“If we do not transform our pain, we will always transmit it.”

-Father Richard Rohr

An awkward but true observation… I became the kind of person I was taught to judge, and my relationships with God, others, creation, and my self are better for it.

It wasn’t intentional. It didn’t happen overnight. It never felt like I chose it, but paradoxically, it did feel like freedom to know that no choice would separate me from Love.

I used to feel like I was walking along the ledge of a mountain, and any misstep would send me to my destruction. Now, it feels like the whole of my life and personhood are held in Love, and if I fall, I will be falling into Love.

The security of being loved, no matter what, allows me to take risks, be creative, dream bigger, and own my mistakes. When I feel like my worthiness is on the line, I’m too fragile to admit failures without being sent into a shame spiral. When everything is happening from a place of security in my belovedness, missteps become opportunities to learn and grow.

I’ve stopped feeling threatened by theological questions that challenge what I was taught. I’m drawn to learning from people with a wider range of lived experiences and religious beliefs. Instead of insiders and outsiders, I’m increasingly aware of the connectedness of all creation. Instead of feeling the pressure to save and fix myself and others, I feel invited into the holy, communal work of justice and co-creating beloved community.

I’m grateful.

And.

This process involved grief and loss.

It’s difficult to question or let go of beliefs that were fundamental to your identity and understanding of how the world works.

It’s hard to navigate the resulting changes in relationships and communities that can’t hold space for your growth.

It can feel scary to let go of certainty, especially if you were taught that the consequences could be judgment and ostracism in this life and eternal conscious torment in the next.

Grief is tough, but it feels real and alive and human, a more authentic and free way of being with what is. Even though it can feel isolating, grief is so very human that it connects us with every other human who experiences it.

When the old ways of connecting with God don’t seem to work anymore, we’re invited into something deeper and more authentic. Though it can be painful, this time of transition often marks a period when we are ripe for growth and transformation.

“…whatever occurred in your past that left you feeling stuck will never be more powerful than your inborn human capacity to keep developing. There is a drive wired into us toward growth, movement, and healing.”

—Holy Hurt by Dr. Hillary L. McBride

Poetry

Welcome to the In-Between

Welcome to the in-between.
I’d tell you to pull up a chair, 
but the furniture here never seems to quite fit.
I’d say, “Make yourself comfortable,”
but we’d only laugh—
as though comfort were not the one
most pressing desire at the forefront of your mind.

God is here;
this I know.
But you don’t feel it at first.

It begins with discomfort.
Maybe a pebble lodged in your shoe,
or maybe an entire limb 
severed from your body.
Whatever it is cannot be ignored.
People will talk to you
as though nothing has changed,
as though you’re the same person from before,
who had all her limbs and shoes without pebbles.

At first the shame is from the new identity 
that you did not choose.
But then, as time passes,
the shame is about the way
you have responded to your wounds.

Welcome to the in-between—
the place for the hard and holy work of healing.
It doesn’t feel like healing at first, 
this painful stripping away.
It feels mostly like surviving.
Sometimes you remember faintly
what it was like to to do something
—anything—other than “just” surviving.
Such grief over the memory of it
and the missing limb
and the loss of people who understood
and the pebble in your shoe
and the ill-fitting furniture.
Sometimes you long to just sink
into a comfy chair and rest.

Then

one day

when you are “just” surviving,
exerting the Herculean effort to breathe…

you will find that every breath you draw in,
and every exhale that goes out,
is the whisper of the name of
the God who seemed so distant.

And all this time,
They were as close to you
as your next breath.

The ground around you is littered
with all the not-you that has fallen away
and all there is in this moment
is Breath—
the Divine Breath through which
God blessed you with life.
Many times, it has felt more like a curse,
but that was Before,
when all the not-you
distracted you from the Breath.

Welcome to the in-between.
It won’t feel safe, exactly.
Safety is having your needs met,
and you have felt so needy.
It mostly doesn’t feel brave;
you’ve only done what you felt you had to do.
But it may begin to feel
a little
like
healing.

Book Nook: A Free Resource

In the early stages of deconstructing my faith, I felt like one day I woke up and all my furniture was suddenly the wrong size. Nothing quite fit anymore, but everyone around me carried on like nothing had changed.

Re-examining my inherited beliefs was lonely and disorienting. I did what I always do during major life transitions: I turned to books.

But the reading lists I found back then featured one kind of voice, and I was ready to hear from some new ones. I began a years-long search for books for spiritual growth, written by authors from a rich variety of cultures, identities, and backgrounds, because how can you learn something new when you’re just hearing the same ideas, slightly repackaged?

I’m not exaggerating when I say these books, authors, and ideas have changed my life. Amazingly, l’ve pared it down to 12 favorites (please clap!) and created a free resource with 12 Books for Disillusioned Christians Longing for More.

In this resource, you’ll find a list of the authors and book titles (shout out to amazing authors like , , , , and !), as well as why I love them and where you can get them. Several of these authors are featured on the Words From Silence Podcast.

Click HERE to get your free resource. This is the book list I wish I had had when my deconstruction journey began. May they be a companion to you in the in-between.

An Invitation: Spiritual Direction & Enneagram Work

I’m a trained spiritual director, teacher, and Enneagram professional. If this resonated with you and you’d like a nonjudgmental, compassionate space to share your honest thoughts, feelings, questions, and hopes for how you relate to God, self, and others, I’d love to schedule a free introductory Zoom call. We can take time to pause, listen deeply to what your soul is saying, and find clarity about where you are.

For more information on spiritual direction, Enneagram work, and/or to schedule a free introductory Zoom call, click here or email me.

Humaning is hard. You don’t have to do it alone.

Blessing

When everything seems to be changing, may you know, feel, and remember Love as the constant that holds you, always and unconditionally. May your healing reach back to former generations and forward to future ones. May you be a healing presence in a hurting world. May you encounter and notice beauty every day.

Be well, friend.

In what may seem like a departure from my typical writing about spirituality and soul work, I’m delighted to introduce you to Sunny and Disco, who I met earlier this summer. (If you want to skip right to the love story, scroll down to the poetry section!)

Summer is always difficult for me, partly due to the increasingly intense Texas heat, which means that I miss out on my usual time outdoors. For a period of time, even the evenings and mornings are too warm and humid for the long walks I enjoy the rest of the year. This, combined with the change in daily rhythms that leads to much less alone time, always leaves me feeling a bit disconnected from myself and the Holy, which in turn means that I write and create less. I always miss it desperately by the beginning of August, but I’ve learned to trust that it will return.

I named my Substack publication and podcast “Words From Silence” after a poem I wrote (read it here) because it describes my commitment to share words that aren’t reactive but come from a deeper, more contemplative place. I wanted to avoid writing and posting just for the sake of keeping up with a schedule. I try to share with you only if and when I have something worth sharing—words to promote healing, wholeness, and growth in relation to self, others, the divine, and creation.

Earlier this summer, while I was missing the connection to creation I typically enjoy through long, slow walks along the creek near our house, I found it through a different avenue. The words from silence that I have to offer today were born out of an unexpected grace back in June, when I had the opportunity to pet sit two guinea pigs for a friend while she was out of town for a couple weeks. Spending my days in her quiet, empty house with these two dears was a medicine I didn’t know I needed.

Grace comes to us through many conduits. For me, this summer, the conduits showed up in the form of two tiny, furry, adorable little personalities who spoke in squeaks and beeps. I would love to know how grace has been finding its way to you lately, however unexpected the packaging.

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Poetry

Sunny & Disco: A Love Story in 4 Parts

Part 1: The Set Up
I never gave much thought to guinea pigs,
one way or another, until this week,
pet sitting for a friend.
I did not know about
the purring, beeping sound they make,
like the whirring of a helicopter in the distance.
I didn’t know that they need
at least one guinea pig companion
who speaks their language
and might be willing to form a “piggy train,”
one following the other
in the most adorable single-file line
imaginable.
As prey, this keeps them safe in the wild.
As pets, it is one of many behaviors
that endears them to their humans.

Part 2: The Meet Cute
The Google search
did not report
the particular comfort they offer
when they’re in the room with you—
with all their squeaking,
munching, and scuffling—
while you’re in a virtual therapy session.
“Extra heartbeats in the house,”
my friend’s mother calls it.
You might be crying your way through
putting your internal parts
in conversation with each other
as they’re witnessed
by the practitioner on the screen.
Somehow, the whole time,
the presence of these extra hearbeats
makes you feel the way you did as a child,
running into the arms of your mother,
whose body reminded you
there was an adult in the room,
which meant you could be the one
to fall apart for a little while.
I have often thought of somatic work
as a turning inward and noticing
or a pair or group of humans co-regulating,
but now two furry, whiskered faces—
Sunny and Disco—pop into mind
when my body remembers how it felt
to witness and be witnessed
with curiosity and eventually,
deep affection.

Part 3: Falling: A Montage
Disco likes the tomatoes best.
Neither he nor Sunny had much to say
about the green bell peppers.
(What I mean is that those were left for last
among the salad of raw veggies
I had scattered about the cage.)
I remember the odd validation
of my dislike of green bell peppers
when I first learned they were simply
less ripe than the yellow, orange, and red ones.
These little guinea pigs
are more relatable than I expected
prior to spending time with them.

Then there was the day when I walked in
and the moment I turned on the light,
they froze like two criminals
caught redhanded,
one long blade of hay
protruding comically from Disco’s mouth.
“Nothing to see here!”
they seemed to say.

Most days, I leave the light off
in favor of the natural light
from a small window at one end of the room.
I sit here in the shadows,
writing but otherwise still and quiet,
imagining that I’m letting them
grow accustomed to my presence,
unobtrusive enough
for them to settle into safety.
This makes me think
of the hours and years 
Jane Goodall spent in the wild,
quietly observing her beloved chimps.
I was so sad when she died.
I never knew her, of course,
but something about knowing she existed
and was doing this hidden,
important work in the world,
loving it despite all the reasons not to…
the way her quiet witness
and love for the world led to advocacy…
it mattered to me.

Part 4: It Must Be Love
Honestly, I was surprised.
My friend had said
they squeak when they’re hungry,
but now I know the particular joy
of being greeted enthusiastically
by their happy sounds, “wheeking,”
Disco’s two front paws up on top
of the side of the cage,
his little head peering over the edge at me,
the miniature salad untouched
for the moment.

At the beginning, I was charmed
to walk in the room and see
Sunny’s tiny leg splayed out
from the furry bulk of her body
as she slept in the safety of her felt tent.

I found myself working
on my laptop in their room,
their little bodies and noises
like a grounding undercurrent
running through my body.
By the end of the first week,
while I was working in their room,
I looked up when their scuffling ceased:
nap time for both of them.
Disco’s face lying just outside
the entrance of one of his hiding spots,
and Sunny, the dear…
the rapid rise and fall of her body
with each breath as she slept, 
unprotected in front of me,
right out in the open.

Book Nook

I usually open spiritual direction sessions with a centering moment, which often includes reading a poem, prayer, or blessing. I love thinking about all of the wisdom and compassion that accompanies us in these sessions through the words of my favorite poets, authors, teachers, and mystics.

I’ve been working on creating book lists through Bookshop, an online site that supports independent bookstores. Today, I’m sharing a list of some of my favorite poem, prayer, and blessing books. You can find the list here. If you have any favorites you think I should add, please let me know!

Leave a comment

Affiliate disclosure: I joined the Bookshop affiliate program, so if you purchase anything through the links in the list, a portion of the sale will go to an independent bookstore and I may receive a small commission, at no cost to the purchaser.

Spiritual Direction & Enneagram Work

The work of noticing, naming, expressing, and tending is part of what we do in spiritual direction. Many of my directees benefit from the Enneagram as a tool for their inner work. If you would like a compassionate companion for your journey of growth in freedom, healing, and flourishing, I would be honored to do this work with you. I am also available to facilitate groups. For more information on spiritual direction, Enneagram work, and/or to schedule a free introductory Zoom call, click here or email me.

Blessing

May you have the time and space to notice and name the graces that come to you through unexpected avenues. May your body have the safety to sink into the sense of connection with self, others, the divine, and creation, however it arrives. May these moments serve as a felt sense of connection, safety, and empowerment that you can return to whenever you need.

Be well, friends.

“Hold onto your anger and use it as compost for your garden.”

―Thich Nhat Hanh

There’s a lot to be angry about in 2026.

Many of us (especially women) were taught that it’s not ok to express anger. For some of us (especially men), anger is one of the few emotions that is socially acceptable to express as long as it is turned outward rather than interrogated. However, like all emotions, anger is not inherently good or bad. It serves a purpose and gives us information if we take the time to listen.

Anger is sometimes expressed in the form of violence and coercion. Sometimes it is turned inward and manifests as depression. Other times, it is metabolized and becomes “compost for your garden,” waking us up and moving us into action for the purpose of personal and collective liberation.

Always, it has wisdom to share about our experience of ourselves, others, and the world.

“The solution is not to suppress our rage or let it explode, but to process our rage in safe containers-emotional spaces safe enough to express our body’s impulses without shame and without harming ourselves or others.”

-See No Stranger by Valarie Kaur

Poetry

Listen to Your Rage

Listen to your rage
and hear the ache underneath—
the excruciating gap between
“should be” and “is actually.”
Sometimes we call it grief.

Feel it in your body—
a burning, consuming flood of adrenaline
priming you for action
because “is actually”
is
actually
unbearable.

When your rage collapses,
listen for its wisdom.
Let it tell you what it wants
as you thoughtfully consider,
“What is underneath, dear one?”

Rage is the outspoken one
who often gets shoved
to the front of the group
by other emotions who would prefer
Rage to be the spokesperson.

Those other ones behind Rage
thought they were too weak,
too ordinary,
too quiet
to get your attention.
“We’re so afraid,” they might say,
or “It hurts too much to be seen,”
or “We’ve been quiet for so long,
now we might explode—
a burst of life in defiance of death,
an attempt to come off of life support.”

When you listen to your rage,
the task is to discern:
Is this the energy I needed to take action?
What boundary has been violated?
Is it a distraction from those other 
tender feelings I’ve been afraid to feel?
Or is it simply a pit stop
on the road to acceptance?

Reflection Questions

1. Think of a time when you felt really angry. What did it feel like in your body?

2. What does your anger want you to know? What is it saying?

3. How would you like to respond to whatever your anger is communicating to you?

Book Nook

Many celebrated and/or lamented the 250th birthday of the U.S. over the weekend and may be experiencing a range of emotions. The language of freedom stands in stark contrast to the oppression many are facing in and by the United States. This reality impacts us all because our individual liberation is inextricably tied to our collective liberation.

This season of remembering our country’s history and dreaming about her future is a great time to consider whose stories have informed our view of history and our nation’s identity. For every story of oppression, may we remember and honor the stories of resistance.

I’ve been working on creating book lists through Bookshop, an online site that supports independent bookstores. Today, I’m sharing a list of some of my favorite books that honor stories from U.S. history and tell the truth about both oppression and resistance. You can find the list with links here. If you have any favorites you think I should add, please let me know!

Leave a comment

Affiliate disclosure: I joined the Bookshop affiliate program, so if you purchase anything through the links in the list, a portion of the sale will go to an independent bookstore and I may receive a small commission, at no cost to the purchaser.

Spiritual Direction

The work of noticing, naming, expressing, and tending is part of what we do in spiritual direction. If you would like a compassionate companion for your journey of growth in freedom, healing, and flourishing, I would be honored to do this work with you. I am also available to facilitate groups. For more information on spiritual direction and/or to schedule a free introductory Zoom call, click here or email me.

Blessing

May you be a hospitable place for your anger to share its wisdom. May your anger alert you to what matters most to you and energize you to take needed action. When it subsides and other tender feelings arise, may you receive them with compassion.

Be well, friends.

“We often distance ourselves from what is painful about being a body, only to find that we lose what makes us feel alive.”

-Practices for Embodied Living by Hillary L. McBride

Poetry

when you begin to feel again

When life is overwhelming,
our wise bodies sometimes take
an overdue break
and our obedient hearts and minds
follow suit.
Maybe it feels like fatigue
or illness
or depression
or apathy.
Everything
just
shuts
down.

It all felt like too much,
and it was.
You were never meant
to carry so much alone.

And then, some time,
there’s a little crack.
Maybe it was sparked by
a good memory
a baby's chubby hand grasping your finger
a particular song
a dragonfly’s wing
the sunlight coming through the clouds
a roly poly between the sidewalk and the grass
the touch of a loved one
or the presence of someone
who is companioning you
on your healing journey—
a therapist, spiritual director, sponsor, or friend.

