Lauren Gabrielle Foster is a newly ordained OneSpirit Interfaith Minister who has spent the last few years travelling the world with a 36 litre backpack and very few fixed plans. Below, she reflects on a question she’s been living with for years: what is spirituality, really, once you strip away the robes, the rituals and the rules?

If you’re a OneSpirit minister or student and would like to contribute a guest piece of your own, simply send us a message. We’d love to hear from you!

What is Spirituality?

During my meditation teacher training, I was always falling asleep during meditation and feeling ashamed about my lack of discipline and focus. I got better at it and learned to really enjoy this time in silence, feeling my body sway to a rhythm that came from… I knew not where.

But one day, I was sitting in a meditation class, mind drifting as the teacher droned on and on about the Bhagavad Gita, maybe, or some other ancient text. It felt like church. Sitting on the floor cross-legged instead of in a pew, the teachings of Krishna instead of Jesus, but still, a man, putting me to sleep, interpreting the text for me.

“Is this spirituality?” I thought.

I’ve thought this many times over the years. When I was high, nauseous, and trapped by fear in an Ayahuasca ceremony, or sweating to death in a Temazcal lodge. I was really willing to receive magical messages, but mostly just suffering.

I paid to see cathedrals and to give rice to monks in an alms ceremony. Spirituality as tourism?

Some ideas were forming about what spirituality is not.

It’s not about a specific religion or organization, following someone else’s rules, or being seen as “good.”

I don’t have to wear my hair a certain way or cover it up to be spiritual. No outside authority can tell me what to wear, who to love, or how to be.

It’s not about judgment, reward, or punishment.

The closest I’ve come to an answer so far is this.

I feel intimately connected to spirit, a part of all that is. With a brilliant mind, miraculous body, and free will to craft a beautiful, joyful life.

Spirituality is between me and me. Me and the god-force within and all around. Me and my highest self. This magical force can be called Source, Spirit, Creator, God, The Universe; the name doesn’t matter. It’s the force that beats my heart, the energy and love that exist in every atom of the universe.

I’ve recently been ordained as a OneSpirit Interfaith Minister. This may seem to mean that I now have access to spirit that others don’t. It doesn’t. I’ve been handed this title and granted authority that would seem to put me up there in the pulpit, telling people how to interpret things. I won’t.

If I’ve learned anything from my travels around the world in the last few years, it’s this. Wisdom from outside will always land sideways. If it feels directive or controlling, I rebel. If the teacher is performative and grandstanding, I run.

Being told what to believe and how to see things always backfires. I wonder how much great information I’ve refused because it was delivered as fact from outside, instead of discovered as truth from inside.

So I’m being me. An ordinary, 60-something woman, living a free, spiritually attuned, unconventional life. I want to write words that remind you of this. The authority was yours all along. That’s ministry. To serve.

One day, exploring ruins in Ollantaytambo, in the Sacred Valley of Peru, I heard a voice that said, “Rest here. Be still, listen and feel.” I knew that voice!

I heard another voice that said, “Why haven’t you climbed all the pyramids?” I knew that voice too.

And I love that I get to choose which to listen to.

Spirituality exists in every moment. It’s not something that happens twice a day when you meditate or once a week when you go to church. For me, there is no place that Spirit is not.

Sacred texts, tarot and oracle cards, astrology, crystal gazing, and other mystic paths are wonderful, but they are not the magic. They are the tools that help you focus and find the magic within you.

I love creating rituals.

Not because they are required to pay homage to a deity or faith, but because they help me to be present, engaged, and in love with the moment. Whether it is creating a special altar for my ordination ceremony or cleaning the house. Everything is spiritual; you get to make sacred anything you want.

I’ll keep exploring profound ceremonies: living in the question, “What is spirituality?”

With love from wherever I am,
Lauren

You do not have to be religious to feel it. You only have to be paying attention.

At OneSpirit, we spend a lot of time with people who are paying attention: to the seasons, to the sacred in ordinary things, to the traditions that have tried, for thousands of years, to put words to exactly this feeling.

So this summer, rather than simply naming that connection between spirituality and nature, we wanted to sit with a handful of the traditions that have shaped it, and ask what each one might actually be teaching us.

Dr Jane Goodall once said, “you cannot get through a single day without having an impact on the world around you.” It is a simple line, but it is where most of these traditions begin.

Start with the ground itself

Long before any of the world’s major religions were written down, Indigenous traditions across the globe were already describing the earth as a living relative rather than a resource. Not a backdrop to human life, but a member of the family, owed the same care you would owe an elder. Ceremony, storytelling and daily practice all exist to keep that relationship honest. It is a strikingly practical idea once you sit with it: you do not extract from someone you consider kin.

Shamanic traditions, found in cultures on nearly every continent, take a related but distinct view: that everything, plant, animal, river, stone, carries something of spirit within it. The shaman’s role is to move between the visible world and that deeper one, restoring balance when it has been lost. It is less a belief in magic than a discipline of attention: treat nothing as inert, because nothing is.

Duty, not sentiment

Hinduism frames the natural world less as something to feel moved by and more as something you owe a duty to. Its sacred texts place deities directly in rivers, forests and mountains, and the principle of dharma extends that reverence into obligation: care for the earth is not optional, it is part of what you are here to do. Ahimsa, non-harming, widens that circle of care to every living being.

Buddhism arrives at something similar from a different direction. Its teaching on interdependence holds that nothing exists in isolation, which means every action ripples outward, including the ones we take against the earth. Karma, in this reading, is less a cosmic ledger and more a plain statement of cause and effect. Live simply, consume with awareness, and you are already practising the teaching.

