Jerusalem Jackson Greer's Blog, page 6

Going Micro – How to respond to the pain

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“Spent the evening building deeper relationships with 4 parishioners over bread & salad. When the macro is overwhelming, switch to the micro.”

– Marcus Halley

 

I am just going to be honest

Pretty much since November 8, 2016, the macro reality of what we have done to ourselves as a nation has threatened to consume me. My heart has been broken a hundred thousand times over (at the minimum,) and I find myself feeling as if I am carrying an elephant on my back as I go about my days – hunched over, short on breath, labored movements.

Perhaps the most crushing aspect of this whole debacle – because what else could it be called? – is that my root faith tradition -(white evangelical Christians) –   a tradition that birthed me and nurtured me in the ways of grace and hope and love love love for everyone  –  played a large role in the bold-face, unapologetic glorification of everything I believe Christ came to free us from;

The building of empires, the promotion of hatred, division, and prejudice, a scarcity mentality, manifest destiny, the belief that anything is “ours” to protect, hearts filled with callousness, and pride….

In the months since that day in November when the world turned upside down, things have not gotten better. There has been no collective release of pinched shoulders, no huge sigh of relief that those of us opposed had over-reacted.

Instead things have steadily gotten worse.

The hatred and division continue to grow and spill over into every crevice it can find.

Justification and pride and defensiveness often seem to be ruling the day.

It has gotten so bad that even white pride marches of men with torches and cars being driven into peaceful protesters and the exclusion of capable and sacrificial service persons from their calling, cannot bring about a spirit of humility and repentance from so many who profess to follow Christ.

I keep waiting for the day when the status updates of people I love and respect, but who to my complete mystification helped bring about this free-for-all atmosphere of hatred, bigotry, and pride-before-love, through their vote, read “I am so sorry. I had no idea. What can I do to help?”  But I wait in vain.  They never come.  The defending has mostly stopped, but the ownership, the apologies, they have not materialized.

When did the refusal to observe a posture of humility in admitting a mistake has been made, become a hill half a nation – or even one large section of Christianity – was willing to die on?

I cannot wrap my mind around it.  And yet I MUST continue to look at it, to face it head on, to not look away or hide from it.

I have to stare this ugliness straight in the face or slink back into the shadows, becoming part of the problem. For me, those are the only two options left.

 

And now here is Harvey.

On the very heels of hate and bigotry comes destruction and displacement and helplessness.

Harvey is ravaging the homes and lives of so many. So more many than I can comprehend.

Homes, businesses, lives lost. So much loss. So much devastation.

 

The macro is overwhelming. Despite doing all I can find to do -using my words, my money, my presence, and my prayers to bring about change -on a daily basis, the macro is still so MACRO.

Which is why, as the Vicar from the North said, I need to also go micro.

After all it is on the micro level that healing and wholeness are brought into the world.

It is in the micro that the Holy Spirit works. The micro is where we learn to live and move and have our being in Christ.

In the midst of the micro is where the scales fall from our eyes, and the logs are removed, and the stones are put down.

In the micro is where the spirit of God in me meets the spirit of God in you and all of heaven dances.

 

Now, as my Sweet Man will tell you, we have no more room in our schedule for another thing.

Not. One. More. Thing,

But this is an emergency situation and frankly, in emergency situations schedules and temperance be damned.

Yesterday, the Houston Police department put out a call on Twitter for people with boats. They need boats to use in rescue efforts. Boats to charter down previously calm neighborhoods streets to rescue grandmothers and babies and surly teenagers from their homes. Boats to go places where a boat should never have to go – around a cul-de-sac, through a school parking lot, past a church.

One boat at a time, rescuing one family at a time in the middle of a flood.

It doesn’t get much more micro in the macro than that.

 

As a Christ follower and a practitioner of Benedictine living, I believe the following:

I believe that God has called me to the place where I live and the people I live with and near.

I believe that it is through these relationships – both to the place and the people – that God will bring about wholeness.

And I believe that listening is always the place that the Holy Spirit leads us to begin.

 

And as it turns out, I have a boat.

I also have a table. Or two. Or three.

I have couches, and chairs, and benches.

I have a porch with a swing and two rocking chairs.

I have a working stove and a grill and a microwave.

I also have a strong body.

I have able hands and feet.

I have smiles and laughter and the ability to listen.

I have a warm dry bed and solid working plumbing.

