a 30 minute time slot to meet with her in a small cabin space above one of the garages located across the snow covered driveway.
She said spiritual direction was for anyone no matter where you may be in your faith. She described many different stances on faith at that point; ‘on fire’ for God, in question and doubting, hurting, stagnation. But the only description that struck me was “if you are about to walk away from your faith”. I think my eyes might have darted around the room when she said that phrase to see if people knew that was me. I did my best of course to not make eye contact, as that connection over gaze may have given myself away. Given away that their children’s ministry leader was deeply at odds with faith and God and the institution of church as a whole. I had already told Andrew this was how I felt. He laughed at me, and didn’t believe for a second my proclamation as he knew that was how I spent my every morning.
It was spent in the study and pleasure of faith that is. Faith and spiritual stuff was my main care, concern and passion. But I had never been so honest. So deeply honest that my devotion may no longer belong within the realms of Christianity. I was finding freedom in ideas that I had once labeled ‘new age’. Much of that morning time was spent looking for a hole, a fallacy, something to disprove my longtime Christian faith, and or something to keep me going. Constantly looking for a reason to believe, or a justification to abort. Wasn’t I just a delight? Just sitting there, I had already muttered to myself 100 times that I would likely be leaving faith. At the very least as I knew it.
At this point, I had been working in kids’ ministry for just a short while. I went in with a passion to create a space where children felt the freeing love of Jesus and would hopefully develop a faith that stuck. I quickly became obsessed with and passionate about sticky faith research.1 Research that indicates that more than 50% of individuals that grow up in the Christian church walk away after they graduate high school. The research goes on to say that the greatest indicator for those that have a faith that ‘sticks’ is the presence of adults outside of the immediate family that reinforce values being learned at home and/or seeing their parents move through their faith authentically. Yet, not long after starting the ministry journey, it was as if I was so up close and personal to the Bible stories, that I needed to poke and prod them for accuracy and truth. I remember sharing the story of God asking Abraham to sacrifice his only son, and whispering and rushing over gruesome part in order to get to the end where God finally, and somewhat awkwardly, don’t ya think?, finally says, ‘Wait Abe. You don’t have to do that. I am the lamb”. Ugh, all for what, God? Simply put, the character and ease I was feeling in my quiet time with Jesus felt contradictory to many of the stories, and I had to know why. I could not go on until I was at peace with these lingering contradictions. I could not stand and preach, what I was proclaiming as truth to innocent preschool angel babies, if in my heart I was questioning their validity.
Back to sitting around the fireplace, and calm peaceful woman describing centering prayer. I was half listening, half thinking about my own intention for prayer, and the weekend. I wanted to see the face of God. There it is. In all of its outlandish glory. It sounds crazy, but I knew I needed to see the face of God. What this is all about. The Being I am teaching young souls about. I need to know more. Who is the one allowing evil in this world? Who are You, really? I need to sneak behind the curtain and see the wizard manipulating the levers and pulleys. Bringing pain upon the innocent. I was genuinely hoping this would be the weekend I saw God’s face. I mean, aim high, right?
We were guided to pick a word or a symbol that would help keep us on track, for the upcoming 15 minutes of silence we were, by sitting there, at least somewhat committed to embarking on.
In group meditation and quiet time, a shape began forming in my mind’s eye. Was this it? Was this God revealing himself to me? You can laugh.
It was undetectable and yet, more and more by the second, or breath, however time was currently measured in this silence, through the muddy thickness of the moments, this form took shape. Moving closer towards recognizability. Then, very clearly, like turning a kaleidoscope into colorful focus, the image became a wolf. Made of darkness. It was like the profile of a dark wolf. Only given shape by the light surrounding it. I sat and stared at black wolf for a bit, in my mind’s eye of course. Having conversations with myself, convincing her she wasn’t crazy, and to let the visions be what they were. Staring at the black wolf, not judging or trying to find meaning, but more so soaking in its perceived realness. Then as quickly as it came to focus, it was then completely engulfed by light. My mind showed me this image being engulfed time and time again to be sure I saw it. Or perhaps more accurately, felt it. heard it. perceived its being. And without judgment the vision left. Her teaching would only reveal itself weeks later at home.
It’s funny the kind of excitement and beautiful epiphanies that can arise from stillness and silence. After all, was it not the entire heavens and earth that God made from darkness? It was also in this garden of Eden amazingness that I remembered how to listen deeply to my body and her needs.
On the second night, when people were feeling jazzed and ready to party, I did not listen to the beckoning of the crowd or any surrounding needs. In my stillness, aka the fact that my kids were at home with dad, I heard my body and mind say it was tired. It was that still that I could hear my own body. I felt a shift in what body needed. And I responded.
Despite the fact that I was in a sense hosting a friend at a place with people she did not know, in the security of our friendship, she played card games, and I went right to sleep.
And then I woke up. Mind blowing isn’t it? I woke up when my body said I was ready to wake up. 8 hours later. No sarcasm here. Yes, dear young mother, it is mind blowing.
Reading this back to myself, years later, I live in this cycle that was whispered to me. It is almost alarming at the simplicity of the shift the body was beckoning, and what great strides it has made in making space for my awareness to actually live and show up in my own body. I guess sometimes it takes getting away, even for just a bit, to gather enough clarity to show up in the present.