Stewardship across the Abrahamic traditions

Christianity, Islam and Judaism each frame the relationship slightly differently, but the underlying instruction rhymes. Christian teaching describes the earth as a sacred trust, entrusted to humanity to protect rather than to own. In Islam, humans are khalifa, stewards, and the Qur’an warns explicitly against israf, wastefulness, treating excess itself as a kind of spiritual failure. In Judaism, the more recent, modern reading of tikkun olam, repairing the world, has extended a much older tradition of ethical responsibility to include the natural world too, alongside its long-standing teachings on sustainable agriculture and the ethical treatment of animals.

Three traditions, three names for a similar responsibility: you were given something you did not make, and you are answerable for how you leave it.

The divine, close at hand

Sikhism describes the divine as present within all beings, which makes reverence for nature not a separate practice but simply an extension of recognising the divine anywhere at all. Guru Nanak’s teachings return again and again to this closeness, treating the natural world as something to live alongside rather than above.

Shinto, native to Japan, holds that kami, sacred spirits, inhabit mountains, rivers and forests directly, which is why purification and conservation sit so close together in Shinto practice.

Paganism, in its many forms, organises its entire ritual calendar around the turning of the seasons, treating the cycle itself as sacred text. Nothing needs to be argued for. You only have to notice that autumn follows summer, and build a practice around paying attention to that.

Harmony without needing the supernatural

Confucianism does not ask you to believe in anything beyond what you can observe, and still arrives at a similar place. The virtue of ren, benevolence, extends outward from family to community to the natural world itself, treating harmony between people and their environment as a mark of a well-ordered life rather than a spiritual obligation.

The Bahá’í Faith holds a related thread from a more explicitly unifying angle: that humanity is one family, and that nature reflects that same interconnectedness. Its teachings encourage moderation and a lighter ecological footprint as a natural consequence of taking that unity seriously.

And Humanism, without appeal to the divine at all, arrives at the same conclusion by way of reason and shared consequence. If this is the only world we have, and we share it, then looking after it is simply what a responsible life requires.

What strikes us, laying these traditions alongside each other, is not how differently they answer the question, but how insistently they all ask it. Wherever you look, across continents and centuries, and whether or not the supernatural is involved at all, people keep arriving at the same conclusion: that we are not separate from the natural world, and that this closeness comes with a responsibility we cannot opt out of.

Sir David Attenborough put it more simply than any of us could: “the whole of life is coming to terms with yourself and the natural world.”

Where this leaves us

We do not think you need to belong to any one of these traditions to feel their pull this time of year. That is rather the point of interfaith work: not to flatten these teachings into one another, but to notice what they share, and let that shared ground become somewhere we can all stand.

As the season turns, what is nature asking of you this year?

Sources & References:

• Abram, David. The Spell of the Sensuous: Perception and Language in a More-Than-Human World.

• Chapple, Christopher Key. Hinduism and Ecology: The Intersection of Earth, Sky, and Water.

• Dalai Lama. Beyond Religion: Ethics for a Whole World.

• Foltz, Richard C. Islam and Ecology: A Bestowed Trust.

• Heschel, Abraham Joshua. The Sabbath: Its Meaning for Modern Man.

• Kasulis, Thomas P. Shinto: The Way Home.

• Pope Francis. Laudato Si’: On Care for Our Common Home.

• Starhawk. The Earth Path: Grounding Your Spirit in the Rhythms of Nature.

• Tu, Weiming. Confucianism and Ecology: The Interrelation of Heaven, Earth, and Humans.

So we wanted to bring it home, into this space, where our community actually lives now.

Jude writes about prayer in a way that opens the door wider than most of us were taught it could go. Whether you grew up with a tradition, left one, or never had one at all, there’s something here for you. Gratitude, hope, compassion, contemplation: each one, she suggests, is already a form of prayer, whether we’ve named it that way or not.

Even if you are not religious — have you been praying all along? Rev. Jude Mills takes us through different forms of prayer, who and what it can be for, and her own journey through the experience…

“If the only prayer you ever say in your whole life is ‘thank you’ that would suffice.” – Meister Eckhart

I used to have an uneasy relationship with prayer. My introduction to any notion of what a prayer is, was at primary school when each morning we were required to stand and recite the Lord’s prayer (forgive us our debts — in the Scottish Presbyterian tradition). Little children learn verses easily and they fell off my tongue without much real understanding of the words and their meaning. This was what prayer meant to me for quite some time. Words that you are required to say. Words whose meaning and beauty have only relatively recently become apparent to me.

Prayer as other people’s words, and prayer as religious — and specifically Christian — people’s words, was pretty much my relationship to prayer for a long time. It didn’t occur to me that I could pray, even that I had a right to pray. when I didn’t belong to any organised religion. What would I say and — more importantly — what, or who would I be saying it to?

As my spiritual path has developed I have come to understand something very different about the nature of prayer. To begin with, this was a very private and internal form of prayer that evolved out of my meditation practice. I thank those teachers who let me in on the secret that sitting quietly in meditation or contemplation can indeed be a form of prayer. It was a beautiful revelation to realise that saying something (to God) is not necessary — unless that is what you feel called to do.

Being in stillness and silence and allowing myself to listen to whatever stirrings might be moving in, or with or through me has become my core practice, one that is a profound and moving — and legitimate — way to encounter God.