Beneath the hard, shiny surface
that was protecting you so well, 
you might catch a glimpse
of your tender, beating heart.

I’m alive
I’m alive
I’m alive
it says.
I am hurting,
but I’m still here.

When you begin to feel again, 
you enter the holy ground of vulnerability
because feelings are wild things
that were meant to be allowed,
not controlled.

Your body might panic—
it hasn’t yet learned whether
you can tolerate the intensity—
but the intensity is just a mail carrier
delivering its messages.

And oh, Beloved, here’s the good news:
it’s not just the pain that’s been on hold.
When you begin to feel again,
Joy and Wonder and Curiosity 
and Excitement and Gratitude
and Compassion and Tenderness and Belonging
are close on the heels of your sorrow.
When Sadness gains access
to your softening heart again,
she will let the others know
that it’s safe to come back home.

Book Nook

Happy Pride Month! Of course, we read LGBTQ+ authors and stories all year long, but we celebrate extra in June. These are some of the books I’ve enjoyed by LGBTQ+ authors and/or with LGBTQ+ representation. For reviews, check out my profile on Goodreads or StoryGraph.

What are some of your favorite books for Pride Month?

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Nonfiction & Poetry:

• In the Margins: A Transgender Man’s Journey with Scripture by Shannon T.L. Kearns

• Good Soil: The Education of an Accidental Farmhand by Jeff Chu

• All About Love: New Visions by bell hooks

• Broken Horses: A Memoir by Brandi Carlile

• The Backwater Sermons: Poems by Jay Hulme

• Letting Go, Finding You: Uncover Your Truest Self through the Enneagram and Contemplation by Hunter Mobley

• You Better Be Lightning by Andrea Gibson (poetry)

• Conversion Therapy Dropout: A Queer Story of Faith and Belonging by Timothy Schraeder Rodriguez

• What It Takes to Heal: How Transforming Ourselves Can Change the World by Prentis Hemphill

• No One Taught Me How to Be a Man: What a Trans Man’s Experience Reveals About Masculinity by Shannon T.L. Kearns

Novels:

• The Heart’s Invisible Furies by John Boyne

• The Vanishing Half by Brit Bennett

• Black Cake by Charmaine Wilkerson

• The God of the Woods by Liz Moore

• Family Lore by Elizabeth Acevedo

• The Sentence by Louise Erdrich

• Sandwich by Catherine Newman

• Everyone in This Room Will Someday be Dead by Emily Austin

• The Girls Who Grew Big by Leila Mottley

• Hello Beautiful by Ann Napolitano

• The Color Purple by Alice Walker

• The Guncle by Steven Rowley

• Darius the Great Is Not Okay by Adib Khorram (YA)

• Heartstopper by Alice Oseman (YA graphic novel series; also a Netflix series!)

• Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe by Benjamin Alire Sáenz (YA)

• Under the Whispering Door by T.J. Klune

• The House in the Cerulean Sea by T.J. Klune

• Aristotle and Dante Dive into the Waters of the World by Benjamin Alire Sáenz (YA)

  

Spiritual Direction

The work of noticing, tending, and savoring is part of what we do in spiritual direction. If you would like a compassionate companion for your journey of growth in freedom, healing, and flourishing, I would be honored to do this work with you. I am also available to facilitate groups. For more information on spiritual direction and/or to schedule a free introductory Zoom call, click here or email me.

Blessing

May you be gentle with wherever you find your heart right now: hurting but healing, raw with a fresh wound, numb and protected after something that was Too Much, or wide open and expansive, full of the joy, wonder, and curiosity that is your birthright. Wherever you find yourself in this moment, may your true self be met with love, compassion, and whatever holy invitation you need in this moment.

Be well, friends.

“What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore—
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over—
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?”

—“Harlem” by Langston Hughes

The Dream

I keep thinking about this dream I had recently. I was climbing a steep mountainside without any ropes or harnesses. I didn’t know how or why I had gotten there but was aware that I had been climbing for a long time. I felt like I was hanging by a thread, my muscles fatigued. I knew if I didn’t keep hanging on, I would fall to the depths below.

I could die. I have to keep going, but when will it end? …I can’t think about that right now. I have to keep going.

I reached up to find a place to grab onto and then realized I couldn’t maneuver from that position. I had to backtrack, returning to my former position, before trying something new. From the new position, I extended an arm and was shocked when my hand took hold of the top—a flat, sandy surface. I could see part of a beach and hear voices of people at the top.

After all this time, when I almost didn’t make it and there was no end in sight, I was this close to reaching the top.

Then, just as abruptly as it had begun, the dream was over. I was awake.

Liminal Space

I don’t think about persistence often because generally, I have tended to overstay, to hang on too long. I can see this when I reflect on jobs, relationships, communities, and ideologies that I eventually left, long after I began to wonder whether it might be time to let go.

The spiritual journey is often described in terms of letting go. Surrender is a cornerstone of spiritual growth. And yet, some things—our values, our deepest longings, our authentic selves—are worth holding tightly when everything else falls away. It is one thing to work towards a concrete goal, but it is quite another to set out on a journey with only a vague idea of where you might be headed.

The term “liminal space” originates from the Latin term “limen,” which means threshold. In liminal spaces, we stand at the threshold, no longer where we were but also not yet where we will be. I’m beginning to think that as we grow in spiritual maturity and awareness, we start to feel like we are always in liminal space because we are always caught between who we were and who we will be. In these spaces, we often resist the uncertainty, the lack of a clear path and control, the absence of achievement or some sense of forward movement.

Despite (or maybe because of) the discomfort that is inherently part of liminal space, the falling away of what used to be and the inability to move forward with plans and a sense of control positions us to find clarity around what remains when everything else falls away. While it is often first defined by all that we do not know, the stripping away of what was invites us to see what we do know.

While there are many types of threshold moments throughout a lifetime, I’ve been thinking about dreams deferred, which Langston Hughes described so beautifully. (As an aside, Lorraine Hansberry’s play, A Raisin in the Sun, builds on Hughes’ work in a captivating, story-length exploration of the dream deferred. I highly recommend it!)

The in-between place of having received the vision for what we hope for but do not yet see can be simultaneously comforting and exhausting. What a gift to have a sense of vision and purpose, and what a burden to carry something so precious that we know we will never stop striving for it, even though we have no assurance that we will ever see it come to pass. How very human it is to need moments of encouragement that serve as breadcrumbs on the trail of the road less traveled!

We are shaped by our longings, our vision, and our steadfast commitment to working towards a dream that was given to us by a Love we can’t always see or understand. Still, when we press on, clinging to all that is too precious to abandon, our grasping and fumbling is sometimes rewarded with moments when our hands find solid ground that leads us to an oasis where we are invited to rest in the deep knowing that none of it was in vain. I believe—oh, how I hope!—the process of longing, dreaming, and working toward a vision given by Love has a way of shaping and refining us, stripping away all the layers until we arrive back home at the true self—the only place where we can discover, at last, that we are loved without condition.

Once as I was describing one of my deepest longings to my dad, he reminded me that those who hunger are called “blessed.” The hunger itself is the blessing as it draws us forward, ever oriented to the Love that promises that one day, we will be filled.

"You have forgotten that the longing itself is the answer to the longing, that in the very crying out for the Holy One, the Holy One is pouring herself into you.”

—St. John of the Cross: Luminous Darkness by Mirabai Starr

Poetry

feast: a promise full, filled

You put this hunger in my belly,
then promised me a feast.
Sometimes the hunger gnaws
as though it might consume me
and I wonder if I will ever be satisfied.

I have these moments 
when time slows down
and suddenly I see 
the banquet table set before me.

I hear You say,
“Take. Eat. Remember.”

I remember.
I remember what it was like
to lose my appetite
and miss the satisfaction of 
filling an empty belly.

I remember how it felt
when the hunger finally returned,
jolting me awake so that I came alive,
searching for something of substance.

I remember this feast,
ever present but only filling
when I take the time 
and have the courage 
to partake in the meal
You’ve prepared,
embracing and then letting go
the voices that question
my worthiness of such lavish love.

This, too, is resurrection.

Spiritual Direction

Spiritual direction is a slowed down, sacred space where we take the time to name and honor our deepest longings, our hopes, and our grief. For more information about spiritual direction or to schedule a free introductory Zoom call, click here or email me.

Blessing

May your deepest longings be honored and held in love, reminding you of your connection to all of humanity. May your soul remember that, as Mirabai Starr says, “the longing itself is the answer to the longing, that in the very crying out for the Holy One, the Holy One is pouring herself into you.”

Be well, friends.

In today’s conversation, we’re discussing his brand new book, Whole and Human: Forty Meditations for Liberating Body and Spirit, which releases on May 26th. Our discussion centers on individual and collective liberation as we interrogate the parts of our inherited beliefs that lead to unfreedom as well as the invitations available to us in order to experience flourishing. We discuss the three pillars that form the framework for the book: embodiment, decolonization, and justice.

Rohadi is the author of five books including the forthcoming (May 2026) Whole & Human. Forty Meditations for Liberating Body and Spirit, and his 2022 release, “When We Belong. Reclaiming Christianity on the Margins.” He has served part-time in vocational ministry for the past 17 years. Rohadi lives in Canada, on Treaty 7 Territory, in Calgary, Alberta.

Creator and host of the Faith in a Fresh Vibe Podcast, find Rohadi’s most recent serial series entitled, “Farewell Evangelicalism,” offering multiple guests interrogating contemporary Christianity and its downfall.

He is the founder of RoBarry Publications, home of Robarry Literary agency, founded in 2025. His work experience includes over 25 years in the private sector in marketing consulting and communications, and 15 years of non-profit experience in organizational development and governance.

Visit his website: www.rohadi.com and sign up for his weekly Newsletter. You can also find his most recent writings available on Substack. Find his books and merch on his website or wherever books are sold.

Socials: Threads: @rohadi.nagassar; Instagram: @rohadi.nagassar; Bluesky

“Trauma is not what happens to us, but what we hold inside in the absence of an empathetic witness.”

―Peter A. Levine

Content warning: depression, pregnancy loss, anxiety, grief

For much of my life, my sensitivity has felt like moving through an ultra-bright, sunlit world without sunglasses. When I do not see my experience of overwhelm mirrored in the people around me, it can be easy to feel that something is wrong with me and to question my own experience of reality. As a parent of sensitive children, I have become highly motivated to reframe our sensitivity as a gift rather than a deficit.

Though my anxiety is multi-faceted, it is often a response to an external stimulus that reminds my body of a difficult time in the past that still needs some attention. When I lack an empathetic witness after something overwhelming happens, my body, heart, and mind are unable to move through the pain, which then gets stuck in the body. The manifestation of “stuck-ness” can show up in varying degrees, ranging from a little flutter of anxiety to a full-blown panic attack or a period of depression.

12 years ago, I became one of the many women who experience a miscarriage. I had a concurrent medical problem that necessitated an emergency surgery. My doctor was flummoxed by my symptoms and inconclusive test results, stating in exasperation, “I don’t know what to do with you!” I lay in the hospital bed on the postpartum floor, listening to the sounds of newborn babies while attempting to come to terms with the fact that my pregnancy would not end in a birth. The doctor seemed extremely concerned about my health yet completely unsure of how to treat me. Her uncertainty, piled on top of my grief, was too much.

I had several visitors during that emotionally and physically painful hospital stay, but two stand out in my memory. The first seemed unprepared for my grief, sadness, and anxiety. In response to any mention of my real feelings, she tried to put a positive spin on the situation. She assured me that I was ok even though my own doctor could not say the same with confidence. When she left, I felt hurt and defensive but also guilty for having those feelings toward someone who was well intentioned. I worried that her unspoken implications were right—maybe my anxiety and sadness signaled a lack of faith.

The second visitor had experienced pregnancy loss herself. After I filled her in on what had happened and she shared briefly about her own similar experience, she sat calmly, a peaceful presence during an emotionally chaotic time. She said the words I didn’t know I needed to hear: “Sometimes people will tell you everything is ok, and they mean well, but sometimes… sometimes things are just not ok.” Her words instantly unlocked something inside me and I felt an immediate unburdening of guilt. The raw, tender emotions that I had tried to cajole into something more “correct” released in the safety of her compassionate presence. She opened the door for my experience of heartbreak to be validated.

Psychologist Peter Levine says, “Trauma is not what happens to us, but what we hold inside in the absence of an empathetic witness.” The second hospital visitor served as the empathetic witness I desperately needed in order to release what I had been holding inside. Empathetic witnesses validate our pain, and with some practice, we can learn to become an empathetic witness to our own suffering. (The Internal Family Systems model, as well as exercises in self-compassion, can be helpful for this.) Once our pain is validated, we experience the freedom of honestly naming, allowing, and honoring our raw, tender feelings, unruly and uncomfortable as they may be.

One of the beautiful transformations that tends to happen as we become practiced at tolerating our own difficult emotions is that we can increase our capacity for being present to the difficult emotions of others. I have no doubt that the compassionate visitor who played such a significant role in my healing 12 years ago was able to be present to my grief because she had worked to build the capacity to tolerate her own.

Healing is contagious. I believe that empathetic witnesses come from a lineage of other empathetic witnesses who have shared the fruit of their own healing. Our healing journeys invite us to join in the lineage of those who have gone before us, passing on the gifts of compassionate presence in a world full of suffering.

Poetry

The Invitation of Our Overwhelm

When the bright greens and pinks of spring
become awash in dull grey,
the elusive sun missing
from wherever you last saw him…

When all your “yeses”
morph into “noes,”
leaving even yourself befuddled
but too tired to investigate…

When the overwhelm drags your body
back into bed
at odd hours of the day,
last night’s sleep insufficient…

Listen.
Come close.
Tell me where it hurts.
Sometimes grief wants to come out
for some fresh air.
Perhaps she’s feeling
a bit dusty and cramped,
as you had to keep her tucked away
so you could do all the things
life requires of you.
She hates to be a bother
almost as much
as you hate hosting her,
so when she’s been unheard
for a while,
she can be a little…
passive aggressive.
She doesn’t mean any harm;
it’s just that her invitations
tend to be painted in muted tones,
slid surreptitiously under the door,
where they are likely to be trampled.

You are very lucky, indeed,
if someone who loves you
pauses at the threshold,
sees the trampled, muddied invitation,
written in disappearing ink,
and holds it up to the light
to see what it has to say.

“Let’s just go there,”
my spiritual director says
any time I skirt around
the thing I’m referencing
but not quite naming.

Darling, let’s just go there,
at the pace you’re able.
Can you name the fear under the fear,
the sadness under the anger,
the tipping point of the overwhelm?
All the human responses
to the gap between what is
and what should be
find their home in grief.

Today I cried
and named the little dears
one by one.
My spiritual director reminded me
that we do not choose—
and therefore, need not judge—
our trauma responses.

And then, 
like the dazzling colors of Oz 
after the sepia tones of Kansas,
the world opened up to me again.
The expansion in my chest
beckoned me outside,
bare feet on the ground,
and Beauty showed herself again.

Practice - Listening to your grief

As I wrote the poem above, I thought of Patrick Watson’s song, “Je te laisserai des mots” (“I will leave you some words/notes”). I imagine grief like an inner companion that is leaving us notes in the hidden places of our souls, waiting to be found and read with tenderness. The song is in French, but if you go to the link below, you can listen to it in French while reading the English translation of the lyrics. As always, you can modify or discontinue the practice (below) as needed if you become overwhelmed or need additional support.

1. Listen to Patrick Watson’s song here.

2. Listen a second time, but this time, imagine that the notes (translated as “words”) referenced in the song are from the parts of you that are grieving and/or overwhelmed.

3. Notice any somatic responses you are experiencing as you listen to the music and enter into the imagining described above. How does grief and overwhelm show up in your body?

4. If your grief/overwhelm could write you a note, what would it say? Write a letter as though you are your grief, addressing you. You may wish to continue listening to the song as you write.

5. Consider how you would like to respond to the letter. You may want to respond with written or spoken words, movement, drawing, creating a collage, or another art form.

6. If you sense that you need more support or time with this exercise, consider sharing with a trusted friend, therapist, or spiritual director.

Spiritual Direction

Spiritual direction is a slowed down, sacred space where we take the time to name and honor grief in its many forms. Grief often accompanies times of transition and can creep up whenever reality is/was different than what you wish would have happened/would happen. For more information about spiritual direction or if you would like to schedule a free introductory Zoom call, click here or email me.