 

Yes, I am busy. Yes, the macro is crushing me and all I want to do is bunker down, hide out until the storm passes and watch British television.

But that won’t heal me. And it sure won’t heal my neighbor.

So, I am going to get off my couch and go work the concession stand at the junior high football games, serving with and serving to my community – a community filled with people who believe and live very differently from me. A community who helped to bring about the very elephant I am carrying on my back.

We are going to open our couches and our table twice a month to an intentional small group.

We are going to open our gardens and our pond and our land to whomever needs a respite, a pumpkin, a free fishing hole, a dry place to land.

We are going to invite others over to break bread and eat salad and make s’mores and we are not worry so much about the dust bunnies.

 

And it is going to be so very, very inconvenient at times.

And I am going to be so very, very tired some days.

(Obviously we will be tired – judging by how many times the disciples had to be woken up, following Jesus is EXHAUSTING work.)

I am going to cry at some point because I have bitten off too much.

And messy. Things are going to be messy.  My house, my heart, our relationships.

 

Because despite a thorough search through the gospels, I cannot find any other solution to healing the macro, other than through nurturing the micro.

It is the way God heals the world. It is how Christ imparts grace. It is how the Holy Spirit empowers the forgotten.

It is the boat in the cul-de-sac-turned river.

 

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Annual Back-2-School Tearjerker, 2017

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Wylie, Kindergarten

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Miles, Mother’s Day Out,

Wylie, First Grade

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Miles, Mother’s Day Out,

Wylie, Second Grade

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Miles, Pre- K

Wylie, 3rd  Grade

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Miles, Kindergarten

Wylie, Fourth Grade

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Miles, First Grade

Wylie, Fifth Grade

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Miles, Second Grade

Wylie, Sixth Grade

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Miles, Third Grade

Wylie, 7th Grade

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Miles, Fourth Grade

Wylie, Eighth Grade

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Miles, Fifth Grade

Wylie, Ninth Grade

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Miles, Sixth Grade

Wylie, Tenth Grade

 

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Miles, Seventh Grade

Wylie, Eleventh Grade

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Miles, Eighth Grade

Wylie, Twelfth Grade

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Momma, Crying all the tears on the other side of the camera

 

It goes fast.

It goes slow.

It’s amazing.

It’s exhausting.

Regardless, you can’t get it back.

Hug those babies and hug them tight.

And take all the pictures.

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Late Blooms, Slow Going

I have this theory. Maybe it is just a theory that applies to my life, because it holds so true for me, but maybe it is a theory that crosses over into the common as well.

The theory is this: The moment you publicly write or share about a piece of wisdom or contentment that you have found, you have just issued the universe a challenge. A challenge to test your new-found wisdom, your hard-earned contentment. You have, in that moment, essentially handed the universe a bucked of slime and then laughingly said “I don’t know” as you walked towards the cliff of your own making.

Which is I don’t write “advice” about parenthood or marriage too often. Because I am a chicken – I am afraid of the slime. And because I don’t want them – my husband, my children, – to get slimmed, to fall off the cliff because of my hubris.

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You may remember that earlier this year, way back in the month of May, I released a little book all about learning to water the grass beneath my feet instead of always seeking greener pastures. A book about going slow, digging in, spreading out. A book about choosing to be present to the life I had.

Which meant of course that within mere weeks of its release I was as restless as a kid on Christmas Eve. I was just itching for something new, something different. A change, a new start, a fresh beginning. I was clawing at the universe looking for a quick fix to a lifelong problem – learning to be present and rooted to the here and now.

During all my pining and itching  both my irritatingly wise husband and my annoyingly insightful spiritual director  suggested that I go read this amazing new book that had just been published all about contentment and hard-work. They are such smarty pants.

They also suggested that I get back into the dirt. That I tend to the things in my life that are real, not theoretical.

Which brings us to the garden.

There is nothing more real than a garden. Gardens can’t lie, they can’t be faked.

Nothing that reminds me just how little control I have like a garden. Nothing that reminds me more that repetition of practice yields healthier fruit.

I am an Episcopalian by choice and conversion, and the Episcopal wing of the Christian faith is one that is deeply rooted in the belief that repetition in our worship yields healthier fruit.  That part of what this repetitive rhythm does is create an opening for the Holy Spirit to enter into our hearts, minds, and experience. Sort of like how we get our best ideas and insights in the shower. The familiarity and repetitive nature of our shower practices  allows a part of our imagination, and our consciousness to be opened and inspired in a unique way, a way we cannot access during our chaotic frenetic days of raising kids and working jobs and buying groceries and checking our phones every thirty seconds.