The out-loud prayers came later for me. For a long time my only encounter with spoken prayer were the kind that you hear in churches. Prayers of confession, of absolution, of intercession, of blessing. Prayers that are often spoken by someone else — a minister, priest or intercessor — on our behalf, to which we all say ‘Amen.’ Even though I didn’t grow up as a Christian, my view of prayer was very much from a Western Christian perspective, and this is true for many of us. Being introduced to Muslim, Hindu, Sikh, Buddhist and other, more expressive Christian ways of praying has transformed my understanding of what prayer is, of what a prayer can be, and of how to pray.

What is Prayer For? (or, what is the point?)

It’s a good question, especially if you aren’t religious. My view is that anybody can pray. Perhaps the biggest and best lesson I have learned about prayer that it isn’t about getting what I want. It isn’t a shopping list. Neither is it about appeasing any kind of God who needs his ego stroked. Prayer is an expression of the heart… something that I realised I was doing all along without knowing that it was prayer.

Gratitude is a Form of Prayer

Showing gratitude for the earth, creation, food, relationships, and all the large and tiny blessings of life is right at the heart of prayer in most traditions.

Gratitude is also a powerful practice that is shown (scientifically) to be a good thing for our wellbeing. In traditional settings, this might be a prayer of thanksgiving or praise, but it can be a more everyday gesture.

It can be as simple as pausing before taking a sip of coffee to acknowledge how good it smells. For me, this tiny prayer of grace is a quiet and personal acknowledgment that there is more to coffee than its simple caffeine hit. The coffee grew, people picked it and shipped it and roasted it and ground it and packaged it and brewed it before it got into my cup. And then there are all the factors of economics, and sustainability and ethical trading to consider. All in that tiny moment before the coffee passes over my lips. A prayer indeed.

Hope is a Form of Prayer

We all express hope. Hope of a brighter future, hope for a good outcome, hope that something will change, hope for better health, and sometimes even hope for a peaceful death. Hope is an essential and innate part of human expression and survival.

In traditional settings, this might be a form of intercessory prayer — the kind where we ask for something from God. In more secular terms, if can imagine things being different or better, then I can contribute to the processes that will allow that to happen. Hope — even if it seems futile to outside eyes — is what allows me to carry on, to move through what is difficult and painful, to have a future.

My prayers of hope come in many forms but writing is probably the way in which I express hope most viscerally. I may not overtly write about hope (although I am conscious of doing it here) but in taking my words onto the page or into my blog I am committing an act of creative hope that there is a reason of writing, and a future that I am writing into. This is why creativity, in all of its forms, is so good for our mental wellbeing. We are committing acts of creation that some (like me) might see as acts of co-creation with God.

Creativity is the essence of the daily act of prayer that is hope.

Compassion is a Form of Prayer

Compassion and kindness are key teachings in most religious traditions. In traditional settings, this includes prayers for others — for healing, for peace, for an end to suffering, and prayers for those who are dying.

I have learned most from the practices of Buddhism about the cultivation of compassion and loving-kindness. It is a practice that essentially involves compassion for oneself as well as for others. I have also learned over time, that this is key to the avoidance of burnout or ‘compassion fatigue.’ For me, the practice of compassion is a form of conscious and active prayerfulness, that sometimes I have to work really hard at. This is why it is a practice.

Compassion can be in the ‘obvious’ settings where compassion is seen as a requirement. As a hospital chaplain, my job is compassion. To be a compassionate presence for people who are sick and dying, and their families. In many ways, compassion is easy to practice in such as setting, where there are boundaries, and a job description. But when I remember to pause and breathe before getting annoyed at my partner for some minor — and ultimately unimportant — annoyance, I am practising compassion. When I remember to be gentle with myself over my innate clumsiness, I am practising compassion.

These tiny domestic remembrances are a daily form of prayer.

Contemplation is a Form of Prayer

Meditation was my opening into prayer. Meditation isn’t necessarily prayer, but prayer can certainly be found in meditation. In the tradition of contemplative prayer, there is less focus on prayer as an outward act and more of a focus on finding stillness and silence. In traditional settings, this is more like the kind of prayer people do on their own, and that those in monastic orders do all the time.

In the silence, I am more likely to hear the voice of God, which is not really a voice at all, but more of a stirring. I find my deepest kind of stillness and connection in this type of prayer. When I allow my body, my mind, my thoughts to be quiet, then I can truly listen. I can also attend to my breathing. The simple in and out of the breath in the stillness of meditation is the most delicious prayer of aliveness that I can imagine.

“We should seek not so much to pray but to become prayer.”― St. Francis of Assisi

I don’t think I need to explain that. You already know. I’m sure you’re feeling it too, even if not in the same way I am. Today’s climate is so intensely difficult to exist in, and I think a lot of us are carrying more than we let on.

Families are being torn apart. Prices keep rising. People are scared, struggling, and for many, simply getting through the day takes everything they have.

And in the middle of all of that, it can be tempting to turn inward. To close the curtains, scroll past the headlines, and just try to survive. I’ve done it. I think most of us have, and sometimes that’s okay. Sometimes stepping back is how you protect your mental health, how you rest, how you come back steadier and more present than you were before.

But you can’t stay absent. Not when your neighbors need you.

Which is why I keep coming back to this question:

what does it mean to be a good neighbor?

Not in the grand, save-the-world sense, though I genuinely believe kindness can do that too. But in the small, ordinary, sometimes uncomfortable sense of showing up for the person right next to you.

In so many spiritual traditions, the answer is consistent. Care for the person in front of you. Not in theory. Not when it’s convenient. Now. Today. Everyday.