Blessing

May you find gentle spaces and compassionate companions who can be present to your real feelings whenever your grief is ready to come out for some fresh air. May you become an empathetic witness to your own suffering and join the lineage of empathetic witnesses who provide respite and healing to a hurting world.

Be well, friends.

“When you encounter beauty in the world, you drop out of goal-consciousness and into witness-consciousness. Instead of being driven by the mindset of productivity, you shift into a mindset of beholding the moment. To behold is to stand with openness and awe before what is happening, rather than trying to figure out what to do next.”

—Breath Prayer: An Ancient Practice to the Everyday Sacred by Christine Valters Paintner

Years ago, after a season of intensive (intellectual) learning around a topic with which I had become completely enthralled, I was on my way in to yet another day-long workshop with an esteemed teacher. As I climbed the steps leading up to the building, I paused when I noticed a bee buzzing around a fragrant flower from one of the trees that lined the walkway. An unexpected, unbidden thought popped into my head: I bet I could learn more from spending the day with this bee than sitting all day in a workshop.

I love to learn and am grateful for the many wisdom teachers, cohorts, workshops, and classes that have enriched my understanding of myself and the world. That said, the bee that caught my attention on that day helped me recognize my soul’s thirst for beauty and contemplation—an embodied experience of all that I had been learning. This little glimpse of the natural world invited me into a moment of “witness-consciousness” in contrast with the “goal-consciousness” that had been driving me.

One of the most interesting aspects of my work as a spiritual director is noticing themes that emerge across sessions with different directees. While I have the privilege of witnessing the work of the Spirit in the lives of individuals, the Holy is also at work in humanity collectively. People seek spiritual direction for a variety of reasons, sharing from their personal context in the confidential container of one-on-one sessions, but I often find common themes arising. This awareness can be a comfort to those who are feeling isolated in their pain and can also help us tap into collective wisdom as we learn and grow together.

Lately, in nearly every spiritual direction session, with nearly all of my directees, some form of the same question has come up: “If God is good/loving/real, why is there so much suffering in my life/in the world?” The question is asked not from a philosophical standpoint but from a tender and deeply personal, honest place. Despite the temptation to think that the question is irrelevant due to the futility of finding an answer, its timelessness and universality speaks to its relevance as a worthy question with which to contend.

In my last post, I wrote about framing these kinds of questions as lament questions rather than intellectual ones. For this post, I want to share a practice that can help sustain us during periods of prolonged turmoil and suffering. In the quote above, spiritual director and contemplative Christine Valters Paintner presents beauty encounters as invitations to “drop out of goal-consciousness and into witness-consciousness,” shifting from the “mindset of productivity” to “a mindset of beholding the moment.” This articulates a notable benefit of the practice of savoring.

Savoring—the practice of slowing down to notice and be present to beauty and goodness—helps sustain us during times of suffering. If you follow people who talk about inner work and healing, you’ve likely noticed a lot of public conversations around the fact that bodies carry memories and stress from trauma (“The body keeps the score”), but bodies also carry memories of felt safety and connection. When we take time to savor connection with God, self, others, and creation, we allow our bodies to build a sort of resource bank that we can return to when we feel overwhelmed. This is not a denial or repression of suffering but rather, an opportunity to open awareness to joy along with any suffering that is present.

This practice doesn’t require a large block of time or expensive resources, and you don’t have to wait until difficult circumstances pass before you can try it. As we shift our attention and slow down even just for a minute or two, we can find little pockets of moments to savor in our daily lives.

If you’re unsure of where to start, begin with your senses. Find something to savor that is easily accessible to you and is pleasing to one or more of the five senses. Even if you do not have access to a lot of natural beauty, you can use any small thing that you find beautiful. For example, for me, this can be as simple and perfect as the freckles dotting my daughter’s nose or the way the sunlight mingles with shadows in the early morning. For additional guidance, see the “practice” section below.

Poetry

autumn sage in spring

The autumn sage is blooming in spring, 
which leads me to believe 
she’s just getting started.

I kneel for a closer look,
absorbed in the little pairs
of bright magenta flowers
like washed slippers,
hung out to dry.

The top half of the flower
is a paintbrush,
so saturated in color,
it has begun to drip down
onto the petal below,
highlighting the landing pad
for pollinators looking for nectar.

The color hasn’t quite spilled
all the way to the edge of the bottom petal,
leaving me mesmerized and watching,
waiting for the magenta brilliance
to make its way across
the entirety of the bloom.

Practice: Savoring

The practice of savoring helps us to be present to goodness and beauty intentionally enough, and for long enough, that our bodies and minds can hold the memory. As with any practice, you can modify this to suit your needs, but this is one way it can be done.

1. Choosing a subject: Find something that is pleasing to the senses (and is not harmful to you or others). Choose something you can access easily. It can be very simple, such as something beautiful to gaze upon from the natural world or a piece of art, music that makes you feel joyful or at ease, or a ripe piece of fruit that is sweet to taste.

2. Slowing down: Take time to sit with and be present to the subject you have chosen.

3. Settling: Take a few slow breaths, inhaling through the nose for four counts and exhaling out the mouth for 6 counts. Feel the ground under your feet or seat under your hips.

4. Noticing the subject: Spend time gazing upon, listening to, or tasting the subject you have chosen. Notice the details you’re able to observe. Consider describing and responding to those details with written words, movement, or a simple sketch. Consider the question, “What do you notice?”

5. Noticing my response: Turn your attention inward and notice what is happening in your body. Where do you feel ease and expansion? What does it feel like to be with this piece of artwork, nature, music, or fruit?

6. Holding the moment: Close your eyes or soften your gaze. See if you can call to mind what you saw, heard, or tasted. Savor the lingering memory of the experience. You may want to place your hand to your heart.

7. Offering gratitude: Offer gratitude for this goodness and beauty, your access to it, and your body’s ability to be present to it.

8. Rest: Spent a couple minutes at rest, breathing slowly, eye closed or cast down.

9. Returning and responding: When you’re ready, bring your attention back to the environment around you. Consider whether there is anything else you would like to do in response to the experience (journal, create, dance, sing, verbal process with a friend or spiritual director, etc.).

10. Next steps: Plan for another experience of savoring. This time, choose a different sense to experience or an experience that helps you feel connected with God, yourself, or others, such as contemplative prayer, going for a walk, attending a live music performance, writing poetry, creating art, practicing community service, having a conversation with a good friend, or engaging with something you enjoy doing alone. If you choose something that involves other people, you can spend additional time savoring after the event is over, when you are alone and reflecting on the experience.

Spiritual Direction

Savoring is one of my favorite practices in spiritual direction. When directees share a moment they would like to celebrate, we take our time with it, making space to share what the memory felt like in their bodies, minds, and hearts. If you would like more information about spiritual direction or would like to schedule a free introductory Zoom call, click here or email me.

Blessing

May you find pockets of beauty and goodness to notice, behold, and savor. May you find a sense of safety, comfort, and connection with God, self, others, and creation as you practice savoring ordinary moments from your daily life. May these moments be added to the bank of resources for you to return to when you feel overwhelmed.

Be well, friends.

“…we have to learn how to say what is unsayable. We tell a story about violence to make sense of it, and the story returns to the public realm where grieving is possible. …naming the violence and grieving loss in community is how the hole turns into a wound that can heal.”

—See No Stranger by Valarie Kaur

Nothing causes theology to break down quite like suffering.

Years ago, I sat in a Sunday school class at church and listened to a member breaking our unspoken class norms by sharing his distress amid a crisis of faith. Something curious happened within me as he disrupted business as usual. At first, my intellect was offering theological counterpoints to each point of doubt he shared (thankfully, I kept these thoughts to myself). Looking back, I can see that I was trying to help ease his discomfort in the way that I knew how.

Then, the whisper of a thought arose: Listen to his pain. It seemed like the surface had been peeled back and I was able to hear the pain underneath his questions. That moment, perhaps made possible by my own recent season of suffering, forever changed the way I listen to those who are questioning the theology they inherited. Like most of us when we are hurting, he didn’t need theological answers, at least from me; he needed compassionate listeners to bear witness to his suffering and in doing so, to communicate that his pain mattered.

When people wrestle with foundational theological questions about how a loving God could possibly be said to be sovereign and “in control” as we witness such deep suffering in the world, sometimes what they’re really asking is, “Where is God?” or “Where was God?”

Martha said to Jesus, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” —John 11:21

Martha’s “Where were you?” when Jesus arrived after her brother’s death is implied by her statement. When Jesus saw Martha and others in their community mourning, his response, before his action (raising Lazarus from the dead), was to weep.

“Where are you, God?” and “Where were you, God?” are not questions meant to be met by intellect; they are expressions of lament. Sometimes what is called (or feared to be) blasphemy is actually lament.

Lament is a sacred practice that helps reorient our internal posture, by appealing to Someone/Something greater, when we can’t control external circumstances. It is preparation, not replacement, for action. Lament paves the way for clarity and unifies communities as we co-labor in the work of Love.

State-sanctioned violence has been embedded in our nation’s (U.S.) history since its inception. We are witnessing it now, certainly in the news, but also in our communities. It seems to be closing in on my local community, and each time I hear of an abduction, I call to mind the names and faces of friends and neighbors who belong to the targeted group. We all have to discern our individual role in participating in the work of Love in the world, and action is necessary. However, action is more sustainable and more clearly discerned when we continue tending to our inner work, which includes lament.

For me, feelings of sadness and anguish are usually delayed, springing up after the initial shock of moral injury. Oppression and violence affect us all, whether we are perpetrators, victims, survivors, or witnesses. One group cannot be oppressed and targeted by violence without everyone else being negatively impacted. We are all connected, as Martin Luther King, Jr., James Cone, Kaitlin Curtice, Valarie Kaur, bell hooks, Howard Thurman, and many others have articulated.

Recently, when the tears finally arrived during a recent time of prayer, I knew it was time to give myself space for lament. This Holy Week, may we take the time and space we need, individually and communally, to give voice to the injustices we are witnessing and the grief we are experiencing.

As we approach Good Friday, Christians around the world are remembering when Jesus cried out on the cross, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

Jesus wept, and so can we.

A practice

If you would like to join me in writing a lament, Brenda Salter McNeil shared this template that might be helpful. While I have framed mine in my context as a Christian (see below), you do not have to be a Christian, or even religious, to practice lament. If you write one that you would like to share, please share in the comments:

Leave a comment

Lament for Our Neighbors

Creator of heaven and earth,
Maker of celestial bodies
and human bodies,
You have famously intervened
here on earth
many times before.
You have allowed free will
even as Your heart must break,
again and again,
knowing and witnessing the consequences
of allowing us to choose.

And yet,
while there has always been suffering,
there has always been resistance.
You have raised up prophets
in every generation
to speak the truth--
to say the unsayable--
and lead Your people to freedom.

Oh Lord, hear our cries!
The same breath that proclaims you “Lord”
cries out in despair at Your seeming inaction.
The number of “the least of these”
is growing every day
as earthly wealth and political power
are consolidated
again,
still.

Unwarranted violence is closing in
on our community.
Perpetuated—in Your Name!!—
against those who have come seeking refuge,
just like Jesus’ own family.
God, these are our friends and neighbors,
teachers and students,
members who keep our communities
vibrant and strong.
More, these are Your precious ones!
Each life, each family, each story
is not lost to You.

How long, 
O Lord,
will they be targeted
by the schemes of violent men?
How long will we—
the survivors, victims, witnesses,
perpetrators, and architects of this violence—
suffer the illness of moral injury?

Give me courage and strength
to co-labor with You and others
for justice, for freedom for our neighbors.
Show us what to do,
and let us not be divided by infighting,
pride, or self-righteousness.

I confess I have seen the violence in me, too.
Root it out.
Forgive me.
Create in me a pure heart.
Let me be faithful to live in the way of Love—
to do justice,
love mercy,
and walk humbly with You,
my Lord and my God.

Resources

If you would like to read (or listen to) more on lament and/or the interconnectedness of humanity and creation, check out these resources:

• Prophetic Lament: A Call for Justice in Troubled Times by Soong-Chan Rah

• See No Stranger: A Memoir and Manifesto on Revolutionary Love by Valarie Kaur

• The Cross and the Lynching Tree by James H. Cone

• Jesus and the Disinherited by Howard Thurman

• Be the Bridge: Pursuing God’s Heart for Racial Reconciliation by Latasha Morrison

• All About Love: New Visions by bell hooks

• Living Resistance: An Indigenous Vision for Seeking Wholeness Every Day by Kaitlin Curtice

• The Serviceberry: Abundance and Reciprocity in the Natural World by Robin Wall-Kimmerer

• I have a Dream: Writings and Speeches by Martin Luther King, Jr.

• “The Need for Lament” - a short video with Soong-Chan Rah

Spiritual Direction

Much of the work I do with people in spiritual direction involves compassionately companioning directees and holding space for grief and lament as they say what is unsayable. For more information on spiritual direction and/or to schedule a free introductory Zoom call, click here or email me.

Blessing

May you find compassionate companions and communities to hold space for your holy grief and lament. As you do the brave work of saying what is unsayable, may you find strength in your courage and hope, clarity, and resilience on the other side of this tender practice.

Be well, friends.

Poetry

Imbolc and the human being, fully alive

Imbolc—
“in the belly of the Mother,”
midway between
winter and spring—
arrived again this year
with much less fanfare,
I imagine,
than at the time and place of my ancestors.

On my first day out the house
as I was recovering from illness,
I caught glimpses of
the icy surface of the creek
giving way to the burbling movement
of water tripping over herself,
descending stone steps
into the gathering place below.
My body, 
hovering between sickness and health,
drank in cool air, blue skies,
snow, and sunshine
before heading back to bed.

I missed the celebration with friends.
Nevertheless, it stays with me,
this shimmering image
of the here-but-not-yet-here,
a being nurtured and protected
until the transition
from within to without.

Days after Imbolc,
I walked outside to get the mail
after sundown.
The concrete beneath
the soles of my bare feet
was grounding
after a busy day indoors.
As I looked up,
breath caught in my throat
at the sight of the clear night sky.

“There’s poetry out here!”
my soul cried, reacquainted
with a long-lost friend.
Enveloped in velvety darkness
during this time fraught with
grief, anxiety, and anger,
I had the gift of feeling my smallness:
one tiny being
living this temporary life
on this one planet
in one of trillions of galaxies
at one fleeting moment.
I thought of the thousands of lightyears
between my body
and the visible stars.
Images of celestial bodies 
from millennia past
sent my imagination to work
pondering who would have been
on the earth at that time in history,
who I connect with
when I look at these stars…
time travel, available
just a step outside my front door.

I turned around,
lowered my gaze,
and there sat our little house,
warm light glowing through
the storm door glass,
scents from suppertime
lingering in the air,
mingling with the voices I love best.
Home
the place where I’m just me,
unfiltered, unmasked,
where the stress of the day melts away
in the light of the love
I give and receive here.
The deeper I sink into love,
the more impervious I become to despair.
Great love opens the heart to great suffering,
then pulls it back from the edge of despair.

I shifted my attention between the two—
the vast, mysterious expanse
of nocturnal sky at my back,
and the warm light shining on the 
details of home I know by heart,
in the place where I am known by heart.
Caught between the two,
I was overwhelmed by the sense
that everything I needed
was present in that moment.

I know I must have both
if I want to live this life
painfully, stunningly human,
fully alive—
the transcendence that reminds me
of my insignificance
in the scope of eternity,
and the immanence that allows me
to feel deeply known,
intimately seen,
and fully accepted.

To be freed from illusions of my own importance
and the pressure that accompanies that deception,
and
to be freed to participate
in the work of Love in the world
out of the overflow of love I have received—

perhaps this is part of what it means
to be fully human,
fully alive.
~
“The glory of God is a human being
fully alive.”
--St. Irenaeus

Book Nook

Happy Black History Month! Of course, we read Black history and Black authors all year long. These are some of the books by Black authors that I read in the past year or am currently reading. The Warmth of Other Suns (Wilkerson) and The Will to Change (hooks) were my two favorite non-fiction reads in 2025.

What are some of your favorite books by Black authors?