This past week I had the honor of being a part of a Creative Arts Camp for 5th-9th graders at our state Episcopal camp center. Each evening right before dinner we would gather for a reflective time and our camp priest would lead us through the practice four things  – a simple song, a yoga flow, a guided meditation, and an affirmation – before jumping in to our creative activity.

At the end of the week during our debriefing session, one of the counselors pushed back on the repetitive nature of these practices.  He found them to be a bit boring, and  didn’t understand their purpose. He worried that the campers didn’t enjoy them enough, didn’t find them fun enough.

Being completely exhausted and worn out emotionally and physically by the intense and AMAZING week of camp, I held my tongue, nodded, made notes, and smiled best I could.  Because had I opened my mouth in that overtired-over-invested moment, what would have come out would have looked something like this:

or this

Because when I am tired and emotional I turn into Craig Middlebrooks.

And what Craig Middlebrooks would have yelled at that well-meaning, very talented counselor would have been

IT ISN’T SUPPOSED TO BE FUN! IT’S SUPPOSED TO BE TRANS-FORMATIVE DAMMIT!

But thankfully some grain of maturity and wisdom prevailed and I kept my inner Craig in-check.

 

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Which brings me back to the garden.

Sometimes gardening is boring and NOT FUN. It is repetitive. It is hot and sweaty and the WEEDS NEVER STOP COMING.

Sometimes – most times – for a person wired like I am – it is 100% easier to get on plane and fly somewhere far away where I get to be wise and special and everything is NEW –  than it is to go back out into the dirty dry hot garden and water AGAIN. Weed AGAIN. Till AGAIN. Pick AGAIN. Fight the bugs AGAIN.

And yet and yet and yet.

 

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I need the garden.

I need the weeds and the pickin and the bugs and the cracked earth.

I need to shell peas and wash eggs and can tomatoes.

I need to do laundry. I need to sweep the kitchen floor.

I need to scrub the shower.

Again and again and again and again.

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I need the rhythms, I need the repetition, I need the discipline.

I need the transformation that comes from doing the things I “want” to do but don’t REALLY want to do.

Many, many writers will tell you that they love the moment that they sign their book deal and they love the moment they see their book on a bookstore shelf, but they loathe every minute in-between.

And yet, without the in-between there is no book, no song, no painting, no poetry, no corn or tomatoes, no openings for the Holy Spirit to flow through.

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For me, gardening is the same.

I want the beauty and the fruit of a garden. I want the Instagram images and the tomato sandwiches, so ripe their juice runs down my chin like a river. I want the fresh crunchy corn in the summer and the joy of pumpkin picking in the fall. I want flowers in jelly jars and basil with my eggs.

Which means that I have to go back out to the garden. I have to go back to the dirt and the bugs and the weeds.  Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

This is the process of transformation. The choosing to enter into the not-always-so-fun for the sake of growth. The decision to go into the wilderness of sameness in order to make room for Spirit to show up.

 

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This summer our garden is late-blooming and slow going.  Partially because we were building new things like Guinea coops and book releases, and partially because the thought of more weeds was just too overwhelming for me.  Too daunting. Too boring. Too predictable. Too hard.

And yet without my garden practice there was very little space for the Spirit to enter in.  Very little room for growth or hope or inspiration. And absolutely no flowers.

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This week at camp, while we were having Creative Arts Camp, another crew was having Farm Adventure Camp, and during the closing service we came together to celebrate and pray and sing and dance.

We opened our service with this prayer, written by one of the farm campers:

Our roots that art in dirt

Nutrients be in thy veins

The rain will come

Sweet produce won

In the garden as it is in our stomachs

Give us this day our daily veggies

And forgive our poor weeding

As we forgive the weeds that wage war against us

And lead us not into McDonald’s

But into the Garden

For the farm is my home, my sanctuary and my lifeline,

forever and ever. Amen.

 

Standing there, in the Chapel of the Transfiguration, on a mountain top, delighted and worn thin by the week, I wept as we prayed these words.

Forgive our poor weeding as we forgive the weeds that wage ware against us….

Lead us back into the Garden..

For the farm is my home, my sanctuary, and my lifeline, forever and ever. Amen.