Dr. Jane Goodall said it simply and well:

“You cannot get through a single day without having an impact on the world around you. What you do makes a difference, and you have to decide what kind of difference you want to make.”

I think about that a lot. Because it’s true, isn’t it? Every single day, our actions are making an impact. Making a statement even. The question is just what kind.

It doesn’t have to be extraordinary. It rarely is. It might be something like…

• Waiting an extra thirty seconds to hold the door open for the stranger coming behind you.

• Saying good morning and meaning it.

• Noticing that the woman at the checkout looks exhausted and giving her proper attention, proper eye contact.

• Checking in on a friend you’ve been meaning to call for months.

• Letting someone merge in traffic without making it a whole thing.

• Listening, really listening, when someone tells you they’re not okay.

• Telling someone you’re proud of them.

• Acknowledging when someone has had a bad day, or has gone through something challenging.

• Sharing that funny meme that made you laugh, because you know that they need it too.

These aren’t small acts because the world is fine and we’re just being polite. They’re small acts in a world that is struggling, which makes them matter more. Kindness doesn’t require a crisis to be meaningful, but in the middle of one, it can feel like oxygen.

I’m not writing this from a place of having it all figured out. I’m writing it as someone who is also trying. Someone who has snapped when she should have softened, who has looked away when she should have looked up, who has let business become an excuse more times than she’d like to admit. I’m learning, slowly, that showing up with warmth is a practice, not a personality trait. You choose it again and again, imperfectly, and that’s enough.

There’s a teaching that most of us have heard at some point: love your neighbor as yourself.

It's one of those teachings that crosses traditions, cultures, and centuries, because of the power it holds. It’s simple to say. But it can be genuinely hard to do. Because it assumes you love yourself, too. And some days, that’s the harder work.

But even on those days, you can still hold the door. You can still say hello. You can still choose, in whatever small way is available to you, to add something good to the world rather than take something away from it.

The world doesn’t need us to be perfect. It needs us to be present. To be kind in the ways that are available to us, today, with whatever we’ve got. To notice the people around us and treat them like they matter, because they do.

They ALL do.

So… what does that mean exactly?

Go out there. Exist in the world. Don’t bury your head in the sand when people need you. Do good. Be kind. Be brave.

Not because it’s easy. But because it matters, and somewhere inside, you already know that.

It’s been a while since I’ve shown up here. I’ve opened this space a few times and just stared at the screen, not really knowing where to begin. The truth is, I’ve been moving through grief, and it’s taken most of my energy.

Grief has a way of rearranging everything. The days feel slower. The world feels heavier. Even small things, sending an email, writing a sentence, cooking dinner, remembering to drink water, can take more effort than they used to.

It’s strange how quiet life can get when you’re grieving. People still move around you, work continues, the seasons change, but inside there’s this stillness. A part of you that can’t quite keep up.

I used to think grief was about sadness, but since losing the most important person to me, I’ve learned hard it’s really about an abundance of love that has nowhere to go. It’s missing someone or something so deeply that it changes how you see the world. It reminds you of how much you’ve cared, how much you’ve lost, and how much still lives inside you.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve tried to let myself rest inside that space instead of rushing out of it. Some days, it’s meant doing nothing at all. Other days, it’s meant lighting a candle, going for a slow walk, or sitting quietly with music that feels safe.

I don’t have tidy reflections or lessons to share, only the reminder that it’s okay to take time. It’s okay to disappear for a bit when you need to.

Being here again feels a little like breathing fresh air after holding it in for too long. I’m still figuring things out, still carrying what I’ve lost, but I wanted to show up anyway. To say hello. To say I’m still here.

If you’re grieving too, for any reason, I hope you know you don’t have to move through it quickly. You don’t have to be strong all the time. You just have to keep showing up in small ways, even if all you can manage is a breath.

And if, like me, you’ve had to return to work before your heart felt ready, I hope you can find small ways to make space for yourself there too. Sometimes work can feel like an interruption to grief, but other times it becomes a quiet companion, something steady to lean on. You might notice moments of stillness between tasks, or catch yourself finding comfort in small routines. Let those moments hold you. Let the ordinary things become gentle reminders that you’re still here, still moving, even while carrying something tender.

I’ve missed being here. Thank you for waiting.

Kailee Smart | Communications & Marketing Manager | Global Studies Graduate | Advocate for Inclusive Storytelling

Kailee Smart (she/her) is a communications professional with a passion for creating inclusive, human-centred storytelling that sparks connection and inspires action.

Her lifelong fascination with diverse cultures has taken her around the globe, both as traveller and educator. Kailee earned her Bachelor’s degree in Global Studies with minors in History and Women and Gender Studies from Arizona State University, completing her studies online while exploring the world. She later completed a Postgraduate Diploma in History in Scotland, focusing on the religious, cultural, and gender dynamics of the Middle Ages.

Kailee’s career has included teaching English to children in Italy and China, serving as an Inclusion Programme Coordinator in Washington D.C., and advocating for youth engagement, disability rights, Indigenous rights, and gender equality. Today, she brings that same dedication to her role as Communications & Marketing Manager, where she believes that inclusive communication has the power to build bridges and create lasting impact.

Her work is rooted in curiosity, compassion, and a commitment to justice. She sees communications as more than information-sharing, as an invitation into meaningful dialogue and collective growth.

Outside of work, Kailee loves reading, rewatching Indiana Jones films, turning up the music a little too loud, and experimenting with vegan recipes. A solo traveller at heart, she thrives on meeting new people and experiencing the world’s rich cultural diversity.

For some it is a direct conversation with God, Spirit, the Divine, or their ancestors.