Leave a comment

1. Above Ground: Poems by Clint Smith

2. Hood Wellness: Tales of Communal Care from People Who Drowned on Dry Land by Tamela J. Gordon

3. I Have a Dream: Writings and Speeches That Changed the World by Martin Luther King Jr., edited by James M. Washington

4. How Far You Have Come by Morgan Harper Nichols (poems and reflections)

5. A Raisin in the Sun by Lorraine Hansberry

6. The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness by Michelle Alexander

7. Stamped from the Beginning: The Definitive History of Racist Ideas in America by Ibram X. Kendi

8. The Black and the Blue: A Cop Reveals the Crimes, Racism, and Injustice in America’s Law Enforcement by Matthew Horace and Ron Harris

9. Listening for God: A Minister’s Journey Through Silence and Doubt by Renita J. Weems

10. Eloquent Rage: A Black Feminist Discovers Her Superpower by Brittney Cooper

11. The Warmth of Other Suns: The Epic Story of America’s Great Migration by Isabel Wilkerson

12. The Will to Change: Men, Masculinity, and Love by bell hooks

13. When We Talk to God: Prayers and Poems for Black Women by Sharifa Stevens

Upcoming Events

I’m excited to partner with Spiritual Ministries Institute for an in-person workshop on Spiritual Practices and the Enneagram in Dallas, Texas! Below is a description of the event from the SMI website. Tickets are available for purchase here.

From SMI’s website: While the contemplative life teaches us to pay attention, the Enneagram illuminates how our energy follows our attention. Once we notice where our attention and energy naturally go, we can choose to disrupt unhelpful patterns and find freedom. Join us as Lindsay leads an interactive experience with brief teachings on the Enneagram and spiritual practices, providing opportunities to experience practices tailored to your Enneagram type. Arriving with a basic understanding of the Enneagram and what type you lead with would be beneficial.

Spiritual Direction

The work of noticing, tending, and savoring is part of what we do in spiritual direction. If you would like a compassionate companion for your journey of growth in freedom, healing, and flourishing, I would be honored to do this work with you. I am also available to facilitate groups. For more information on spiritual direction and/or to schedule a free introductory Zoom call, click here or email me.

Blessing

May you feel the ground beneath your feet and remember your sacred connection to all of creation. May you notice the rhythm of your breath and remember to open awareness to the Holy right here, right now. May you remain rooted, open, and hopeful as you participate in the work of Love in the world.

Be well, friends.

I hope you are having the best holiday season available to you, to borrow a phrase from Sarah Stewart Holland and Beth Silvers, the hosts of the Pantsuit Politics podcast. (I have never listened to the podcast, which I’m sure is lovely, but I have a friend who quotes it and I love the phrase.) As we wrap up 2025, one of my favorite annual traditions is looking back on the books I read throughout the year. Reflecting on my reading habits helps me notice what I was drawn to and what I prioritized, any themes that emerge, and some clarity around what I might like to carry forward, leave behind, or start anew in my reading goals for the coming year.

In 2025, I prioritized books that had been on my TBR (“to be read”) list for four or more years. Being “2025 Lindsay,” reading books that “2020 Lindsay” added to her list, was a sort of exercise in revisiting my former self. It was interesting to notice which of them I would still have chosen to pick up in 2025 if we were newly acquainted and which ones I have outgrown.

I’m sharing several categories of books because I can’t ever seem to narrow it down to just a few, and I will still feel bad about many of the books that didn’t make the cut for this post. To see them all, check out my Goodreads here. Without further ado, here are some of the books I journeyed with this year:

Favorite Non-Fiction of 2025

• The Warmth of Other Suns: The Epic Story of America’s Great Migration by Isabel Wilkerson - This ties with The Will to Change for my favorite nonfiction read of the year. I listened to the audiobook and found the stories spellbinding, which is not easy to do in a nonfiction book about a difficult topic. Wilkerson seamlessly weaves micro and macro levels of a historical event (the Great Migration). The writing is beautiful, and I learned so much.

• The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness by Michelle Alexander - Since this is an older book, I appreciated the updated version in which the author helps provide more up-to-date context for the important and compelling argument she shares about mass incarceration.

• A People’s History of the United States by Howard Zinn - I read this for book club (do not do this to your book club—600+ pages is too long ha!), but this book has stayed with me and made probably the greatest impact of anything I read this year. It launched me into a period of grieving that was important to experience and move through as I make connections to present-day U.S. politics. Bottom line—it’s not left vs. right but top vs. bottom (to quote James Talarico). The way it is, is in some sense the way it has always been. Ooph.

• On Tyranny: Twenty Lessons from the Twentieth Century by - This is a very short little book but the writing is a bit dense, packed full of strategic advice based on lessons from the 20th century. Snyder is a former professor at Yale University and a historian of fascism. Sobering yet hopeful, this is a super important read for this political moment.

• The Will to Change: Men, Masculinity, and Love by bell hooks - This tied for first place in my favorite nonfiction book this year. I love bell hooks’ writing, especially because she quotes and builds on the work of contemplatives. She does a brilliant job of explaining how patriarchy harms boys and men, and her ideas fit well with the concept of contemplative activism. The deep inner work she calls us (people of all genders, fighting patriarchal systems together) to is essential for the healing and flourishing of all people.

• Sabbath as Resistance by Walter Brueggemann - Another paradigm-shifting book! Brueggemann demonstrates that the practice of Sabbath keeping is crucial for Christians as an act of resistance to a culture obsessed with production and consumption and an alternative that enables us instead to live in a culture of neighborliness. This was a perfect read for Lent and moved me into a space of lament.

• Holy Hurt: Understanding Spiritual Trauma and the Process of Healing by Hillary L. McBride - I’m a huge fan of Hillary McBride, and this one did not disappoint! This was helpful to me personally and professionally. McBride’s writing is insightful and accessible, situating trauma in the larger context of the systems in which it occurs. I highly recommend this for people who are healing from spiritual/religious trauma or those who are companioning them on the journey (pastors, therapists, spiritual directors, etc.).

• The Serviceberry: Abundance and Reciprocity in the Natural World by Robin Wall Kimmerer - It’s easy to recognize that something has gone badly wrong with capitalism run amok and oligarchy becoming more and more prominent. This book helped cast an indigenous vision for a new (but ancient) way of being in community based on a gift economy that values reciprocity, relationship, gratitude, and care for others and the earth. Beautiful, wise, and hopeful!

• Open Mind, Open Heart by Thomas Keating - This is the most practical, accessible, helpful teaching I’ve read/heard on centering prayer. It helped me fill in some blanks on the topic with writing that is clear and relatable. I absolutely loved this book and will probably come back to it!

• Listening for God: A Minister’s Journey Through Silence and Doubt by - I recently posted, “This morning I was trying to take a moment to center before the hustle and bustle of the week with extended family... while my sensory-seeking kiddo was jumping on the trampoline (that will only fit right here) and kicking her feet toward my face. We really need more books and teachings by contemplative moms (thank you, Renita Weems!) because Thomas Merton could never😂” Enter Renita Weems—an intelligent, wise, well-studied scholar and minister with her feet planted smack in the middle of the chaos of womanhood and motherhood. Refreshingly honest, this is a great companion for the doubters, the questioners, and the hangers-on.

• Cultish: The Language of Fanaticism by - I was drawn to this book because of its relevance to my work with folks in spiritual direction who are considering leaving, or have left, fundamentalist and high-control religious communities. Montell employs highly engaging storytelling and research laced with dark humor. I recommend this to anyone who is interested in learning about what makes us susceptible to the impact of cultish language, as well as to folks who have left high-control religion and the people who love and/or work with them.

• The Tears of Things: Prophetic Wisdom for an Age of Outrage by Richard Rohr - Richard Rohr is one of my most influential wisdom teachers and has greatly impacted my life. Any time I read a newer book of his, I have learned to expect that some parts will resonate so deeply that I will think it’s the best thing I’ve ever read, and other parts will leave me scratching my head. I appreciate the blend of consolation and challenge I encounter in his work, and this one is no exception.

Favorite Fiction of 2025

• Eleanor and Park by Rainbow Rowell (YA) - I couldn’t put this down, and my teen loved it too. In 1986, two misfit 16 year olds fall in love as they grapple with their own identities, finding belonging, and difficult family dynamics (CW: domestic violence). The writing is exquisite. Rowell captures first love spectacularly and uniquely. The story is funny yet serious, dreamy yet gritty, and unique yet relatable. I fell in love with these characters in this magical story!

• A Raisin in the Sun by Lorraine Hansberry - Originally written in 1959, this play made history as the first play by an African American woman to be staged on Broadway. I’m so glad I finally got around to reading this classic. I immediately gave it five stars and also wrote no review because sometimes, you just have no words. What a marvelous work!

• The Road to Tender Hearts by - Darkly comedic and absurd but tender, this reminded me a little of the movie Big Fish. I was totally sucked into the wacky plot and the quirky, endearing characters. The author said that she wanted to put all of the worst things she could imagine into the story and also make it her funniest book yet, and as it turns out, that combination really spoke to my Enneagram six heart!

• You Are Here by David Nicholls - This was funny and sweet, and I loved the main characters. The dialogue and development of their relationship is impeccable. I kept reading humorous snippets of dialogue out loud to my husband. I wanted just a little more from the ending but overall, it’s one of the best feel-good books I’ve read in a while.

• I See You’ve Called in Dead by John Kenney - Darkly humorous (are you noticing a theme??), sad, sweet, and heartwarming. Lots of content warnings for this one around death, self-harm, depression, suicide attempt and suicidal thoughts, and terminal illness.

Favorite Books of Poetry/Prayers/Blessings in 2025

• 365 Days of Peace: Benedictions to End Your Day in Gentleness and Hope by - Each daily reading in this book offers a moment of calm, comforting respite. The words are rich with meaning and depth, conveying so much wisdom, compassion, and warmth in just a few words for each day.

• The Wilderness that Bears Your Name: Poems by James A. Pearson - A stunning invitation to notice, ponder, and savor. I love reading Pearson’s poetry to my directees in spiritual direction.

• A Rebellion of Care: Poems and Essays by - Gate’s poetry has been a balm to me on Instagram, so I was eager to read his new book. I appreciate how his poetry makes room for the full spectrum of human emotions with tenderness and a fierce commitment to honoring them all—anger, anxiety, joy, sadness, quiet reflection, and lighthearted playfulness. His writing has little jewels of insight, dropped quietly and briefly, without pretension. Just lovely.

• Above Ground: Poems by Clint Smith - I fell in love with Smith’s poetic writing when I read his earlier book (which was nonfiction/history, not poetry), How the Word is Passed. His poetry “wrestles with how we hold wonder and despair in the same hands, how we carry intimate moments of joy and a collective sense of mourning in the same body,” which, I believe, is the one of the greatest challenges of this moment in history.

• When We Talk to God: Prayers and Poems for Black Women by Stevens - Just beautiful! Intimate and honest while remaining hopeful. The artwork is gorgeous. This will be a blessing to all who read it and perhaps help us find the words we weren’t sure how to express as we draw near to God in prayer.

Favorite Memoirs of 2025

• The Many Lives of Mama Love by - I flew through this audiobook in two days! I was completely absorbed in the story of Mama Love, who “recounts her slide from soccer mom to opioid addict to jailhouse shot-caller and her unlikely comeback as a highly successful ghostwriter.” Love Hardin is a gifted storyteller, using a combination of humor and sobering, heartbreaking insights about her life, inner world, and wounded-then-healing sense of self. Lots of content warnings for this one too - substance abuse, trauma, incarceration, and mental health struggles.

• Eloquent Rage: Black Feminist Discovers Her Superpower by - I loved listening to the author read this audiobook that centers Black women and Black feminism through Cooper’s personal storytelling. She shares powerful, nuanced insights about the intersection of Blackness and womanhood in this powerful memoir.

• Where the Light Fell by Philip Yancey - This year was actually my second time reading this (for book club), and I enjoyed it even more the second time. Part of my personal interest in this story is that my dad relates a lot to Yancy’s religious upbringing and the evolution from a very dualistic worldview to one that is more non-dualistic, open, and flexible.

Share Your Favorites!

I would love to know—what were some of your favorite reads this year? What books will you read to kick off the New Year? Even better, as a nosy bibliophile, I would love to see a shelfie or book stack picture! Here’s one of my recent stacks of new-to-me books:

• Healing Resistance by Kzau Haga

• How We Heal by Alexandra Elle

• The Deepest Well by Nadine Burke Harris

• The Power of Myth by Joseph Campbell

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A Bookish Blessing for the New Year

May you enter the New Year with a sense of your unshakeable belovedness that grounds you and keeps you. May the felt sense of your belovedness equip you with courage to face your true, authentic self with honesty and compassion. May you experience enough Holy unrest to lead you into good trouble. May you be companioned by good, true, and beautiful books that open your heart and mind to new things waiting to be born in you and in your communities.

Be well, friends.

The holiday season seems to activate and intensify grief, not only for loved ones we have lost, but also for other losses that become louder amid holiday celebrations. Grief can show up due to infertility, unemployment, homelessness, family separation due to detainment or deportation or incarceration, struggles with mental illness, the weight of systems of oppression, boundary violations, domestic violence, and the heaviness of living in a world that was not designed with disabled and neurodivergent beloveds in mind.

We experience grief any time we are facing a reality that is outside of our control and is different than what we had hoped or wanted. It is a necessary part of the healing journey as we acknowledge our wounds and losses. When we are expected to be present and joyous but feel sad, angry, stressed, depressed, anxious, isolated, or overwhelmed, we may need extra compassion, care, and support.

The poem (and the resources and blessing) below is for those who are grieving this holiday season. If you would like a blessing or prayer or just want to share about what/whom you are grieving, please feel free to email or message me and I will respond when I can.

If you are missing a loved one this holiday season and would like to share publicly a picture or memory of your beloved, please leave a comment and tell us about your loved one.

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Poetry

the Inconvenience of our Sadness

Do you ever feel so tired,
you just weep
and weep
and weep?

Weeping sounds so beautiful,
like a willow—
elegant sadness stretching out perpetually,
showing off her delicate leaves
draped on bending branches.

My sadness never feels that lovely.
It feels ugly, 
self-indulgent, 
and inconvenient—
an obstacle to all the
Things Which Must Be Done.
The inconvenience of sadness
forces me to reckon with the pride of
tying my worth to accomplishing,
meeting expectations,
and Not Rocking the Boat.

I read that the wood of willows
is pliant (clearly) and tough (unexpected)—
a picture of the unique strength
of things that bend but do not break.
Their sap has salicylic acid,
which anyone with acne knows
heals by stripping away.

The tears of the trees
cleanse as they strip
away away away
the things that needed to go.
The roots are tough and tenacious,
providing a firm foundation
for the vulnerability of cleansing tears.

After the outer layers have been stripped away,
we are cleansed but vulnerable.
The elements feel
a bit overwhelming,
like gazing without sunglasses
up into the sky on a sunny day.
We might need protective layers
that we can’t provide on our own.
I hate this, but
healing is a communal phenomenon.

The inconvenience of sadness
is wanting to be alone
even as our vulnerable flesh
cries out for communion.
In community, we are wounded,
but it’s also where we heal.

If our communities can’t make room
for the inconvenience of our sadness,
we become brittle shells of things,
once alive but now broken by
the wind of the first storm that passes by.

Resources

For bite-sized support (phrases, tips, mantras, a poem, etc.), check out:

• My favorite blessing to read with directees is a poem by called “gratitude.”

• Kristin Neff’s “Self-Compassion Phrases to Support You During the Holiday Season”

• Take What You Need: Soft Words for Hard Days by (This is a book with a collection of quotes from Aundi that are intended to shore up inner resources, along with calming illustrations. If a book is too much right now, see Aundi’s social media page, which is always a balm and has tons of helpful posts.)

• For neurodivergent folks: This post by @neurodivergent_lou has tips to support you during the holidays. Sometimes grief arises with the acknowledgement of how difficult it can be to live in a world that was not built for neurodivergent people.

• For those who love someone who is grieving, IV Press and Kairos Partnerships have a post with two questions that can be helpful to love our grieving friends and family well.

• Dr. Chanequa Walker-Barnes has a seven-week guide called Sacred Self-Care: Daily Practices for Nurturing Our Whole Selves. At the time of this post, the Kindle version is only $1.99!

• Author has a beautiful book of blessings called 365 Days of Peace. Reading this book provides moments of calm, comforting respite, and there is a journal that goes with it if you would like to do some writing of your own. She also has a book of poems and meditations to companion people experiencing depression. The title is Blessings for the Long Night.