 

No, weeding isn’t always fun.  Repetition in worship practices can be boring. Sticking with something that seems mundane in the moment, hard.

The garden may be late-blooming and writing books about going slow might set one up to suddenly want to spin out of control in some strange trick of the universe.

But thankfully, as Sweet Man and I remind each other as needed,  Living isn’t a race.  

So back to the garden I go. Back to the dirt and the bugs and the weeds and the sweat. Again and again.

Because, as Craig says it best, in the end:

 

much love my friends

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Oh, Summer

 

Oh, summer. How I love you, how you drive me insane.

Summer and I have a love hate relationship. Most of the hate has to do with the life-sucking heat of the South.

The love is everything else. All the other parts.

This summer has been a little odd because I have been traveling so much, speaking and promoting At Home in this Life (all the praise hands!)

Also, Wylie has been away at college-prep summer experience, and we have had the twins for longer stretches, so that is different as well.

AND between my traveling, and the rain, the garden is behind. It took us three tries to get the bean seeds to take, and we are going to have to completely replant our Zinnia’s and Sunflowers because they got washed away almost as soon as we planted.

Last year we had sunflowers taller than me and juicy red tomatoes at this point, but this year the sunflowers aren’t even in the ground yet and the tomatoes are still green.

But we have squash and zucchini, onions and purple hull peas all ready for harvesting, so it isn’t all awful.

If you follow me on Instagram you may have seen most of these images, but I needed to post them here as well, because frankly, this blog has become my time machine. It is where I go to remember and retrace, and after 11 years I just can’t quit.

So here is a bit of my summer thus far in pictures:

[image error]Radishes from early summer[image error] The lake at Kanuga Retreat Center in North Carolina[image error]

The porch on my cottage at Kanuga. It overlooked the lake. I had some profound revelations on this porch. More about that later…

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The cottage, built in 1908.

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From my Hope Hoop Workshop, inspired by At Home in this Life 

This is my new favorite crafty workshop to lead.

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Summer salads and tomato heavy sandwiches are my favorite summer foods

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We taught Sister and Brother how to play Twister, which they LOVED

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And we went to a local lake/beach only 10 min from our house – I drive by it on my way to work everyday but we had never been. Such fun.

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My beautiful Maw. 92 and going strong. Being with her heals me.

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And of course she made us her famous waffles on her 70 year old waffle iron. (The recipe is in A Homemade Year)

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Zucchini going strong!

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Our apple tree is doing great this year! I need to figure out how to best put them up…

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Went to Cincinnati for the Christian Booksellers Association Trade Show – it was a lot of fun and I met some great people. Also, my face was on a giant poster!

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The Intergenerate Conference in Nashville was wonderful – especially because I got to see good friends.

(Lilly in the middle is the amazing creator of Free Range Worship)

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The summer has been filled with lots of interviews and speaking, but not much concentrated writing. Everyone keeps asking what’s next and I honestly don’t know.

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Porch sittin’. That is the only thing I really want to do these days.  The past six years have been INTENSE. I think it might be time for a fallow year 7.

 

Happy Summer Everyone!

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The Best Book Launch Picnic Ever

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A couple of weeks ago some wonderful, beautiful, amazing friends threw me a book launch picnic party for the launch of At Home in this Life.

It was beautiful, delicious, and perfect in every way.

My friend Christen did the decorating, Kyran took pictures and helped me with book sales, Marna made the food with the help of Sam and Lilly, and she oversaw the whole shebang. Sara brought the most gorgeous plates and flatware (she has a whole company that rents it out for events!) and Katherine was the glue.

It was gorgeous and generous and exactly what I imagined a book launch picnic party to be. (Picnicking is one of the Sabbath Practices I write about in the book!)

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I want to eat all of this again.

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Sweet Man and I. I promise he was happy to be there….Also, no one is more supportive of me and all my endeavors than this fella. Also, no one is better at keeping me honest in regards to my writing, and at calling me back to where I actually need to be when I begin to look for greener pastures.

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the luminous Kyran, fellow writer and church lady.