For others it is a chant, a mantra, a meditation, or a simple moment of silence to connect with nature, community, or their own inner wisdom. It might be gratitude, a deep breath, a song, or a shared ritual.

Even if you do not follow a particular faith, the essence of prayer can be found in any act that turns your attention inward or outward, seeking connection, comfort, or clarity.

A Personal Practice

At OneSpirit, we understand prayer as deeply personal.

It can be words spoken aloud, a silent thought, a song, a candle lit in memory, or a solitary walk. In some traditions it follows a set text, chant, or mantra. In others it is entirely spontaneous.

Across cultures and throughout history, prayer, meditation, and reflection have offered ways to honour joy, share grief, ask for guidance, connect with the Earth, or simply sit with the mystery of life.

Prayer Beyond Religion

You do not need to believe in a deity or subscribe to a religion to experience something of the power of prayer, or to create a practice that feels right for you.

You might think of it as focusing your attention or intention:

• Naming what you are grateful for

• Acknowledging what is troubling you

• Holding someone you love in your thoughts

• Honouring your ancestors or lineage

• Reflecting on where you are in your life

• Sending compassion to the Earth or to those in need

These simple moments can be as meaningful as any formal ritual.

Ways to Connect or Pause

Prayer and reflection do not need to follow a formula. You might try:

• Sitting quietly and focusing on your breath

• Writing a few lines in a journal to name your hopes or concerns

• Lighting a candle for someone you care about

• Walking in nature while reflecting on something meaningful

• Speaking words of gratitude before a meal

• Chanting, humming, or listening to music that uplifts or soothes you

Each of these can become a way of listening, asking, giving thanks, or simply being present.

The Benefits

Psychologists have found that practices of prayer, meditation, and reflection can reduce stress, promote emotional regulation, and increase our sense of connection to others.

Spiritually and personally, many people speak of finding peace, insight, or renewed purpose. Even when prayer does not change our circumstances, it often transforms how we meet them.

From Our Community

One of our graduates, Sam, shared how she discovered prayer during her training:

“I have become more aware of myself in different ways. I am seeing the importance of daily practices and prayer. My self-worth has increased. My understanding of the divine has shifted from being all light to incorporating the dark moments too.

I have more in my toolkit for dealing with adversity. There is more compassion for self and others. I realised how my neurodiversity and past wounds drive some of my responses to the world and others.”

— Sam, 2024 Graduate

A Gentle Invitation

Prayer invites us to step out of the rush of daily life and into a space where we can listen, ask, and receive.

If you have never prayed, or if you let go of the practice long ago, you might try approaching it in a way that feels natural for you.

There is no right way, and you do not need to pray to a particular being, force, or power.

Write a few lines in a notebook.
Light a candle for someone you care about.
Take a quiet moment before bed to hold your hopes for tomorrow.
Offer a blessing to the land you live on or the people you love.
Or simply sit in stillness and breathe.

Prayer can be whatever helps you feel connected, to yourself, to others, to the Earth, or to something greater.

And it is not always about getting answers.

Sometimes it is about remembering to ask.

Kailee Smart | Communications & Marketing Manager | Global Studies Graduate | Advocate for Inclusive Storytelling

Kailee Smart (she/her) is a communications professional with a passion for creating inclusive, human-centred storytelling that sparks connection and inspires action.

Her lifelong fascination with diverse cultures has taken her around the globe, both as traveller and educator. Kailee earned her Bachelor’s degree in Global Studies with minors in History and Women and Gender Studies from Arizona State University, completing her studies online while exploring the world. She later completed a Postgraduate Diploma in History in Scotland, focusing on the religious, cultural, and gender dynamics of the Middle Ages.

Kailee’s career has included teaching English to children in Italy and China, serving as an Inclusion Programme Coordinator in Washington D.C., and advocating for youth engagement, disability rights, Indigenous rights, and gender equality. Today, she brings that same dedication to her role as Communications & Marketing Manager, where she believes that inclusive communication has the power to build bridges and create lasting impact.

Her work is rooted in curiosity, compassion, and a commitment to justice. She sees communications as more than information-sharing, as an invitation into meaningful dialogue and collective growth.

Outside of work, Kailee loves reading, rewatching Indiana Jones films, turning up the music a little too loud, and experimenting with vegan recipes. A solo traveller at heart, she thrives on meeting new people and experiencing the world’s rich cultural diversity.

Let's lean in.

I'm Reverend Monica Douglas, part of the faculty team here at OneSpirit, and it's my honour and deep joy to be offering this address on OneSpirit's training purpose and the journey that has brought these ordinands to this place.

This moment marks the culmination of a profound journey, a journey of formation, transformation, and awakening through OneSpirit Interfaith Foundation’s ministry and spiritual development training, a path that each of our ordinands has courageously walked, bringing them and us to this sacred threshold.

I want to begin by honouring all who have walked this path before every OneSpirit minister, from the very first cohorts held by our founder, Miranda Macpherson, to those newly ordained within the last week, and those that are coming.

Particularly today, I want to honour and give thanks for Nicola Coombe, who committed deeply to OneSpirit's mission from the early days, and, as Annie said, she's no longer with us in body, but she remains deeply in our hearts and in spirit. And at last year's ordination, she delivered an address just like this one, her final OneSpirit faculty address as a radiant example of a fully embodied minister and spiritual teacher.

So, thank you, Nick. Your work will continue to be carried forward by all who've been touched by your ministry.

This work, this calling, this ministry, is not static. It continues to evolve with each one of us who says yes to it. So what is it to minister in this new era?