  

• If you have a grieving child/children in your life, these are some lovely children’s books about grief:

  • 1. Always Remember by Cece Meng, illustrated by Jago

    2. When Sadness is at Your Door by Eva Eland

    3. The Invisible String by Patrice Karst, illustrated by Joanne Lew-Vriefthoff

    4. Henry and Bea by Jessixa Bagley

    5. My Big, Dumb Invisible Dragon by Angie Lucas, illustrated by Birgitta Sif

    6. I Miss You: A First Look at Death by Pat Thomas

    7. Ida Always by Carin Levis and Charles Santoso

    8. Maybe Tomorrow? by Charlotte Agell, illustrated by Ana Ramírez González

    9. Rabbityness by Jo Empson

Spiritual Direction

The work of noticing, naming, and tending grief with compassion is part of what we do in spiritual direction. If you would like a compassionate, non-judgmental companion for your journey of growth and healing, I would be honored meet with you. I am also available to facilitate groups. For more information on spiritual direction and/or to schedule a free introductory Zoom call, click here or email me.

Blessing

This holiday season, may you find comfort in connecting with those who can hold space for the weight of your grief. May you have the capacity to notice what your body needs and the courage to prioritize her wisdom.

I’m wishing you the gentlest holiday season possible.

Be well, friends.

“…silence is above all a quality of the heart that can stay with us even in our conversations with others. It is a portable cell that we carry with us wherever we go. From it we speak to those in need and to it we return after our words have borne fruit.”

—The Way of the Heart by Henri J. M. Nouwen

I think about silence most during noisy times. The month of December is anything but quiet in my world as the parent of school-aged children who are involved with all the holiday performances that accompany their extracurricular activities, along with social gatherings and time with extended family.

On Saturday, sandwiched between a Christmas parade that both of my children participated in and an evening holiday performance, I met with someone who works with a local organization that supports our immigrant neighbors. The situation for our beloved immigrant community members is dire as families are separated and people are detained in inhumane conditions. Those closest to the work observe that the rules for detainees and their families, as well as the volunteers who serve them, are often inconsistent and arbitrary, adding to the terror inflicted on vulnerable populations. As I am learning about what that looks like here in Dallas, the weight and gravity of the situation is attached to names, faces, friends, and families.

How can our hearts hold the tension between joyous holiday celebrations and the immeasurable suffering and loss inflicted on our neighbors as these atrocities are carried out right under our noses? As I prayed and considered how to prepare for a ministry of presence last week, I thought about the odd experience of bearing witness to goodness and suffering, beauty and terror, all within the space of a day or an hour or sometimes even simultaneously.

I took a few moments to center myself. The image that emerged in my mind was the sprinkling of freckles that dot my daughter’s nose. Earlier that morning before she got on the school bus, I had gazed upon those darling freckles, savoring the time with her and basking in my deep love and affection for her. I thought of the beauty I’ve noticed lately on my morning walks. I remembered with gratitude a heartwarming few moments spent reconnecting with a friend who had stopped by our house the previous night to drop off homemade tamales.

The phrase “tethering to goodness” presented itself to me while I prayed. While my anxiety would like to prepare for every possible worst case scenario, I wonder whether the preparation that is most needed is tethering to goodness, truth, and beauty. I thought of Nouwen’s idea of silence as a “portable cell that we carry with us wherever we go.” When we are tethered to goodness, which is often easiest to connect with when we slow down and cultivate silence as “a quality of the heart,” we can remain grounded and rooted in love even when the world around us is chaotic and noisy. From that place of rootedness, we become a conduit of love wherever we go, allowing the love that is always available to flow through us in the most difficult circumstances.

When we practice resisting various forms of oppression, we must remember what we are working towards as we participate in love’s restorative work in the world. Tethering to all that is good, true, and beautiful returns us to ourselves, nurturing and sustaining us for the road ahead. Noticing and savoring the ways goodness shows up in our lives provides concrete examples of the goodness we desire and strive to make available to every other person and community, which paints a small part of the picture of the type of beloved community we are working toward co-creating with God and others.

Poetry

the golden hour

The quiet dark of morning is a reprieve
from the sensory demands of midday.
The fighters and fleers within me settle,
making room for the unexpected
to arrive as potential goodness
instead of probable threat.

Early December shadows stretch
late into the morning,
easing me into a new day
“with no mistakes in it yet,”
as Anne-with-an-e says.
I walk my daughter to the bus stop
while the world is blanketed in fallen leaves,
a softness serving as a buffer
between frigid air and unseen beings
burrowing in the warm earth below.

These daybreak walks—
an unspeakable gift of sacred pause
sandwiched between hurried moments—
remind me to begin with soul-nourishing
ease
beauty
and wonder.

Golden light—
a bit of magic backed by science,
as all the best magic is, eventually—
slants at just the right angle
to gild all that’s within reach.
I don’t remember the light of dawn ever looking
quite so warm-hued and bewitching,
but maybe this is the first time
I’ve paid the attention it was due.
I wonder,
in my efforts to chase the extraordinary
with all the zeal of youth,
how much ordinary magic I missed
before I learned to slow down?

“If it were a snake,
it would’ve bitten you!”
my grandma used to say
when we searched for something
that was right there in front of us,
“as plain as the nose on your face.”

All that remains in the shadows,
as the sun makes a lazy assent,
is laced with frost.
Then the light stretches into the shadows,
transforming intricate white crystals
into a scintillating sea of brilliance.
In the fleeting in-between moment when
sunlight bathes
but the frost has not yet melted,
even the anthills are glamorous,
diamond-encrusted.

Part of the ache of winter
is the memory of other seasons—
the vitality of spring and resurrection,
the heat like a sedative on lazy summer days,
and the beauty of autumn and letting go.
But when I slow down
and adjust my expectations,
I find that winter’s gifts arrive
wrapped in different, subtler packaging
than those from other seasons.

Time and attention,
silence, stillness, and solitude
reveal magic otherwise easily missed.
When I become tethered to this beauty,
this truth,
this goodness,
I carry it with me into the tender spaces
where pain meets compassion.
Winter is a portal,
when Nouwen’s “portable cell”
finally seems within reach,
if only for this moment,
right here,
right now.
Just this.

Questions for Reflection

Journaling prompts:

1. What does “portable silence” mean to you?

2. What goodness, truth, and beauty have you noticed lately? What tethers you during difficult times?

3. What new awareness or invitation do you sense?

Blessing

May you remember to slow down enough to notice and savor the goodness, truth, and beauty in the world around you. May this tether be a safe harbor to which you may return and from which you offer kindness to others. From that place of grounding, may you be nourished and sustained in co-laboring with community as you participate in love’s transformative work in the world.

Be well, friends.

Lindsay O’Connor, Spiritual Director & IEA Accredited Professional

Save the Date

I’m excited to partner with Spiritual Ministries Institute for an in-person workshop on Spiritual Practices and the Enneagram in Dallas, Texas! Below is a description of the event from the SMI website. Tickets are available for purchase here.

From SMI’s website: While the contemplative life teaches us to pay attention, the Enneagram illuminates how our energy follows our attention. Once we notice where our attention and energy naturally go, we can choose to disrupt unhelpful patterns and find freedom. Join us as Lindsay leads an interactive experience with brief teachings on the Enneagram and spiritual practices, providing opportunities to experience practices tailored to your Enneagram type. Arriving with a basic understanding of the Enneagram and what type you lead with would be beneficial.

Spiritual Direction

The work of noticing, tending, and savoring is part of what we do in spiritual direction. If you would like a compassionate companion for your journey of growth in freedom, healing, and flourishing, I would be honored to do this work with you. I am also available to facilitate groups. For more information on spiritual direction and/or to schedule a free introductory Zoom call, click here or email me.

“Above all, trust in the slow work of God. We are quite naturally impatient in everything to reach the end without delay. We should like to skip the intermediate stages. We are impatient of being on the way to something unknown, something new. …Only God could say what this new spirit
gradually forming within you will be. Give Our Lord the benefit of believing
that his hand is leading you, and accept the anxiety of feeling yourself in suspense and incomplete.”

—“Patient Trust” by Pierre Teilhard de Chardin

Motherhood has served as a frequent catalyst for transformation in my life, particularly when paired with health problems. Perhaps this is because the two combined swirl great love and great suffering together, at times in a nearly indistinguishable dance. To love someone deeply is to become vulnerable to great suffering because their pain becomes our own and because of the potential for unspeakable loss. Richard Rohr often says great love and great suffering are the two primary avenues for transformation. Parenting is certainly not the only experience that encompasses love and suffering, nor is it superior to other equally transformative relationships and experiences. It is simply the one that stands out the most in my life.

Several years ago, one of my children developed a chronic, asthma-like cough that lasted for months after a bout with the flu. Her coughing fits took me (and my sister and parents) back to my childhood, when my sister had the same dry, chronic cough that accompanied her asthma attacks. I remembered my sister’s doctor visits and hospital stays for pneumonia, breathing treatments, allergy shots, and inhalers, as well as the panic that she later described feeling when she couldn’t get enough oxygen. Decades had passed since then, but each time my daughter started coughing and could hardly stop long enough to get a breath, my body remembered the tension in the atmosphere when my sister struggled to breathe all those years ago.

Amidst my daughter’s chest x-rays, medications, and appointments with the pediatrician, pulmonologist, and allergist, my anxiety intensified. I was living in that alternate reality we often meet in times of suffering where I couldn’t see an end or solution to the problem. None of the doctors could pinpoint the cause of her illness or give a specific diagnosis, and there were no easy or immediate solutions. For a time, I was tending towards despair while feeling guilty about my feelings and their potential to negatively impact my family.

During one of many appointments, I stood by as the pulmonologist administered a breathing test. My body felt my child’s panic when the mask was placed over her face. I struggled to remain present and calm.

Eventually, it was over. I had a few minutes alone while they took her to another room (for a reason I no longer remember). I looked down at my hands, folded in my lap, one thumb kneading the other hand.

It looks like you’re feeling anxious, one part of me said to another. I had been practicing noticing my feelings and mental state, without judgment or analysis, and tending my distress with compassion. To do this, I had to drop the commentary of my feelings about my feelings (“You shouldn’t feel anxious because…”). When the calm observer part of me named the feeling without any value statements, I became regulated enough to tune into my breathing and slow my exhales, my hand on my heart, sending compassion to the part of me that was overwhelmed. By the time my daughter returned to the room, I was able to share my calm nervous system with her and provide the reassuring, regulated presence that she needed.

Spiritual practices help us slow down and make space for deepening awareness so that we may be more fully and compassionately present to God, self, and others. Over time, spiritual practices can teach us to notice and distinguish between our emotions, which arise of their own accord in response to a given situation, and the running commentary we have about them. As we practice dropping the commentary, which may include judgment or even judgment about our judgment, we can offer ourselves and others the validation and support that helps emotions decrease in intensity and eventually, dissipate. The practice of noticing without judgment and tending whatever emotions arise transforms our relationships with God, self, and others.

Poetry

Unfiltered

The other night,
I was honored to bear witness
to the purest moment—
my little daughter came home
at bedtime
from playing at a friend’s house.
As soon as she entered the living room
where I sat,
I heard her quiet sniffles and whimpers.
As she drew closer, she suddenly
burst into whole-body sobs,
her little body shuddering as she wailed,
“I…WANT…MOMMYYYYY!”
I scooped her up into my lap,
rocking her back and forth
as she nestled her face into the crook of my neck
and rested her little hand on my chest,
just like she used to do when she was a baby.
I held her and tried offering language
to give the words she couldn’t articulate:
Oh no. You were missing Mommy?
And it’s dark outside
And you were feeing sad and missing Mommy.
She nodded, still sobbing,
and I envied her.
I put so much effort into helping myself and others
excavate the layers to try to access authentic feelings,
but hers are still right there,
at the surface,
unpracticed at covering up.
She reflected back to me
the little girl I once was,
must have been,
who could cry when she was sad
or scared
or overwhelmed
and seek comfort.
I carry that younger version of myself
everywhere I go, I know,
and I’m learning to pay her attention.
Living with people day in and day out
is the gift and discomfort
of real, raw emotions on display
in real time
because we can’t keep them sanitized
and at bay
24/7.
How beautiful to witness the sacredness
of my children as their real, unfiltered selves.
May I never forget to stand in awe
of this holy ground.

Practice: First and Second Arrows

Anxiety is not everyone’s go-to, but most of us have moments when we experience overwhelm (dysregulation) of one kind or another, often related to fear (or anxiety), anger (or resentment), or shame. Contemplative practices can help us grow in freedom, giving us a little more space between an activating event and our response. Instead of reacting, we can learn to be present to and tend our feelings before consciously choosing how we would like to respond.

Sometimes the root of the problem is more about our ability to be present to any and all emotions that arise than the emotions, themselves. Our thoughts, feelings, and inner commentary around our emotional experience can deeply impact how we experience (or judge, minimize, or repress) uncomfortable feelings. Though unpleasant, sometimes our critical, shaming inner commentary seems more familiar and less threatening than exploring the tender feelings hiding underneath. While we can’t escape the pain of being human, we can learn how to stop adding to our own suffering with judgmental self-talk. We can increase our tolerance for being present to emotions by separating out the core emotion from the feelings we have about our emotional experience. Then, we can practice “dropping the commentary” we are telling ourselves about our emotions. This practice has a basis in Acceptance and Commitment Therapy, or ACT, developed by Steven C. Hayes.

Therapist, researcher, and author Dr. Hillary L. McBride has an insightful guide book called Practices for Embodied Living: Experiencing the Wisdom of Your Body. (It serves as a companion to her book, The Wisdom of Your Body, which I also highly recommend). Practices for Embodied Living contains short, simple exercises for practicing embodiment and repairing our relationship with our bodies.

In one of the practices, called “First and Second Arrows,” McBride writes, “Life shoots the first arrow: we experience the pain of being human. We shoot the second arrow: we add to the pain by what we say, think, and feel about our human experience.” The two questions she poses for reflection are: “What are the first arrows I have experienced?” and “What does my second arrow look and sound like?” For example, in my reflection above, the first arrow would be seeing my daughter in physical and emotional distress and not knowing how to help. The second arrow sounds like, “I should know how to help my daughter. A better mother would be able to remain calm to help her daughter feel more at ease. I should be able to protect her from this suffering.”

As always, if you start to feel overwhelmed with the practice below, discontinue or modify it in a way that works for you, or consider seeking the support you need in order to continue. Every practice is not for every person or every moment, so trust your sense for whether this will be helpful to you or not.

Practice:

1. Settle: Find a comfortable position that will help you remain relaxed but alert. Take a few slow breaths, breathing in for four counts and out for six counts.

2. First arrow: Ask yourself Dr. McBride’s first question: “What are the first arrows I have experienced?” As you consider the first arrows that come to mind, notice which one most wants your attention. Which one seems the loudest in this moment? Imagine breathing compassion to any areas of your body that are tense. Consider placing a hand on your heart as you breathe slowly. Stay in this place as long as you need.

3. Second arrow: As you continue to be present to the first arrow that most wants your attention, notice any thoughts, feelings, self-talk, or body sensations that arise. Notice what your second arrow looks and sounds like. Thank the second arrow for the ways it has tried to protect you. Imagine sending compassion through the breath to the place in your body that you most associate with the second arrow. Continue holding a hand on your heart if you like. Stay here as long as you need.

4. Rest: Rest and notice God/love/compassion with you.

5. Discharge: If you have lingering tension or energy that seems to want movement, find a safe way to discharge that energy through movement. You can alternate shaking your hands and feet, go for a walk, dance, push your palms together as hard as you can, or practice tensing up all the muscles in your body and then releasing them with an exhale.

6. Reflect: You may want to take time now or later to reflect on this experience through prayer, journaling, or discussion with someone you trust. What was this experience like for you? What did you notice? Did anything surprise you? Do you have any new insights?

I would love to hear from you! What practices help you notice and tend the second arrow? If you tried the practice above, what was the experience like for you?

Leave a comment

Resources

These books have practices (somatic, spiritual, inquiry related to Internal Family Systems, and more) that can be used individually or in groups to help ground our bodies, tend our emotions, and calm our minds for clarity. These would be great to explore with a therapist, spiritual director, or book club. Do you see any here you connected with? Are there any additional resources you would recommend?

• My Grandmother’s Hands by Resmaa Menakem (somatic practices)

• Practices for Embodied Living by Hillary L. McBride (somatic practices)

• The Wild Land Within by (spiritual practices)

• Mindful Silence by Phileena Heuertz (spiritual practices)

• No Bad Parts by Richard C. Schwartz (Internal Family Systems practices)

• Sacred Self-Care by (self-care practices)

Save the Date

I’m excited to partner with Spiritual Ministries Institute for an in-person workshop on Spiritual Practices and the Enneagram in Dallas, Texas! Below is a description of the event from the SMI website. Tickets are available for purchase here.