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Writing and releasing this book has been a trans-formative experience.  As a creative person, specifically as a writer in my genre, I used to think of myself as a little sister, and I thought of my writing – of all my gifts and callings really – as a little red wagon that I pulled behind me as I tried to keep up with the more successful and popular kids. This was endlessly frustrating and demoralizing because I could never quite get “there” – wherever I felt “there”was. Recently, thanks to a lot of silence, stillness, listening (thank you lessons of At Home in this Life!) and conversations with my Spiritual Director and friends – something inside me shifted and I no longer see myself as the little sister pulling the wagon, chasing after the bigger kids. These days I see myself as me, and I see my writing, my speaking, and my callings, as a beautiful farm house with an open floor plan and a wide deep porch. And instead of always feeling left out and left behind, I now see myself standing on that big front porch, the door open behind me, inviting everyone in to be a part of it all. This is the story and the song I want to sing bravely and with much joy.

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My littlest fan.

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Dear friends.

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My baby cousin Mallory Sue! She even wore gingham!

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Marna holding court.

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This pretty much sums up everything about what I learned while living and writing At Home in this Life.

Things don’t always go as planned, but there is still beauty to be found! Also, you just have to learn to laugh and go on.

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In the book there is a whole chapter about The Van‘s Katherine’s House, a refuge for homeless women, so it was so fun to see Tracy Speed, a volunteer with the organziation who started Katherine’s House at my launch picnic sporting here The Van t-shirt!How perfect!

To celebrate all the amazing work Aaron Reddin and Tricia Williams and all The Van volunteers are doing with the homeless in Arkansas, I will be giving 10% of profits made from At Home in this Life to Katherine’s House and other efforts from The One, Inc. to create beautiful and safe homes for our homeless neighbors!!

Order your copy here: And if you can remember to use your Amazon Smiles account (mine is linked to The One, Inc.!)

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Faith Made Visible

When I was a child my mother framed a picture she had torn out of a magazine that featured the well-known words from   “Song for a Fifth Child” by Ruth Hulburt Hamilton.

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Cleaning and scrubbing will wait till tomorrow,

for children grow up, as I’ve learned to my sorrow.

So quiet down, cobwebs. Dust go to sleep.

I’m rocking my baby and babies don’t keep.

 

I remember this bit of inexpensive wall art so well, because these words perfectly summed up what my mother was about. My mother didn’t just love us – my three siblings and I – she loved the experience of being with us. This is why she homeschooled us as much as she did. She liked our company more than anything else, and she would tell us so over and over – especially when we asked why she didn’t work outside the home, why she wanted to homeschool. Her answer always was “I just like being with you.” And I believed her. Because I had read those words of Ruth Hulburt Hamilton over and over.

I am a writer and a speaker, a nest-fluffer and a crafter. The written word and meaningful, creative objects are my thing. I am also someone who has always leaned towards intentional living. I tend to see every part of my life – from how I decorate my home to what we plant in our garden to what books I read – as being a chance to make intentional choices that will infuse the atmosphere around me, with the things I value most. Which is why our home is peppered with objects that while they may appear decorative at first glance, are in fact all signpost in their own right. They are the words and phrases, symbols and practices that are hopefully serving as visible formation tools – reinforcing what we believe, and what we want to teach our children about God, about love, faith, patience, generosity, belonging, growth, and wholeness.

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On our dining room table sits three such objects – a small rice bowl bank, a plastic loaf of bread holding scripture cards, and a statue of St. Joseph. The bowl was a gift from my grandmother, a relic of my Southern Baptist childhood, one that reminds me of the missionary Lottie Moon of China, who practiced relational servant-hood and sacrifice before it was cool. The plastic loaf of bread is also a childhood favorite, and during family dinners we take turns pulling out scripture cards (written in KJV of course) and discussing what questions or emotions they stir up within us. This practice helps to understand the importance of scripture – personally and communally. St. Joseph is with us, having been dug up out of our front yard, when our house sold at long last, allowing us to move to the farm. He reminds us that sometimes dreams take time, and that going slow can grow us in beautiful ways if we have faith.

 

[image error]The table is not the only place with signpost. Our walls feature lyrics from favorite old hymns, questions from great thinkers, reminders of how we want to live, and prayers for peace and guidance, bible verses that extol our greatest wish – that our table would be a gathering place, one where anyone can come to break bread and give thanks in the company of family.

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I don’t know how much of what I have put out my children have noticed. I am not sure which signpost they read most often, which tradition they will look back on with fondness, which bank or statue or framed prayer they will seek out for their own homes. But I believe that something is getting in there. That if I am living with the sort of purpose and intention that I think I am (that I am trying to do!) then something of my words and something of the art on our walls, the decorative do-dads on our tables, will come together, reinforcing the message of the other. My great hope is that in being surrounded with visual reminders of service, patience, generosity, belonging, welcoming, wisdom, and wholeness – all of which are rooted in God’s unending creative love, – that my children’s faith will continue to grow, and that their hearts and minds will continue to be formed in the likeness of Christ.