To minister is to tend, to care, to listen, to witness.

To minister is to offer presence to ourselves, to those we love, and to a world that is crying out for connection and healing.

It is to sit in stillness and solidarity, and to create space for what is sacred and true.

To walk with others in the fire and the grace of life.

In the OneSpirit tradition we take two years to prepare ourselves to serve, to serve in a world that can be seen as unsafe. We hold people and prepare people to be in this world, this world of both sweetness and sorrow.

Our work is not to escape this reality, but to move through it consciously, and to walk the uncharted terrain of our lives with courage, humility, and faith.

Faith, not as blind belief, but as trust, faith in action, even when we do not have all of the answers.

In fact, especially then.

We're supported by those who have walked before us, our mentors, our companions, our teachers, our ancestors, those in body, those in spirit. They are our torchbearers, illuminating the way.

And yet there are times when we feel like we're walking alone. We are never alone.

This is our ministry to remember that.

OneSpirit offers us the opportunity to become ministers for our time. For this time it is a radical act to meet each other fully in our humanity, to embrace our diversity while recognising our unity, to listen deeply and to act from love, bringing compassion, clarity, into the complexity of modern life.

This Aspen Class of 2025 alongside our dear companions from the Sylvan Class of 2025 have answered this call.

It has required courage, courage to face what has been unspoken, to explore the meaning of spiritual practice beyond inherited dogma, and to let ourselves be reshaped, reformed by love.

One of my mentors, Sobonfu Somé, once said, "Rituals are to our souls as food is to our bodies."

Through the rituals that make up the ceremonies that we hold, through the rituals of our spiritual accompaniment and counselling of being with others. In their most tender moments we offer nourishment to the world, we offer presence, we offer love. Each of us in this room will offer our ministry in a unique way.

This is the beauty of OneSpirit, there's no single mould we must fit into, but there is a foundation, a foundation of ethics, of respect and reverence for the sacredness of all beings.

Watch Reverend Monica’s complete video here.

Reverend Monica Douglas | OneSpirit Minister & Tutor | Spiritual Companion | Founder of The Wild Wisdom Oracle

Monica Douglas is a OneSpirit Minister, Spiritual Companion, experienced tutor and founder of The Wild Wisdom Oracle. She brings over 25 years of embodied spiritual practice, healing work and facilitation to her ministry.

With a heart-rooted presence and a deep respect for the sacred in all traditions, Monica supports people to connect with their Divine Beloved, in whatever form that takes, and to live from that connection in everyday life. Her work is dedicated to helping others allow themselves to be loved and to become love in action in the world.

As a OneSpirit tutor, Monica creates spacious, compassionate learning environments where participants can explore their callings, deepen their spiritual authority and be held in the beauty of shared inquiry. Her facilitation is grounded in presence, ritual and relational wisdom, drawing from her own interspiritual path and African Caribbean heritage.Monica’s wider ministry includes spiritual counselling, relationship coaching, grief and end-of-life work, and creating sacred spaces both online and in person where people can be witnessed, held and renewed.

She brings a sense of reverence, humility and joy to her ministry, believing that spiritual companionship and deep listening are essential tools for healing and collective transformation.

I am sitting in one of my favourite “sit spots,” a rock at the edge of the beach by my house that I call The Bay of Prayers. The sunlight is like tinsel on the sea and I’m enjoying the kiss of that same sunlight on my skin. One of the local ravens is cronking noisily nearby as I reflect on the journey of the last 2 years training as an Interfaith minister. This bay has held me and witnessed much of that journey — on the rocks over there I held my baby naming ceremony, on the beach itself I crafted my midway ceremony (witnessed by a raven, maybe the same one serenading me now). Many prayers have been offered to the winds and the mountains over the loch have watched my meditations.

I love this place — it has become such an important part of my life and my spirituality. I know it well and it feels like it knows me. It is a sacred place, a thin place soaked in my prayers (and maybe the prayers of others) and I hold it in deep reverence.

And as I sit here feeling the building excitement, the energy of mounting anticipation of approaching ordination, I’m pondering what it all means, and I know I’m not alone in these thoughts. Particularly I’m contemplating the term “Reverend” and what that means for me and my life.

Although the term reverend is commonly used as a title for a member of the clergy, I have come to think of it as meaning one who is dedicated to — vowed to — a life of reverence.

But what does that actually mean — a life of reverence? I recently felt Spirit ask me what it would look like if my whole life was lived as an act of reverence and devotion, and this challenge has fuelled a lot of contemplation.

The definition of reverence is a feeling or attitude of respect or admiration (Cambridge Dictionary), and etymologically, comes from the Latin revereri — to stand in awe or respect, honour — which comes from the Proto-Indo-European (PIE) root wer, meaning perceive/watch out for.

I love that this definition doesn’t feel stuffy, dogmatic or overly religious. (As John O’Donohue says, “Reverence is not the stiff pious posture which remains frozen and lacks humour and play.”) It feels down to earth, achievable, realistic. And whilst I definitely experience feelings of awe looking at the aurora borealis or an otter playing with her cubs, whilst encountering a sense of the Divine in meditation or listening to some sublime music, these moments are peak experiences — punctuation points in my spiritual path and daily life — the 5%. What about the rest of life — the other 95%? How does reverence weave its way through that? This question has occupied my thoughts and musings for some time.

And, as I often do, I turn to the poetry of my beloved Mary Oliver. Whilst she never (to my knowledge) used the word “reverence,” her writings are saturated with a deep reverence for the natural world and for the ordinariness of everyday life. In my opinion, she was a nature mystic.

