Part Two: Practice
In the weeks and years to come, I continued to hold these sacred times of quiet as the most important, non-negotiable moments during my day. I guarded them with the ferocity of a Mama Bear, knowing without them, I was NOT a good human. I mean that in the truest sense of those words: there was no goodness in me without the daily presence of God in my soul; and I was not human without them, more of a zombie or drone going through the motions of life.
A typical morning session with God would vary slightly over months and years, but essentially it was always the same: I would begin with 10-20 minutes of coffee and reading something inspiring: a portion of the Bible, a couple of paragraphs from a deep book of theology or a Christian classic. The key was, I only took a small little section of something and re-read it several times. This was for no holier reason than my overwhelming exhaustion and the time necessary for my coffee to kick in. My reading would be followed by about 10 minutes of trying to think of things I was thankful for, which again, wasn’t my idea but something that was going around in Christian circles because of the book One Thousand Gifts: A Dare to Live Fully Right Where You Are by Ann Voskamp. I never read the book, but the idea sure sounded good.
For the last half hour of my time with God, I would first bring all my concerns and fears and sadnesses to God and picture physically handing them into the arms of Jesus because this was the only way I felt safe. Sometimes this would take quite a while depending on how much drama and heartache had filled my week. But no matter how long it took, I always forced myself to stop at least ten minutes before my children woke up, so I could spend time in the presence of the quiet Holy Fire that both burned away my fear and then filled me up for the day.
This process wasn’t always easy. Sometimes I fell asleep sitting up and got a neck crick. Sometimes my mind wandered to silly things and then I’d look at the clock with huge disappointment when I realized my time had run out. Other times the Holy Fire didn’t seem to come even though I craved it so much. But I kept at it because I couldn’t imagine going back to the old way I had lived life.
About five years into this transformation, I ran into an acquaintance I hadn’t seen for several years and learned she was training to be a spiritual director. She needed “directees” for her practicum experience and asked if I would be interested. While the concept was unfamiliar to me, I went ahead and offered myself as a guinea pig figuring I might learn something new or interesting.
I’m so thankful for this seemingly off-handed decision; it has richly impacted my life in ways I couldn’t have hoped for or imagined.