 *This post first appeared on GrowChristians.org in January 2017

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Want more ideas on how you can take your faith from something you do and make it something you life? Check out my two books!

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Ack! I need your help!

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Hello friends!! I need a little help if you can spare 2 minutes!

Believe it or not this blog is 11 years old (!!!!) and I have never done a reader survey, but late bloomer that I am,  I thought it was high time to take the pulse of my readers, and learn a little bit more about who you are so that I can make this space more enjoyable for all.

If you would, please click on the badge below and take the quick – anonymous – survey. I would be SO grateful if you did!

xo

J

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SURVEY LINK

Book trailers are a thing…

and I made one!

 Here it is – a little bit all about At Home in this Life, while I putter around the kitchen and garden…

At Home, At Last!

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It’s here, it’s here! Today is the official launch day for my new book,

At Home in this Life; Finding Peace at the Crossroads of Unraveled Dreams and Beautiful Surprises!

To celebrate I am sharing (just like Oprah!) a few of my favorite things, by some of my favorite designers and artist!

Each of these 9 makers have created beautiful items, each inspired by some aspect of At Home in this Life, items you can now buy and own.

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Click here to shop the At Home Curated Collection for yourself ! 

Over the next week I will be sharing more about the book and the collection, so stay tuned! In the meantime, have fun supporting handmade and homespun items!

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The Spiritual Practice of Being Present: Practicing Steadfastness through Stillness

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In 8 days, my second book, At Home in this Life is coming into the world. Which is both utterly amazing and surprisingly ordinary.  Sort of like the birth of a child-  A complete miracle, and yet, expected.

This book is the story of how I learned to make myself at home in my life – the life I had, not the life I wanted.  It is the story of how I learned to water the grass under my feet, instead of wasting all my time pining for new and different grasses.

I did these things – the grass watering, the staying put business, because I had reached the end of my rope, and the end of myself.

I did these things because I needed a new way to live, a new way to order my days, a new way of being.

At Home in this Life is a book full of mistakes, foolishness, lessons learned, truths unearthed, tears shed, ceilings repaired, gardens dug and an immeasurable amount of grace given. And while the story is about a specific time in my life, a specific set of days and weeks and months, the lessons I gleaned are ones that continue to change and shape me.

One of the greatest lessons I learned from the entire experience to come out of both living through and then writing about The Awful Year (as I call in the book) is that I begin to understand my great need – our great need – for what the monk’s call A Rule of Life.

A Rule of Life is an intentional pattern of spiritual disciplines that provides structure and direction for growth in holiness. A Rule establishes a rhythm for life in which is helpful for being formed by the Spirit, a rhythm that reflects a love for God and respect for how God has made us. – C.S. Lewis Institute

What I learned in that season – what I continue to learn and believe more and more – is that to really live into the wholeness that God has for us, we – me, you, everyone – e has to keep showing up – to the table, to each other, to our lives. We have to keep practicing  spiritual disciplines (after all to be a disciple is to be someone who is teachable, not someone who has all the answers,) day in and day out.

This idea – that there are certain spiritual practices that are able to both anchor, rescue and propel us forward – essentially helping us remain present to our life no matter the circumstances, helping shape and form us in the image of God is called A Rule of Life.

And I think we all need one.

 

 

My favorite monastic tradition, the one I write about in At Home in this Life, is the Benedictine Tradition, which is based on the writings, teachings, and monastic order established by St. Benedict.

Within this tradition Stability (or what I call, Steadfastness) is one of the key vows of a Benedictine monk takes. Stability comes from the Latin word stablis, which means to stand, to be still, to stand firm, to be rooted. When a Benedictine monk takes this vow, he is committing to both the people and the geography of a certain place, believing it is through both that God will do a good work in him.

When I began to develop my own Rule of Life, and a Rule format that I could share in workshops and with families, I wanted to include the vow of stability, but with a new name – a name that would remind me of the true intention of the word – the intention that we should remain steadfast in our commitment to both the people we live with and among, and the geography where we do this living.

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Which is why Steadfastness is the first Rule.