From SMI’s website: While the contemplative life teaches us to pay attention, the Enneagram illuminates how our energy follows our attention. Once we notice where our attention and energy naturally go, we can choose to disrupt unhelpful patterns and find freedom. Join us as Lindsay leads an interactive experience with brief teachings on the Enneagram and spiritual practices, providing opportunities to experience practices tailored to your Enneagram type. Arriving with a basic understanding of the Enneagram and what type you lead with would be beneficial.

Spiritual Direction

The work of noticing, tending, and discerning a response is part of what we do in spiritual direction. If you would like a compassionate companion for your journey of growth in freedom, healing, and flourishing, I would be honored to do this work with you. I am also available to facilitate groups in this work. For more information on spiritual direction and/or to schedule a free introductory Zoom call, click here or email me.

Blessing

May you develop a habit of noticing your thoughts, feelings, and behaviors with courage and honesty bathed in compassion. May you lead with curiosity and compassion with yourself and others. When the tenderness of a wound feels overwhelming, may you find gentle spaces and relationships that will honor your pain and contribute to your healing and wholeness.

Be well, friends.

Lindsay O’Connor, Spiritual Director & IEA Accredited Professional

“I can’t be here. I need to leave.”

The thought startled me, but the signs had all been right there with me, in my body. Some years ago, we were preparing to leave our church of ten years and had been visiting others, wondering if we could find a place that could hold healing space for our family. This particular Sunday was during the season of Lent, and the pastor was describing the crucifixion of Jesus in graphic detail. He was speaking emphatically about the violence and physical suffering Jesus endured as a way to demonstrate our (humanity’s) absolute unworthiness of the love of God.

Theology aside, I had been learning to pay enough attention to my body to notice, eventually, that something was off. I watched myself reach for my phone and begin to get lost in scrolling as I mentally checked out only to realize what I was doing, set my phone down, and scold myself for not paying attention. I brought my focus back to the sermon, but it was only moments before the same behavior repeated. After this happened a few times, I wondered, “Why am I doing this? Why am I not paying attention?”

And that’s when the thought surfaced: I can’t be here. I need to leave.

I realized my body and mind were trying to protect me. I had spent the past couple of years healing from shame that had kept me from approaching God and therefore, from feeling deeply connected to God. I had been working so hard to clean myself up enough to be worthy of being in the divine presence that the most wounded parts of myself were crying out to be seen, loved, and healed. As I was learning to trust my own experience of God (instead of someone else’s), I was surprised and amazed to find a much more compassionate, good, inclusive, and expansive God than the one to whom I had been introduced earlier in life.

This discovery had brought joy, freedom, and healing, but it still felt a bit fragile in the face of well-worn patterns of thought and behavior. When I found myself back in an environment where the spiritual authority figure was speaking about humanity with disdain, loathing, and condemnation, I felt like I was being pulled back into a jail cell from which I had recently escaped.

Once I realized what was happening, thanks to the cues from my wise body, I asked myself, Having tasted such freedom, why would I ever go back to the bondage of self-loathing and shame?

I knew that, having tasted freedom, I would not, could not, must not, go back.

Since then, I am grateful to have found communities and spaces that held space for my healing as well as my growing freedom—both “freedom from” and “freedom to.” I rarely hear people talk about how scary and vulnerable newfound freedom can be. When we are used to looking outside of ourselves for answers and directives on how to live our lives, we may have mixed feelings about taking hold of the novel freedom from our familiar bondage. Sometimes familiarity is more enticing than the risk of moving into the unknown. When we reclaim agency, we have to learn to discern for ourselves (instead of outsourcing our discernment to other people or systems) and to be responsible for our choices. Once we are liberated from bondage, we have to/get to explore what we are free to do (and not do).

Most of the time, I do not choose to be back in spaces that emphasize shame and self-hatred, or what is sometimes called “worm theology.” Once in a while, sometimes quite by accident, I find myself in those kinds of spaces and am reminded that I have tools for awareness and ever-growing trust in my wise body to let me know when I need to leave or set other boundaries and to remind me that I have agency to do so. Part of the healing process is reclaiming agency after experiencing oppression and coercion—learning to be attuned and responsive to the body’s “no” as well as her “yes.”

The processes of healing, growing, and maturing are not simply intellectual; they unfold in our bodies as well as in our hearts, minds, and spirits. Often, our bodies hold and communicate wisdom before our minds have had time to catch up. We can work on repairing our relationships with our own bodies by noticing, listening to, and honoring the body’s wisdom, sometimes before our intellect understands the underlying reasons for the body’s responses.

When my children were toddlers and would suddenly burst into tears, my first instinct was to run to them, scoop them up, and offer comfort before inquiring about the cause of their distress. I’m finding that tending my own grief, sadness, anger, anxiety, and stress often works in a similar way.

When I started tuning into the cues that my body is anxious or distressed, I realized that I could tend my anxiety even before I understand its source. Usually, we need to be in a calm, regulated state before we gain access to clear understanding, so we may be frustrated in our attempts to find clarity when we bypass the process of becoming regulated.

Sometimes, when we are healing from trauma (including the trauma that comes from the oppression of empire), spiritual practices can include:

•noticing and honoring your body’s “no” and “yes”

•setting aside duty and choosing to do something simply for the joy of it

•learning to meet physical needs without feeling guilty for having them — bodies need both rest and movement

We are steeped in culture and empire, and spiritual practices remind our bodies, minds, and spirits that there is another way, and it is good.

Poetry

Sisterhood of the Sacred Dance

Something they don’t tell you about freedom
is that it can feel scary as hell, at first.
Even as you celebrate the broken shackles,
the lightness of your limbs feels unnatural,
like you have become untethered and are floating.
You may begin to think you’ll float away and disappear!

When you wake up to the wide open space
available for you,
where you can run and romp
and play and jump and make noise
or sit quietly just to feel the warmth of the sun
and the cool of the breeze on your face…

one little part of you might gaze back
to the door through which you ran
as soon as you finally saw it
and gathered up the courage to leave.

Okay, maybe you were speed walking,
and maybe there were fits and starts,
and maybe you got stuck in the doorway once
while concerned onlookers tried to pull you back,
but eventually, you made it out.

Your eyes squint as they adjust to the light.
How could you have prepared yourself 
for brilliant sunlight
and soft green grass
and endless blue skies
and intimate bird songs
when all your senses have known is 
deceptive fluorescent lighting
and cold linoleum floors
and glass ceilings
and noise blaring from amplifiers?

Yet, you feel, in the very marrow of your bones,
a sense of coming home.
You were made for this freedom,
but some days, you might find yourself
huddled against the concrete wall
in a corner of shade provided by the building
that once held you captive.
You can faintly hear the voices
from inside the building,
comforting in their familiarity,
singing the song of the insider language.
It was
so nice,
so nice
so nice
to belong…

You are startled awake from your reverie
by the coo of a dove perched in a tree nearby.
She gently calls you back,
reminding you that you belong here,
despite the allure of your captor.

When you look up,
you see a familiar face—
someone you knew from Before.
She straddles the doorway awkwardly,
looking back over her shoulder one minute,
and then squinting in the sunlight the next.
She looks afraid and injured,
like you were once.
You leave the corner where you were huddled,
stretch your legs, and reach into your back pocket.

“Here,” you say,
handing her a pair of spare sunglasses.
“You’ll need these here.”
You smile and her face relaxes as she puts them on.

“I used to watch you from the window,” she says.
“I thought I saw you… dancing?”

“Yes,” you say, remembering.
“I was so scared and free.”

“And now?” she asks.

“Sometimes I still inch over to the doorway,
out of habit, I guess.”
She nods.
“But I can never go back there.
Just this morning, the dove reminded me 
of my beautiful, wild, terrifying freedom.
So now,
I guess,
I am a little scared
and so very free
and,
with you here,
a little less alone.”

The two of you sit together in silence,
your bodies remembering everything
your souls have endured.

After a while, she stands up and says,
“I think I’m ready to dance.”
You smile.
“Lead the way, my friend.”

Book Nook

I’ve been working on reading books that have been on my TBR shelf for four or more years. These are some that I’ve finally read in the past year or so after having them on my list for an embarrassingly long time. Some are old enough that I was able to find an updated anniversary edition from the library.

Also, this week is Banned Books Week, and several of these fit the bill!

I would love to hear from you! Have you read any of these? What are you currently reading or intending to read soon?

Leave a comment

• A Raisin in the Sun by Lorraine Hansberry ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

• Into the Silent Land by Martin Laird

• A Hidden Wholeness by Parker Palmer ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

• Divided by Faith by Michael Emerson and Christian Smith

• New Seeds of Contemplation by Thomas Merton

• My Oxford Year by Julia Whelan (CW: If I had known this was a CANCER book, I would have skipped it!)

• Welcoming the Stranger by Matthew Soerens, Jenny Hwang, and Jenny Yang

• The Universal Christ by Richard Rohr

• Meditations of the Heart by Howard Thurman ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

• The Untethered Soul by Michael A. Singer

• Invitation to Love by Thomas Keating

• An Indigenous People’s History of the United States by Roxanne Dunbar-Ortiz (banned book!)

• The New Jim Crow by Michelle Alexander (banned book!)

• Stamped from the Beginning by Ibram Kendi (banned book!)

• The Vanishing Half by Brit Bennett ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

• Eloquent Rage by Brittney Cooper (not pictured)

Save the Date

I’m excited to partner with Spiritual Ministries Institute for an in-person workshop on Spiritual Practices and the Enneagram in Dallas, Texas! Below is a description of the event from the SMI website. Tickets are available for purchase here.

From SMI’s website: While the contemplative life teaches us to pay attention, the Enneagram illuminates how our energy follows our attention. Once we notice where our attention and energy naturally go, we can choose to disrupt unhelpful patterns and find freedom. Join us as Lindsay leads an interactive experience with brief teachings on the Enneagram and spiritual practices, providing opportunities to experience practices tailored to your Enneagram type. Arriving with a basic understanding of the Enneagram and what type you lead with would be beneficial.

Spiritual Direction

If you would like a compassionate, nonjudgmental space to process deep inner work, questions, doubts, shifts in beliefs, grief, or matters of discernment, you may find spiritual direction beneficial. For more information on spiritual direction and/or to schedule a free introductory Zoom call, click here or email me.

Blessing

Most everyone I know is struggling to know how to be who they want to be in this moment that is filled with so much suffering, corruption, and injustice. Monday night, I spent some time with friends under the light of the beautiful harvest moon, symbolically releasing what no longer serves us into the fire, grieving, laughing, and finding our way to hope when it feels tempting to slip into despair.

May you find time, space, and people to lean on when it’s difficult to stand. May you be kind to your body as she holds the tension between being present to what is while making space for imagination and hope about what could be. May you find compassionate companions on your journey of becoming, and may you be a compassionate companion to others.

Be well, friends.

Lindsay O’Connor, Spiritual Director & IEA Accredited Professional

“Lindsay, when you run, you FLY!” The memory of my father’s words to me, 35 years ago or more, makes me smile. It also seems a little laughable now to think that my young, fit dad would have complimented the athletic prowess of his least athletic child. Even now, while he is in his 70s, I have to work hard to keep up with his stride.

“I wish I had their energy!” the adults around my siblings, cousins, and I would say as we ran about, catching fireflies, choreographing dance routines, and playing hide and seek. Other times, my parents cheered with gusto as I demonstrated my flexibility by doing the splits. As a child, I remember being surprised and delighted by others’ admiration of the things my body could do with so little effort.

Now, at 42 years old, I am on the other side of the equation, admiring the things my children can do with such apparent ease. I know from my own experience and that of my friends that women of a certain age are absolutely exhausted. The reasons for this increasingly intense chronic fatigue are both personal and systemic, but that’s a conversation for another day. (Capitalism wants to fix us, for a fee of course, instead of dismantling the systems that have sapped our energy and robbed our health for half a lifetime, but I digress.)

When I meet with women in their 40s and 50s for spiritual direction, as well as when I meet with my own therapist and spiritual director, a common theme is that we are realizing we are unable to continue operating as we always have. As frustrating as this may be, our bodies often offer wisdom before our minds catch up. We notice ourselves acting, thinking, and feeling differently, and the people around us might be just as confused and uncomfortable with us as we may be with ourselves. The self we have known for decades is acting up and causing problems, but we don’t know exactly why.

We may have difficulty articulating it at first, but with a compassionate reflective listener, we realize that we simply do not have the energy to continue living our lives and relating to others in the ways that we have always done before. Our bodies are getting louder amidst perimenopause, illness, autoimmune diseases, mental health needs, and other emerging health conditions, preventing us from continuing at the same pace and volume of our caretaking and work in the world (including the well-documented mental load that falls disproportionately to women). Our fatigue may be accompanied by a small (or large) side of anger and frustration as we realize the myriad ways our boundaries have been routinely violated by people and systems.

I used to think of growth in wisdom and maturity as a mostly intellectual exercise, but now I see that it is an embodied process that is more like an unfolding than a linear journey. Rather than thinking our way into wisdom and maturity, there seems to be a developmental stage when we (especially women and folks with other marginalized identities) are simply too tired to carry on as we have been doing for so long. My sometimes-startling new boundaries are partly the fruit of intentional learning, therapy, and inner work, but they are also born of exhaustion. I simply cannot keep up with my younger self anymore. And my oh my, do people notice!

There is a larger conversation to be had about the systemic reasons for our fatigue and subsequent anger (two good places to start include Walter Brueggemann’s book Sabbath as Resistance and Tricia Hersey’s work through The Nap Ministry), and we can’t always control the larger forces at play or change them in the here and now. However, we can notice and name what is happening and find ways to tend to our weary souls.

One of the questions we explore in spiritual direction is, What do you no longer have the energy to do? When we respond to this question thoughtfully and honestly, at a soul-deep level, we may be surprised by the answers that arise. We also may benefit from noticing and naming the resistance that undoubtedly arises any time we begin to identify our habitual patterns of behavior and finding support to honor and respond to this new awareness. Below, I’m sharing a poem followed by questions to ponder, either through journaling or with the help of a spiritual director.

Maybe midlife fatigue is not a problem to solve but a growing wisdom to embody. The process of growth includes a painful stripping away as we let go of some of the ways we have protected ourselves, and new freedom is often accompanied by grief—grief for the reasons we have had to protect ourselves and all that that guardedness has cost us, grief for who we could have been and the unmet needs that have become too loud to ignore, and grief for the ways we have been shaped by unfreedom. Alongside the grief, freedom, joy, and a clarifying sense of purpose arise as we honor our bodies and tend to our souls.

Poetry

Something More

In a world where shame all but screams,
“Not enough! Not enough!”
I hear a Holy whisper say, 
“Maybe there is more.”
We say we trust and hope, 
but our clenched fists give us away.

We’ve been told for so long,
in so many ways, 
the lie of “Not enough.”
Scarcity chases us into survival mode
begetting competition and hierarchy,
suspicion, self-protection,
and grasping for whatever we think
we have a chance to get,
without stopping to ask 
if it is what we need, or even want.

Then, with our fists bulging with all the stuff
we’ve thoughtlessly acquired,
we ache with hunger and dissatisfaction,
wondering how we could possibly be dissatisfied
when our hands are so full.

When we get glimpses of the things 
that we truly need or desire,
envy creeps in.
Shame’s insidious voice tells us
we aren’t satisfied because we
are ungrateful, greedy things,
that we aren’t worthy of those things
we desire the most deeply
and need the most desperately.

Still, the truer voice whispers,
“But maybe there’s more.”
When it all becomes too much to bear-
the discomfort of the bloating caused 
by being filled with food that doesn’t truly nourish-
perhaps, we think, it might be time to let go.

As we loosen our grip, our empty hands
bear the scars of scarcity.
The emptiness greets us like a stranger.
“Make space, make space,”
Holy Mystery chirps a song of encouragement,
singing over us as we examine the aftermath.

When all has fallen away,
we can become familiar with our own souls again.
“Listen to the sound of your own soul,”
Mother God advises.
“She’s been there all along.
Can you let her out?”
Mother God asks gently,
witnessing me witness myself
and the divine imprint I find within.

Suddenly, I know,
in a way that cannot be unknown,
the joy of one who waits in hopeful anticipation
of the divinely appointed gifts,
chosen deliberately with great care
and intimate knowledge
of what food will best nourish 
my deepest cravings
and most desperate needs.

Shame still has the audacity to speak:
“Not enough! Not enough!”
but I have attuned my ears
to my mother’s song:
“Something more, something more,
something more is coming.
Just wait a moment here
while I prepare it for you.
With this nourishment,
you will be equipped to nourish.”