It is interesting that the PIE root for the etymology of reverence, wer, means perceive/watch out for, and Mary Oliver says: “Attention is the beginning of devotion.”

Perception/watching out for/attention is the starting point of devotion, and devotion is intimately linked to reverence (and vow-taking), so maybe reverence is all about paying attention.

And that leads me to ponder my mindfulness training. Jon Kabat-Zinn, one of the pioneers of modern mindfulness, says that mindfulness is “paying attention in a particular way: on purpose, in the present moment, and nonjudgmentally,” and I recently heard someone say that mindfulness is “paying attention to the sacred in the present moment.”

Returning to Mary Oliver:

My work is loving the world.
Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird — equal seekers of sweetness.
Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.
Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.

Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?
Am I no longer young and still not half-perfect? Let me keep my mind on what matters,
which is my work,

which is mostly standing still and learning to be astonished.
The phoebe, the delphinium.
The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture.
Which is mostly rejoicing, since all ingredients are here,

Which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart and these body-clothes,
a mouth with which to give shouts of joy
to the moth and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam,
telling them all, over and over, how it is that we live forever.

Maybe this poem is a manifesto for everyday reverence — noticing, loving, being astonished, rejoicing, gratitude — all woven through the ordinary things of daily life.

Zen master Dogen said: “Enlightenment is intimacy with all things.” And whilst I make no claims to enlightenment, intimacy with all things sounds like reverence, and certainly sounds like something Mary O could get on board with.

It reminds me of a lunchtime some years ago when I sat eating a banana mindfully, carefully unpeeling it and enjoying the sensations, the aroma, the taste — and a voice in my head said, “It’s like you’re making love to that banana!” Yes — absolutely! What if my life was lived in such intimacy?

If I truly believe (as I do) that all things are sacred and imbued with the mystery of divine essence, then reverence is due to all of life — not just those peak moments of transcendent beauty and awe. John O’Donohue again: “Ultimately, reverence is respect before mystery.”

Mary O herself reminds us in her poem Mindful that the things that “kill (her) with delight” are not “the exceptional, the fearful, the dreadful, the very extravagant — but … the ordinary, the common, the very drab, the daily presentations.” And I love that one of her biggest challenges to me (us) — “Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” — is uttered as she lies in a field watching a grasshopper eat sugar.

So in closing: what would my life look like if I lived a life of paying intimate attention to the wonders and mystery of my everyday life? What if I lived as a love song to the universe?

As I listen to the waves lapping the shore and the gravelly call of my raven friend and watch the sunlight pierce through the nearby clouds — here I make my vow to live reverently and to love this world.

– Written by OneSpirit Student, Andrew Jones.

Andrew Jones: Andrew lives on the ruggedly beautiful, northwest coast of Scotland with his partner Rich and their crazy cocker spaniel, Jynx. Together they run a coffee shop on the Isle of Skye. Andrew has had a varied career path encompassing training as a vet, a Biology teacher, a mindfulness teacher and now a minister! He is a lover of nature, poetry, beauty and finding The Sacred in all things. His soul heroes include Mary Oliver, Hafez, Mirabai Starr and that singing raven. You can find him on instagram here: @joneswildsoul.

But what if wisdom isn’t always found in movement? What if it lives in the moment in between?

“Pausing” can feel unfamiliar or even disruptive.

But I’ve been learning, slowly, that it’s not only okay to pause, it’s necessary. I often turn to the wisdom of Indigenous elders and guides, who remind us to slow down and listen. There is a teaching that says, “Don’t just do something, sit there.” It’s a gentle reversal of what we’ve been taught, reminding us that stillness is not the absence of action, but a form of it.

This kind of pause isn’t passive. It’s intentional and deeply rooted in awareness. It creates space for clarity to emerge, and perhaps most importantly, it safeguards our peace.

Nothing is so urgent that it should come at the cost of your inner steadiness. The world can wait while you come home to yourself.

At OneSpirit, we talk often about deep listening. Not just listening to others, but to ourselves. To the voice that only becomes clear when the noise quiets. To the heart, which never hurries. To spirit, which doesn’t work on demand.

Slowing down is not laziness. It’s courage. It’s a way of saying, “I don’t need to have all the answers right now.” It’s breathing space. It’s making room for the unknown.

“Everything in nature invites us constantly to be what we are.” — Gretel Ehrlich (American nature writer, poet, and essayist)

The pause is where clarity gathers. It’s where the roots deepen, even if nothing looks like it’s growing. It’s where the “not yet” slowly becomes “now.” Whether you’re facing a decision, supporting someone else, or simply trying to get through the day, the invitation is the same: pause.

You don’t have to fill it. Or fix it. Or rush it. Let it open. Let it hold you. Let it speak. Because the pause isn’t empty. It’s alive. And something sacred is always listening.

And if you’re someone who needs permission to slow down, consider this it.

From one imperfect person practicing the pause to another, let’s learn to slow down, together.

Kailee Smart | Communications & Marketing Manager | Global Studies Graduate | Advocate for Inclusive Storytelling

Kailee Smart (she/her) is a communications professional with a passion for creating inclusive, human-centred storytelling that sparks connection and inspires action.

Her lifelong fascination with diverse cultures has taken her around the globe, both as traveller and educator. Kailee earned her Bachelor’s degree in Global Studies with minors in History and Women and Gender Studies from Arizona State University, completing her studies online while exploring the world. She later completed a Postgraduate Diploma in History in Scotland, focusing on the religious, cultural, and gender dynamics of the Middle Ages.