When we are learning how to being present to our lives, seeking wholeness, I believe that we should begin by nurturing our desire and commitment to remain faithful to the people and place that we have been called, that we have been planted. We must find ways to dig into our lives and the goodness of God right where we are.

Now there are many, many ways to practice Steadfastness. There are many spiritual practices that can  help us live out this vow, to really live into the heart of this “rule.”

For me, in this season of life, the way that I am choosing to practice Steadfastness is through the discipline of Stillness.

Stillness isn’t just a physical act; it is also an internal act. Stillness is about being present. About having the humility to say, “This isn’t all about me or what I can do or what I can say.” Stillness is about being intentional in our how we divide our attention. It is about cultivating an awareness within ourselves.

As someone who tends to be in her head a lot planning out the next event/idea/to-do, as someone who tends to over-commit, and who (being a good Enneagram 7) wants to do ALL THE THINGS, learning how to be STILL – eternally and externally – is a discipline that I have to really put effort and intention into… But it is also a practice that helps me dig in and remain a steadfast, active and present participant in the life I am living.

When I practice Stillness with intention, asking for God’s grace to guide and sustain me, my mind and my body are able to settle down, making space for the needs of others to be noticed.

When I practice Stillness with the intention of cultivating steadfastness, my heart and mind are opened up in way that allows me to offer my full attention and presence to my family, my neighbors, the lady at the gas station, my church members, my friends, and the guy who sells me my pig feed.

When I am still – inside and out – I notice the tension in my son’s voice, the way another son’s shoulders droop, the effort my husband has been making to fix a broken mower.  Only out of the room this stillness has made, do I have the energy or the wherewithal to say

What’s going on?

Come, sit, talk to me…

Would you like some help?

When I am practicing Stillness, making an effort to take my mind off of my to-do list or my next project, I am notice birds chirping in the air, the baby lambs crying one farm over, the way the clouds are casting shadows over the orchard and I am filled with wonder at the gifts that creation continue to give. I am filled with gratefulness that I live where I live, and that I have eyes to see and ears to hear.

 

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So.

I bet some of you are asking “But how do you practice Stillness?”

The answer is: Several different ways – some of which I talk about in At Home, some of which I have only recently discovered.  None of which are efficient, or will make your rich or thin.

Here are a few favorites:

Sitting on the couch in the morning, cup of coffee in hand, staring out the living room windows at the trees, for at least 15 minutes. No TV, radio, phone, books, or people. Just me, coffee, couch, window, and God.
Sitting in the presence of Sweet Man while he does something – gardening, cooking, fixing a mower. Sometimes I help, but sometimes I just sit and watch, or listen, whatever is needed. I might hand a screwdriver or shovel over, I might refill a water bottle, but mostly I am just THERE. Oh, and I leave my phone behind.
Stitching or crocheting or making pom-poms on a church bench, in a waiting room, at my in-laws, on the porch, or while Miles practices his saxophone and I listen.
Choosing visual and audio quiet. Intentional times when I don’t turn on the radio or podcast in the car, when I putter around the house without the television on, when I stand in line at the grocery store and I don’t look at my phone.  I just drive, or pick up socks and shoes, or wait my turn.
Listening to others without interrupting or interjecting my opinion.
Laying on my swing, or in my pool, or a blanket in the front yard and staring at the clouds or the stars.

I am sure there are a million ways to practice Stillness, these are just the ones that work for me.

And I know there are several ways to nurture and grow the commitment to Steadfastness (like the practices of Listening, Service, Hospitality, Contemplation) but for me, for this season of life and for where I am in my own journey, practicing Stillness is where I feel God calling me.

And so, hard as it is sometimes, I am working to dig in and spread out in my practice – taking it more serious than ever before, being more intentional about carving out space for Stillness, leaning deeper into God’s grace and mercy as I seek to live a whole life.

Selah.

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Over the next month, as part of the At Home in this Life book launch celebration, I thought I would unpack this process and  idea a little bit here on the blog. Over the next few weeks I am going to look at what each of the four overarching themes (or “vows” as they are called in the Benedictine tradition) that I think help frame an easy-to-use, but completely trans-formative Rule of Life. One that helps me dig into the Spiritual Practice of Being Present, and I think might help you too.

To read the initial post and download the free worksheet Click HERE

Next Week’s Vow:  Transformation

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(And make sure to go and order your copy of At Home in this Life and get all the pre-order goodies before May 23!)