My empty hands lift in surrender—
or is it praise? One mingles with the other.
Only empty hands can receive
what must be given.

Questions to consider…

1. What do you no longer have the energy for?

2. When you consider the response to the question above, what resistance arises? What does the resistance have to say? What does it feel like in your body?

3. What would you like to let go? What would you like to hold onto?

4. Finish the sentence: In a perfect world, I would…

5. What support do you need? What support is available to you?

6. Who is someone (real or imagined, living or deceased) who embodies the wisdom you need right now? What would they say to you?

7. Consider any new awareness that has arisen. How would you like to honor and respond to it?

Save the Date

I’m excited to partner with Spiritual Ministries Institute for an in-person workshop on Spiritual Practices and the Enneagram in Dallas, Texas! Below is a description of the event from the SMI website. Tickets are available for purchase here.

From SMI’s website: While the contemplative life teaches us to pay attention, the Enneagram illuminates how our energy follows our attention. Once we notice where our attention and energy naturally go, we can choose to disrupt unhelpful patterns and find freedom. Join us as Lindsay leads an interactive experience with brief teachings on the Enneagram and spiritual practices, providing opportunities to experience practices tailored to your Enneagram type. Arriving with a basic understanding of the Enneagram and what type you lead with would be beneficial.

Spiritual Direction

If you would like a compassionate, nonjudgmental space to process deep inner work, you may find spiritual direction beneficial. For more information on spiritual direction and/or to schedule a free introductory Zoom call, click here or email me.

Blessing

May you turn with compassion toward the wisdom of your weariness and find that in letting go, you experience greater joy, peace, and freedom. May you have soft spaces to relax into your newfound freedom. May your soul and spirit be nourished so that you may nourish others.

Be well, friends.

Lindsay O’Connor, Spiritual Director & IEA Accredited Professional

“If contemplation is about penetrating illusion and touching reality, why do we commiserate with others when they tell us about an experience that’s ‘disillusioned’ them? ‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ we’ll say. ‘Please, let me comfort you.’ Surely it would be better to say, ‘Congratulations! You’ve lost another illusion, which takes you a step closer to the solid ground of reality.’”

—Parker Palmer, “Parker Palmer Explains Why Inner Contemplation Is So Necessary”

I’ve been seeing people (rightly) talking about the importance of community in working together for a more just world, but co-creating or finding and sustaining healthy communities is sometimes easier said than done. In the U.S., we are deeply embedded in a culture of hyper-individualism, which certainly affects the ways we interact in and experience community.

While there are many aspects of community to consider, I’ve been thinking about our relationship with belonging. When we don’t feel a sense of belonging in our communities, it is more difficult for us to offer the gifts we bring as our authentic selves as well as cultivate hospitable spaces for diverse groups to work together. Sometimes before we can find a sense of belonging with others, we have to come home to a sense of belonging with the Self.

“Am I really that different from everyone else, or does everyone else feel this way, too?” This was among a few pressing questions I was asking some years ago while on a walk. I had been struggling to find communities where I felt like I could be myself and had begun to wonder if I was the common denominator in the problem of my search for belonging. Over the years, I have asked many variations of the core question, Is it just me? Learning to trust my own experience of God and of life continues to be part of my life’s work as an Enneagram 6, which means I have a habit of looking outside of myself for validation of what I already know but don’t trust.

As I pondered and prayed, I lifted my eyes and my gaze was met by a field of wildflowers. My attention was quickly drawn to a lone poppy, bright red against a backdrop of powdery blue cornflowers and soft green grass. A question surfaced in my mind: Does that poppy belong?

The question seemed absurd. Of course it belonged. How could a wildflower not belong? Then the question was followed by this thought: It belongs because it is there, and that is where it grew. The poppy had done nothing to achieve belonging other than simply growing where it had been planted by forces outside of itself. The fact that it stood out didn’t mean that it didn’t belong.

I wondered what it would feel like to stand out and yet still belong.* What would it mean to belong to myself so that I didn’t rely so heavily on others to help me feel accepted? What if my belonging didn’t depend on the feedback I was receiving (or perceiving)? I used to assume, on a subconscious level, that belonging required me to give up pieces of who I was, to “read the room” and adapt (hello, Enneagram 3 energy). This became an exhausting way to exist in the world. At midlife, I’m beginning to think that part of the process of maturing happens simply because we run out of energy for all the ways we’ve worked so hard to keep it together.

Reading the room and adapting has its place, but when it becomes an automatic response, over time, it can leave a person feeling anxious, worn out, and disconnected. Fitting in may keep the pain of rejection at bay initially, but eventually, the deeper parts of ourselves that have been hidden away long to be seen and loved. The surface-level connections we make based on excessive conformity to the group end up feeling shallow and unfulfilling. When we don’t allow ourselves to be seen, we miss out on the connection and intimacy that are only made possible in conjunction with authenticity. The true self we hid for decades may begin to seem elusive even to ourselves so that we don’t know where to begin in the quest for authentic reconnection with our true selves, let alone with others.

Nothing is more human than the core desire for belonging, and people try to satiate that desire in many different ways. Like the title of this lovely book from Sesame Street says, We’re Different, We’re the Same (by Bobbi Kates and Joe Mathieu). Some of us try to hide, withdraw, or minimize our needs, while others find safety in blending in with the group. Some lead with their deepest insecurities so they can know right away if they will be rejected, and some assume from the start that they will not be accepted and act accordingly. Some try to exemplify the best and most successful version of the values they perceive are held by the group, while others work hard to make themselves indispensable. Enneagram work can highlight our typical patterns and point toward a path for transformation and healing.

Connection is so essential to human survival and flourishing that we develop these sophisticated strategies to protect ourselves from disconnection. Often, these strategies are quite effective until one day, we realize the coping skills we developed to avoid rejection are actually the obstacles that keep us from authentic connection. The armor we constructed is doing more harm than the threats against which it was protecting us.

When this realization occurs, we are on the precipice of transformation. This is difficult and ongoing work, and it can be helpful to have the support of a therapist, sponsor, spiritual director, or other guide who is trained to hold the compassionate space that provides the safety for us to begin practicing letting down our guard.

Like most deep work, this is often best done a little at a time, at a pace and in a context that feels tolerable, beginning with low-stakes situations. Below, I’m sharing a poem as well as some reflection prompts that may be helpful in connecting with your authentic self.

*There are certainly situations when we are in a place/community/relationship that does not offer the safety necessary in order for us to be our authentic selves; not everyone has earned the privilege of having access to your full, authentic self. Sometimes we need our coping strategies, and sometimes we need to leave harmful environments, groups, or relationships. This post is addressing a general feeling of not belonging in a space that is not harmful, but it’s important to acknowledge that not all places/communities/relationships are safe, beneficial, or desirable for all people. It’s also important to distinguish feeling unsafe versus feeling uncomfortable. Discomfort is not always harmful (and is sometimes necessary in the process of healing and growth), but being unsafe is.

Poetry

This is Why It Hurts

Did it hurt,
the first time you gave yourself away?
Did it sting,
when the little pieces splintered into fragments
that you wished you could take back,
offered up like candy on the altar of broken relationships?
 
Unaware, perhaps, of the crime you were committing,
you were focused on perfecting that disarming smile.
Their weapons came down
as they smiled and took the piece of you
from your bleeding, outstretched hand
before continuing on their merry way.
(That was before you learned how to bandage the wound.)
 
Did it hurt,
the first time you made yourself so small?
Did it pain you,
maintaining the smile, trying to make it say
all that you thought it needed it to?
Their reactions—so helpful!—
told you how it could be tweaked.
Soon it was not just your smile
but your whole entire body
contorting into
Acceptable
Shapes 
and Sizes.
 
Did it hurt,
the first time
you told yourself the truth?
Did it ache
when you became aware,
watching yourself as though
you were observing someone else
commit the crime you had committed
countless times before?
 
One day you paused from all your work
and in the silence,
                        stillness,
                                    solitude,
the face of God was like a mirror,
your fragmented reflection gazing back,
wide-eyed, anxious, and bewildered.
 
“This is why it hurts,” the Whisper said
as your eyes took in all the fractures.
You saw how you’d been pulled apart
and now felt yourself held together.
“Let us meet again.”
 
Each meeting brought the mirror.
Studying it was like confession:
 
“O God, please forgive me.
I knew not what I was doing.”
 
After a time,
many meetings later,
someone approached you
with an outstretched hand,
as you had trained them to do.
But this time, just as you began to reach mechanically
to break off another fragment,
you thought of the bewildered reflection
and the Whisper of a thought stopped you:
 
“Maybe,
just this time,
you don’t have to give yourself away.
What if,
just this moment,
you stayed with yourself?”
 
Maybe the sum total of your ‘not enough’
doesn’t preclude you from being loved
as you actually are—
not as you could be or should be 
or will be, 
some day.
 
Did it hurt,
the first time you resisted?
Did it sting
the first time
you let your whole fragmented self
be held, loved, and free,
just as she actually is?
 
You are already called “Beloved.”
Let
yourself
be loved.

Practice

These are some journaling prompts to help you connect with your authentic self. Feel free to focus on the ones that resonate most and skip the ones that don’t. As always, go at a pace that feels right for you, and if you begin to feel overwhelmed, take a pause and consider finding a therapist or spiritual director to support your work.

1. What strategies have you used, consciously or unconsciously, to find belonging? Some possibilities: hiding or withdrawing; reading the room and adapting to the group; leading with your insecurities and vulnerability; assuming you will not be accepted and leading with “moving against” energy; working hard to be helpful and indispensable to the group; striving to become the most successful version of the group’s ideal

2. When have the strategies you listed above been helpful? When have they not served you well?

3. What places, communities, or relationships have not earned the privilege of having access to your full, authentic self? How have you, or could you, set boundaries to protect yourself when needed?

4. How do you feel about the ways you have tried to fit in and/or stand out?

5. When have you felt like your most authentic self? Consider who was present (if anyone), where you were, and what you were doing. What did it feel like?

6. Finish the sentence: When I think about belonging, I feel ______.

7. What’s something about yourself that you’ve felt you had to hide, repress, minimize, or “tone down” in order to belong? What has happened (or do you fear would happen) when you didn’t hide this part of yourself?

8. Imagine the feeling you labeled in number 4 as an image. If you could describe that feeling, what would it look like? What would it say to you? How would you like to respond?

Offer gratitude for all the parts of yourself that have worked so hard to protect you. As you breathe in and out slowly, imagine waves of love and compassion covering each part of yourself.

Enneagram Work for Groups & Individuals

I am proud to be a newly Accredited Professional through the International Enneagram Association! This credential is meaningful to me because it represents years of intensive study, classes, workshops, cohorts, teaching, facilitating groups, and inner work in a variety of Enneagram settings, with a variety of Enneagram teachers and practitioners. I believe with my whole heart that we must tend to our inner work in order to show up in the world as our most compassionate, wise, and discerning selves, and the Enneagram is a powerful tool to help us do so.

I find great joy in companioning individuals and groups who are committed to tending to their inner work so that we may participate together in Love’s restorative work in the world.

To that end, I have openings in spiritual direction and availability for facilitating groups! If you or your group would like a compassionate, nonjudgmental space to tend to your inner work, which can include Enneagram work, I would love to schedule a free introductory Zoom call with you to hear more about your hopes and needs. Email me at lindsayloconnor@gmail.com for more information.

Save the Date

I’m excited to partner with Spiritual Ministries Institute for an in-person workshop on Spiritual Practices and the Enneagram in Dallas, Texas! Below is a description of the event from the SMI website. Tickets are available for purchase here.

From SMI’s website: While the contemplative life teaches us to pay attention, the Enneagram illuminates how our energy follows our attention. Once we notice where our attention and energy naturally go, we can choose to disrupt unhelpful patterns and find freedom. Join us as Lindsay leads an interactive experience with brief teachings on the Enneagram and spiritual practices, providing opportunities to experience practices tailored to your Enneagram type. Arriving with a basic understanding of the Enneagram and what type you lead with would be beneficial.

Lindsay O’Connor is a trained spiritual director, contemplative wannabe, justice seeker, poet, teacher, and small group facilitator who lives in the Dallas area with her husband and two daughters. She finds great joy in companioning individuals and groups who are pursuing wholeness in relation to the divine, self, others, and creation. Lindsay hosts the Words From Silence podcast and loves books, naps, and the Oxford comma. Learn more at lindsayoconnor.com.

Spiritual Direction

If you would like a compassionate, nonjudgmental space to process deep inner work, you may benefit from spiritual direction. For more information on spiritual direction and/or to schedule a free introductory Zoom call, click here or email me.

Blessing

May you find moments of felt safety that allow you to connect with your authentic self, and from this place, may you feel deeply loved, held, and treasured. You are so loved, just as you are.

Be well, friends.

Lindsay O’Connor, Spiritual Director & IEA Accredited Professional

“Be patient toward all
that is unsolved in your heart
and try to love the questions themselves,
like locked rooms and like books
that are now written in a very foreign tongue.
Do not now seek the answers,
which cannot now be given you because
you would not be able to live them.
And the point is, to live everything.
Live the questions now.
Perhaps you will then gradually,
without noticing it,
live along some distant day
into the answer.”

—Rainer Maria Rilke

I don’t like dishonest questions. You know the ones—when someone asks a question while expecting a particular answer as though we were studying for a biology test, when really, we are longing for room to allow our minds to wander around the unexplored depths of our curiosity. When I’m in a learning environment and a leader asks a question while prodding me along to arrive at a predetermined answer, the most honest parts of myself close off, the expedition cut short, the learning disrupted. I would rather information be delivered as a statement than disguised as a question.

When I was a child, the people with whom I felt the most myself learned to expect a cascade of unending questions. Sometimes, I was inviting others into my experience of curiosity about myself and the world (when I got glasses in fourth grade: Did Jesus have 20/20 eyesight?). Other times, I was gathering information to appease my anxiety about some upcoming event (Who will be there? What will be expected of me?). When I wasn’t verbalizing questions out loud (I had learned that sometimes people would respond with laughter, impatience, or annoyance), I was thinking them.

As an adult, I’m not much different. I’ve noticed that certain questions seem to tug at my sleeve for an extended period of time before they gently loosen their grip and allow another one to arrest my attention. These are not the kinds of questions that have static answers; they deserve and require an ongoing, embodied discernment. I’ve observed that wrestling with honest questions often involves a measure of grief alongside joy, which I suppose is a part of the process of awakening and growing.

For nearly a decade, one of the questions I’ve been living with is some version of this: How do I remain awake and engaged with the suffering of the world without being overwhelmed by it? Grappling with this question has taken many forms, including immersing myself in the stories of marginalized groups and diversifying the authors and teachers from whom I’m learning, in the hopes that I can become better prepared to stand in solidarity with those who are suffering. This process has evoked grief over the inaccurate and incomplete history I learned about our country and western Christianity. Our understanding of history deeply impacts our sense of who we are and how we relate to others, so this learning and unlearning has unearthed questions around individual and collective identity. On a more individual level, this is work I practice as a spiritual director, parent, friend, family member, and community member, holding space for others who are going through difficult things.

To address overwhelm, I’ve needed to grow in self-knowledge and self-compassion, understanding more about how I’m wired and what my role is during this moment. This has involved grief over the expectations I’ve had for the kind of person I thought I could or should be and what I could or should accomplish. More fundamentally, I’ve been exploring what it means and looks like to bear fruit. I’m learning to see my sensitivity as a gift to be stewarded and cherished rather than a weakness or liability, but it is an ongoing process. Listening to and honoring my body continues to be a growing edge. While I learn to honor my capacity, I’ve also gained more tools for increasing it in some areas. Developing shame resilience increases capacity for repentance and repair, and learning to be with my own pain helps me to stay present to the pain of others.

When the news is particularly devastating, as it has been of late, another version of this question is, “How can I live my life such that in my later years, I won’t look back and regret that I didn’t do more to co-labor with others in addressing the atrocities happening during this time?” Part of the discernment required in responding to this question involves asking, “What is mine to do? What am I able and willing to do? What is truly helpful for others versus what is self-serving? When am I driven by ego versus the true self?” Again, when I dig a little deeper into this question, I find that part of the response evokes grief.