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The following day allowed for space and time to meet with the ‘in cabin’ spiritual director. There was a paper sheet of sign ins for all of the ladies to scribble their name in and claim space with said kind spiritual lady. I scribbled my name in the last spot. Half because I didn’t want to depress her and run the risk of ruining her time with the other spiritually seeking women, and half because I could feel transformation peeking through, and it can be messy and unpredictable how long it takes an egg to fully hatch.
A day filled with a brisk walk in the kind of cold that freezes your face into a stilled position, quiet chats in the kitchen, a nap, and my claimed space on her time sheet was finally up. With my breath quickening and becoming slightly more shallow with nerves, I walked across the driveway from the main cabin and up the stone stairs to the entry. Knocking on the door to her space above the garage, felt like knocking on the door that might open my heart. As corny as it may sound, I could feel a fresh perspective emerging. Although the space was not her own, she had lovingly tended to it as though it were. The preparatory prayers were palpable and it was clear our feet were now on sacred ground. Candles creating warm flickers on the walls, and chairs clearly prepared for our stillness and prayer. It was mightily apparent now that her softness was anything but annoying and rather carried with it the kind of genuine essence I imagine traveled in Mother Theresa. It had most likely been my own ill at ease edges rubbing up against her steady soft ones, that had initially felt unnerving to me.
Almost immediately my body started shaking. The kind of shakes that feel as though I am the cage someone is rattling, when in reality they only make themselves known through small quivers of the voice. Pushing through guilt of laying heaviness on her, tears rolled and fell to my lap as words tried to wheelbarrow the heaviness from my soul. Her listening eyes received the loads of tears and words, and her prayers seemed to mysteriously stir them into an invisible incense that felt as though they were filling the room.
Then I really laid it on her. “I am working as the leader of children’s ministry at the church we are here with, and when you said ‘some of you may be ready to walk away from your faith’...well, that is me. That is where I am at right now.”
I told her of all of the sadness of the world that could come to mind, and my frustration with God for His control of it or lack thereof. Doubts of who God is and why there is evil and pain. And why Jesus seems so loving, against the juxtaposition of this all controlling God who feels more like a tyrant most of the time, when I thought they were supposed to be one and the same.
I told her how I started out my ministry so desperately longing for the children to feel the freedom and love of God in their practices, studies and learning and time together with church. You know, how I obviously created this intense and elaborate poster board, fixed with velcroed pieces, and the kids’ pictures in popsicle sticks that of course moved along the painted mountain on the board, mirroring their spiritual practices and teamwork for the day. My dreams of hopefully inspiring intrinsic motivation for their relationships with God. Never wanting them to be shushed into submission but rather inspired to share their learning and questions with me. Just deeply wanting to incite practices that invite love, compassion and freedom. On top of it, our community lovingly made room for all of this. So why was I struggling so much?
This deep irony that I was working toward brewing faiths that stuck for life in these children, and here I was falling away from my own faith amidst the teaching.
While it felt like I was desiring to walk away from the church, it was also the church that was embracing me. Parts of the institution and culture of church were reflecting this tyrant of God, but the people, the people were saving me. And showing Jesus. I was colliding with the language of Christianity, and embraced with the loving arms standing at my door with groceries when kids were sick. I felt like I was in this divine wrestle of needing to separate the cultural stories and traditions from the its inherent truths and deeper meanings. What was created culturally from Christian tradition and words, and what is real and divine and holy.
The insides of my heart were now in the form of dried tears on my face and lap. She responded with the comfort of her presence. Words that told me this was common for people in ministry.
My point in all of this, is the life changing part for me was she looked at me in all of questions and story telling, through my fears and into the meaningful space at the backs of my eyes and said, ‘I see Jesus in you. Right now. I see Jesus in you’. The timeliness of those words met a need in my soul and like Jesus, I wept.
While deeply seeking and longing to see the face of God, it was someone seeing Jesus in me that let my soul fall into rest. That let my shoulders fall back, and an exhale move through the space in front me. This remembering of this basic foundation of my faith, that Jesus’ presence is with me, is in me, felt enough to inspire me to move forward for the next leg of my spiritual journey. Maybe letting the divine in us be seen, if only for a moment, is enough to inspire the desire to live for God.
The refuge where we can dwell with God and be saved is within us. You and I can go into this place and find refuge from all of the troubles we face. The children and I spoke about Jesus being in our hearts, and she was reminding me of this very real truth.
The place to go in our times of trouble is within us. It is a real place in you. And maybe in times and space of quiet and rest, we can fall into a space deep within us. A space as real as our own kitchens, and in that space, we can meet Christ within us.
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“How then do we grow in manifesting our true identity? As we will see, we do it primarily by resting and experiencing the truth of who we are in Christ” Greg Boyd
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*My dear mentor, teacher and spiritual director, I hope it is abundantly clear, that you are a God send to me. You teach me about integration, wholeness and the love of Jesus and I am deeply always grateful. Your words, wisdom and kindness routinely blow my mind, and I cherish you.
https://fulleryouthinstitute.org/stickyfaith/research