Kailee’s career has included teaching English to children in Italy and China, serving as an Inclusion Programme Coordinator in Washington D.C., and advocating for youth engagement, disability rights, Indigenous rights, and gender equality. Today, she brings that same dedication to her role as Communications & Marketing Manager, where she believes that inclusive communication has the power to build bridges and create lasting impact.

Her work is rooted in curiosity, compassion, and a commitment to justice. She sees communications as more than information-sharing, as an invitation into meaningful dialogue and collective growth.

Outside of work, Kailee loves reading, rewatching Indiana Jones films, turning up the music a little too loud, and experimenting with vegan recipes. A solo traveller at heart, she thrives on meeting new people and experiencing the world’s rich cultural diversity.

There’s a particular stillness that arises in the final weeks before ordination. It’s not silence exactly. It’s more like the hum beneath it, a steady presence, inviting us to listen a little deeper, root a little further, and trust a little more.

At OneSpirit Interfaith Foundation, July is ordination month. In just a few short days, two groups of students, the Sylvan and Aspen classes, will stand before their community, not to receive something, but to affirm something already alive within them. It’s a ritual of profound simplicity and depth. And in the words of the late Nicola Coombe, a special voice for so many of us:

“Ordination is not a conferring of authority from someone else. It is the self-affirmed authority of the Divine Self, the Inner Teacher, the God Within.” — Nicola Coombe, “Ordination, On Whose Authority?”

What does it mean to claim that authority? What does it mean to step forward in front of witnesses, in sacred ceremony, and say: “I will serve”?

This is not a performance. It is not about hierarchy or title or becoming someone else. Ordination, as we hold it at OneSpirit, is about wholeness. It is the moment when what has been studied, struggled with, and softened into, all the inner work, finds its outer expression.

It’s also about relationship. With spirit. With others. With the Earth.

Our students don’t train in isolation. They’re guided through two years of deep listening, honest reflection, rigorous study, and shared learning. They are invited into global spiritual traditions, into ceremony creation, into questions about ethics, ecology, inclusion, and community. They craft vows rooted in their own truth, shaped by the wisdom of those who came before and the needs of those they hope to serve.

And then they step forward. Alone. Silently.

Not to receive ordination from someone else, but to honour their own inner knowing. To stand in sacred commitment. Only then do they return to the embrace of the community, a quiet, radical act that reminds us: spiritual authority can be both personal and shared.

There’s something deeply countercultural about this. In a world that constantly tells us to look outside ourselves for validation, ordination at OneSpirit turns us gently inward. It asks: what do you already know to be true? What is yours to do? And how will you serve from that place?

As Nicola once wrote, “We are never done.” Ordination is not an ending. It is the beginning of a life lived in conscious service, one that evolves, falters, transforms, and deepens over time. And whether someone officiates weddings, sits at hospital bedsides, leads retreats, tends gardens, creates art, or simply listens well... ministry can look like many things. What connects it all is presence. Purpose. Integrity.

So this month, as we celebrate those stepping forward into this sacred threshold, we also honour everyone who is already living their ministry in quiet, faithful ways.

You may not call it ordination. But if you’ve ever felt the stirring to serve, to show up with love and courage in a world that sorely needs both, then this reflection is for you, too.

The invitation remains: trust your inner teacher. Honour what’s rising. Say yes.

Kailee Smart | Communications & Marketing Manager | Global Studies Graduate | Advocate for Inclusive Storytelling

Kailee Smart (she/her) is a communications professional with a passion for creating inclusive, human-centred storytelling that sparks connection and inspires action.

Her lifelong fascination with diverse cultures has taken her around the globe, both as traveller and educator. Kailee earned her Bachelor’s degree in Global Studies with minors in History and Women and Gender Studies from Arizona State University, completing her studies online while exploring the world. She later completed a Postgraduate Diploma in History in Scotland, focusing on the religious, cultural, and gender dynamics of the Middle Ages.

Kailee’s career has included teaching English to children in Italy and China, serving as an Inclusion Programme Coordinator in Washington D.C., and advocating for youth engagement, disability rights, Indigenous rights, and gender equality. Today, she brings that same dedication to her role as Communications & Marketing Manager, where she believes that inclusive communication has the power to build bridges and create lasting impact.

Her work is rooted in curiosity, compassion, and a commitment to justice. She sees communications as more than information-sharing, as an invitation into meaningful dialogue and collective growth.

Outside of work, Kailee loves reading, rewatching Indiana Jones films, turning up the music a little too loud, and experimenting with vegan recipes. A solo traveller at heart, she thrives on meeting new people and experiencing the world’s rich cultural diversity.

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Welcome. We’re so glad you’re here!

This space is a new offering from our hearts to yours. A place for reflection, ritual, and connection. Every few weeks or months (we’re taking it gently), we’ll share stories, poetry, spiritual practices, and moments of insight from across the OneSpirit community, students, ministers, tutors, and friends.

We created this Substack because something felt missing. Not just another newsletter, but a space that breathes. A space that honours depth, stillness, and the kind of sacred pause so many of us long for.

Here, you might find:

• A ceremony to mark a threshold

• A reflection on love or loss

• A recipe that nourishes both soul and soil

• A song, a poem, a prayer

• A simple voice reminding you that you are not alone

We hope this becomes a space you return to with a warm cup of tea and a quiet breath. Not just for updates, but for something more tender. A moment to feel connected. A thread of something meaningful.

Thank you for being with us. Our first issue is on the way.

With warmth,
Your OneSpirit Team

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