More recently, having passed the 40 year mark a couple years ago, another question has arisen, not in place of, but as a companion to, the one above: How can I live my life such that I won’t look back and feel sad that I was so immersed in the pain of the world, I didn’t appreciate this beautiful, brief, and, in the words of Mary Oliver, “one wild and precious life?” This new question seems to be the second half of the equation, and I expect I’ll be living in the tension between the two for a long time. These are questions to hold together as the companions they are, allowing them to focus my gaze on both the difficult and the beautiful.

Enneagram teacher Suzanne Stabile says, “What you focus on determines what you miss.” I have focused for so long on discerning “What is mine to do?” that perhaps in my quest to co-labor with others for a better world, I was missing the good and beautiful that is present right here, right now. Reality includes suffering, sadness, and pain, but it also contains beauty, hope, and joy. May we honor and increase (at the pace we are able) our capacity to be present with the beauty and pain that is ever-present in reality.

“We cannot do everything, and there is a sense of liberation in realizing that. This enables us to do something, and to do it well. It may be incomplete, but it is a beginning, a step along the way, an opportunity for the Lord’s grace to enter and do the rest. We may never see the results, but that is the difference between the master builder and the worker. We are workers, not master builders; ministers, not messiahs. We are prophets of a future not our own. I will lie down and sleep in peace, for you alone, Lord, make me dwell in safety.”

—excerpt from “Compline” in The Book of Common Prayer by Shane Claiborne and Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove

Questions to consider…

1. Staying awake: What is helping you remain awake and present to the suffering in the world and in people around you?

2. Tending overwhelm: How are you caring for yourself to prevent or tend to overwhelm? What helps you remain awake and present to your own suffering?

3. Noticing beauty: What is beautiful in your world right now? How can you take time to savor beauty?

Book Nook

Books that help me “live the questions” (i.e., remain present to the suffering of others and myself and remain present to beauty):

• You Better Be Lightning by Andrea Gibson - I’m joining with so many others in grieving the recent passing of this beautiful soul. Their poetry (especially spoken word—get the audiobook) is absolutely magical.

• Instructions for Traveling West by Joy Harjo (poetry)

• Trauma in the Pews by Janyne McConnaughey

• Holy Hurt and The Wisdom of Your Body by Hillary McBride

• Try Softer and Strong Like Water by

• Between the World and Me by Ta-Nehisi Coates

• My Grandmother’s Hands by Resmaa Menakem

• All About Love by bell hooks

• The Will to Change by bell hooks

• Black AF History by Michael Harriot

• The Making of Asian America by Erika Lee

• Theologizin’ Bigger by

• The Color of Compromise by

• Jesus and John Wayne by

• No Bad Parts by Richard C. Schwartz (on Internal Family Systems)

• Black Liturgies by Cole Arthur Riley

• Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer

• Feminist Prayers for My Daughter by

• Fat Talk: Parenting in the Age of Diet Culture by Virginia Sole-Smith

• See No Stranger by Valarie Kaur

• A Hidden Wholeness by

• A People’s History of the United States by Howard Zinn

• You Are Enough by Jonathan Puddle

• Open Heart, Open Mind by Thomas Keating

• I See You’ve Called in Dead by John Kenney - surprisingly, this darkly humorous novel was a lovely read (content warnings: death, funerals, depression, suicide)

• I loved this article about Abide in Love, a new organization that is caring for ICE detainees.

What book(s), article(s), or podcast(s) would you add?

Leave a comment

Spiritual Direction

If this post resonates with you and you would like a compassionate, nonjudgmental space to process big questions, you might find spiritual direction to be a helpful place to work through grief and growth on the spiritual journey. For more information and/or to schedule a free introductory Zoom call, click here or email me.

Blessing

May you find connections with God, others, creation, and self that lead you deeper into “living the questions” as you awaken, grieve, grow, and savor beauty. May living the questions lead to a more expansive, compassionate, connected, and creative life.

Be well, friends.

"Fiction is the lie through which we tell the truth.”

—Albert Camus

Hello, friends!

It’s been a while. So much is happening so quickly in the world and here in the U.S., it can be difficult to know how to pick up where we left off without feeling the need to address All the Things. I will simply say that given the weightiness of this time, I hope you are finding ways to care for yourself, your people, and your communities, in all things great and small, and that you are finding moments to return to the awareness of your belovedness.

Summer is a difficult time for me to steal away for a few minutes to write. Today, I’m writing to you amidst the happily boisterous sounds of five children (two who belong to me, plus three friends) who are singing, talking, and laughing over snacks. Having observed myself as a parent for 14 years this month (!!), I’m learning to trust that my thinking/writing/poetry brain will return in the fall with short, productive bursts as the holidays approach, take a little rest in winter, and then come back, full force, in the spring before the distractions of summertime pull my attention elsewhere again. Observing these natural rhythms helps to ease my anxiety around all the Things I Would Like to be Doing but Am Not Currently Accomplishing.

I recently joined a small monthly online poetry group at the invitation of a friend. The practice of writing and sharing poetry “on-demand,” so to speak, has been a welcome challenge. While chaos continues to swirl about in the world at large, I find that my poetry of late is paradoxically more personal, small-scale, and intimate. It’s difficult to know whether anyone outside of my family will be interested in reading about my grandfather, but this is what I have to offer today. I wrote it about a month ago and am resisting the urge to say anything else about it, trusting that it will find and connect with whomever it needs to.

Also! Today, July 2, we are officially halfway through 2025. Below, I’m sharing my favorite reads of the year so far and would love to hear about yours!

Poetry

True Stories

Today I stole away for what I suspect will be
among my last few outdoor walks
until the weather cools again.
It’s already so warm,
the air thick with moisture.
I scan the creek,
wondering where everyone is.
Perhaps they are hidden away
in anticipation of the rain.
The white herons and night herons,
the Canada geese and cormorants--
all the waterfowl seem to be missing,
except the mallards,
who are resting in plain sight,
their heads turned sideways
and bills tucked into their feathers.
I hurry along
so my dog won’t disturb them too much
and think of the audacity of resting mid-morning,
when everyone else is busy or hiding.

A dove coos somewhere in the distance,
and my body feels at home,
soothed by the familiar, gentle sound
and the steady rhythm of my steps.
I wonder, again, if it’s really true
that my late grandfather—
who was Granddad, then Papa,
then Papa Stew—
went dove hunting only once.

When he took her life
and went to collect her little body,
a single tear glistened in her eye,
and my papa swore off dove hunting ever after.

My adult self has had trouble
believing this tale,
but I also know that sometimes,
truth transcends facts.

Damon Stewart was the kind of man
who would take notice of a single tear
and let himself be changed by it.
You never knew if he might turn a story
into an impressively long-winded joke,
a rollicking tall tale,
or sad cowboy poetry.
I suppose my papa
could probably take the same event
and turn it into all three,
each one telling
its own truth.

Book Nook: Favorite Reads so far in 2025

2025 is halfway over! These are my favorite reads of the year so far. Several are books I mentioned in my last post, but I’m sharing them again here because they made The List. I would love to hear about yours! What have you read and loved so far this year? What genres and stories are you drawn to lately?

Leave a comment

In no particular order:

1. On Tyranny: Twenty Lessons from the Twentieth Century by - A must-read for those who are resisting authoritarianism. See full review here.

2. The Many Lives of Mama Love by Lara Love Hardin - I flew through this audiobook in two days and could not stop listening. This memoir is so good and totally engrossing. Full review here.

3. Eleanor and Park by Rainbow Rowell - I’m 12 years late to the party on this one, but I loved it so much, and so did my teen! Rowell captures first love so spectacularly. This story is funny yet serious, dreamy yet gritty, and unique yet relatable. All the stars for this magical YA novel set in 1986. Full review here.

4. The Will to Change: Men, Masculinity, and Love by bell hooks - I love bell hooks’ writing and am drawn to her work, in particular, because she quotes and builds on the work of contemplatives, and her ideas fit in well with the concept of contemplative activism. I found this book extremely helpful in explaining how patriarchy harms men and boys, as well as what is required to resist the system. Full review here.

5. Above Ground: Poems by Clint Smith - Gorgeous poetry that encompasses the intimate and the universal.

6. Holy Hurt: Understanding Spiritual Trauma and the Process of Healing by Hillary L. McBride - I’m a huge fan of Hillary McBride’s work. I read a lot of books on this topic, but there was a lot here that I hadn’t seen discussed in other books. I highly recommend this for people who have experienced spiritual trauma or love and/or work with those who have. Full review here.

7. Sabbath as Resistance: Saying NO to the Culture of Now by Walter Brueggemann - This is an important, paradigm-shifting book! In just 90 pages, Brueggemann demonstrates that the practice of Sabbath keeping is crucial for Christians as an act of resistance to a culture obsessed with production and consumption. He presents an alternative for living in a culture of neighborliness. Full review here.

8. The Serviceberry: Abundance and Reciprocity in the Natural World by Robin Wall Kimmerer - I loved listening to the author read this short but powerful audiobook! It’s easy to recognize that something has gone badly wrong with capitalism run amok and oligarchy becoming more prominent. This book casts an indigenous vision for a new (but ancient) way of being in community based on a gift economy that values reciprocity, relationship, gratitude, and care for others and the earth.

9. The Wilderness That Bears Your Name by James A. Pearson - This book of poetry is a stunning invitation to notice, ponder, and savor. I love reading Pearson’s poetry to my directees in spiritual direction.

10. Open Mind, Open Heart by Thomas Keating (not pictured) - This is the most practical, accessible, helpful teaching I’ve read on centering prayer.

I’m currently reading:
-The Enneagram and Prayer: Discovering Our True Selves Before God by Barbara Metz

-A People’s History of the United States by Howard Zinn - Still reading this… will be forever, maybe. This is super long and I can only read a little at a time, but it’s time well spent!

-I See You’ve Called in Dead by John Kenney - I’m about 20% in and the dark humor in this novel is keeping me laughing and obnoxiously reading the funniest parts aloud to my husband. (Isn’t he lucky??)

I’d love to connect with fellow readers over on Goodreads! Click here and we can share books and reviews.

Spiritual Direction

I’m accepting new directees for spiritual direction! Spiritual direction can be a helpful place to process grief and growth on the spiritual journey in a compassionate, non-judgmental space. For spiritual direction inquiries and/or to schedule a free introductory Zoom call, click here or email me.

Blessing

In a world of noise that threatens to drown out reminders of the best and truest things about you, may you find moments to return to the awareness of your belovedness, which connects you to every other person. May this awareness expand your capacity to be with your self, others, your communities, creation, and the divine, for the sake of ever-increasing freedom and wholeness for all beings.

Be well, friends.

I don’t know about you, but in my little corner of the world, May (Mental Health Awareness Month—oh, the irony!) has been a doozy. Everyone I know is exhausted. Could we take a moment to check in? To borrow from John Wesley, “How is it with your soul?”* The exhausted mother in me honors the exhausted parent/educator/human in you.

In honor of our exhaustion, and particularly the slow-burning, bone-deep exhaustion of women everywhere, I’m sharing poetry that is hot off the press, as well as some of the books I’ve been enjoying.

Poetry

mallard in the middle
(depression has entered the group chat)

The mallard in the middle
gets all the good sleep.
Seven ducks slept in a row
a few yards from the creek near our house,
conspicuous as a red balloon
floating in a blue sky.
They looked so vulnerable
until I learned
they can allow half their brain to sleep
while the other half stands guard,
as indicated by a single open eye.
In this half-asleep/half-awake state,
mallards can detect a predator
in less than 1/5 of a second.

I thought of last night’s sleep graph—
a typical one for me—
with a couple skinny bars of deep sleep
punctuating wide ribbons of light sleep.
This was when I realized
I sleep like a duck,
half my brain resting lightly
while the other half remains vigilant.

When ducks sleep in a row,
the two on the ends sleep
with the outside eye open
while the ducks in the middle enjoy
full-brain, both-eyes-shut
repose.
If the same ducks line up in a different order,
their sleeping roles adjust accordingly.
I imagine that, in theory,
everyone is afforded a chance
to be the duck in the middle.

The women I know
are tired of being outside ducks,
or maybe even
the Only Duck.
Decades into this thing,
the signs of burnout manifest
in various ways,
but most seem to lead to one.

Depression has entered the group chat.
The brave individual who named hers
was met with a chorus of voices
echoing words born of personal experience.

If I hear one more woman
described as selfless,
I think I might scream…
only I don’t have the energy,
on account of the half-brain sleep,
so instead
it leaks out in verse.

I’m beginning to think
the praise of a woman’s selflessness
is an affirmation
that she does not deserve to have a self,
that her purpose is to d i s a p   p   e   a   r
in service of the selves that get to be.

When the fire of a woman’s self
is deprived of oxygen,
familiar smoke signals call out to each other,
and we find one another in the haze.
Depression has entered the group chat,
but we know what to do.
We’ve been here before,
and we’re learning to take turns
being the mallard in the middle.

Book Nook

Though I will undoubtedly continue reading some nonfiction this summer (continuing to slog through A People’s History of the United States by Howard Zinn and all I can say is, this is what you get when you let the Enneagram 5 choose the book for book club HA!), my summer brain would like to rest and play as I keep learning and growing. My goal is to read more fiction over the next few months. I’d love to hear your recommendations!

These are some of the books that have been companioning me lately:

• The Serviceberry: Abundance and Reciprocity in the Natural World by Robin Wall Kimmerer - From the author of the incredible book, Braiding Sweetgrass, this is a short, beautiful, thought-provoking, paradigm-shifting exploration of how we can participate in a gift economy alongside (what feels like) the inevitability of capitalism. I especially enjoyed the audiobook.

• When We Talk to God: Prayers and Poems for Black Women by Stevens - Beautiful, intimate, and honest prayers and poems accompanied by gorgeous artwork. Stevens has good words for hard and holy times.

• The Many Lives of Mama Love by Lara Love Hardin - Another one I loved on audiobook, this memoir is completely engrossing. It’s the story of the author’s “slide from soccer mom to opioid addict to jailhouse shot-caller and her unlikely comeback as a highly successful ghostwriter.” Funny, raw, gut-wrenching, and tender. CW: Substance addiction, foster care, illegal drug use, incarceration

• Open Mind, Open Heart by Thomas Keating - I’m slowly working through this one now. So far, it’s an excellent, accessible, and practical book on centering prayer.

• New Seeds of Contemplation by Thomas Merton - As a contemplative wannabe, I appreciate Merton’s work and wisdom very much. I didn’t fully connect with some of it. Some of it resonated deeply. Some of it was encouraging. Much was enlightening. All of it made me ponder.

• Discovering the Spiritual Wisdom of Trees by Beth Norcross and Leah Rampy - Combining science and spirituality, this book invites us to slow down, pay attention, and learn from the deep wisdom of trees. I learned a lot about trees and appreciated the spiritual metaphors woven throughout the book about light and dark, grief, loss, hope, resilience, gratitude, reciprocity, and more.

• Holy Hurt: Understanding Spiritual Trauma and the Process of Healing by Hillary McBride - I want everyone with a white evangelical background to read this book (though it will resonate with others, as well). Insightful, accessible, and powerful, this combines research and personal stories. I appreciate how McBride situates trauma in the larger context of the systems in which it occurs.

• Letting Go, Finding You: Uncover Your Truest Self through the Enneagram and Contemplation by Hunter Mobley - This book is a wise, warm invitation to notice and experience how the Enneagram and contemplation can help us return to our true selves. In 2019, I had the pleasure of learning from Hunter in a contemplative Enneagram cohort and appreciate his clear, accessible teaching.

• Above Ground: Poems by Clint Smith - Clint Smith weaves magic with his words.

• Eleanor and Park by Rainbow Rowell - I haven’t known what to do with myself since I finished this young adult novel. I couldn’t put it down and was thrilled to see that the author has written a screenplay. Hopefully, a movie will be forthcoming! Set in 1986, this is the story of two misfit 16 year olds who fall in love as they grapple with their own identities, finding belonging, and family dynamics. (CW: domestic violence) Rowell captures first love so spectacularly and uniquely. This story is funny yet serious, dreamy yet gritty, and unique yet relatable.

  

I post book reviews over on Goodreads and Instagram and would love to connect with you in those places if we haven’t already!

If any of this resonates or if you have a book recommendation, please share!

Leave a comment

Spiritual Direction

*"How is it with your soul?” If you would like a compassionate, non-judgmental space to explore this question, I am accepting new directees for spiritual direction! This work is one of my greatest joys, and I would be honored to companion you on your spiritual journey. For more information about spiritual direction and/or to schedule a free introductory Zoom call, click here or email me.

Blessing

May you be surrounded by a community of people who are learning how to alternate being the ducks on guard and the mallard in the middle.

Be well, friends.