Alan Fadling's Blog, page 4

UL #356: How to Move Beyond Shame and Silence—Practical Wisdom from Eryn Eddy Adkins

 

How do you move beyond shame and silence to discover your true worth? In this inspiring episode, Gem Fadling sits down with Eryn Eddy Adkins—founder of So Worth Loving and co-host of the God Hears Her podcast—to talk about healing, faith, and what it really means to find belonging in a safe, loving community.

If you’ve ever struggled with feelings of shame, not-enoughness, or self-doubt, you are not alone. Eryn shares her journey from pain to purpose, and how telling your true story (not just the polished version) can be a bridge to deeper healing and connection with others.

In this conversation, you’ll learn:

How to move beyond shame and find your voice
The power of honest storytelling in the Christian life
Why community is essential for healing deep wounds
Practical steps for building safe spaces and healthy relationships
Encouragement for Christian women wrestling with self-worth and faith
Real-life lessons from Eryn’s work at So Worth Loving and the God Hears Her podcast

About Eryn Eddy Adkins:
Eryn Eddy Adkins is the founder and CEO of So Worth Loving, a lifestyle brand and online community helping thousands move from pain and shame to self-worth and belovedness. Her work has been featured in CNN, Oprah, and more. She is the author of So Worth Loving and the longtime co-host of the God Hears Her podcast.

More resources:
→ Learn about So Worth Loving: https://soworthloving.com
→ Listen to God Hears Her: [https://godhearsher.org/podcast/]
→ Connect with Eryn on Instagram: [@eryneddy]

For more encouragement and resources, visit: https://unhurriedliving.com

If this episode encouraged you, please subscribe, share, and leave a comment below. What part of Eryn’s story spoke to you most?

 

 

 

What a Box of Old Photos Taught Me About Living More Freely

Blog by Gem Fadling

Alan and I have been making our way through our garage slowly but surely. We are on a mission to prune and purge. Because my parents died when I was relatively young (I was 26 and 31, respectively), I ended up with a lot of items that have memories and sentimental value attached. Many of these items have been stored in our garage or attic for thirty years. That’s a long time to hold on to things.

 

I imagine it is common for us to hold on to items that connect us to loved ones who have passed. If I get rid of that, I thought, I will lose my connection. For example, I still have my dad’s old Stetson hat and cowboy boots, as well as his military uniforms from World War II. I only had him on this planet for twenty-six years of my life. How could I possibly let go?

 

It is very difficult for me to make all these decisions as an only child. Of course, Alan is here to support me, but it does feel like a heavy load.

 

But now that I’m in my sixties, it really is time to start purging. I can’t carry all this stuff around forever. It would be unkind to leave all these decisions for my sons to deal with in the distant future. So over the last couple of years we have scheduled appointments with ourselves to stand in the garage for fifteen minutes and see if we can make headway. Fifteen minutes usually turns into two hours, and that’s OK.

 

I have successfully purged multiple sentimental items. What is left are three big trunks of photo albums containing multiple sacks of photos and memorabilia. Photos are the most difficult to throw out because they are visual representations of a person’s life—snapshots in time.

 

The last time we went through a photo box I decided to be as ruthless as possible. I was going to throw away 80 to 90 percent of what I looked at and only keep the top 10 to 20 percent of the images that were representative of the time or the person.

 

Other people may have different views on this, but I really wanted to downsize my memorabilia. I did my best to follow Marie Kondo’s advice when going through the photos. I looked at each one as quickly as possible and asked myself if it sparked joy. Some were obvious keepers.

 

But with others—such as hundreds of photos from one family reunion with all the cousins and aunts and uncles—there was no way to keep them all. So I sorted through and kept only a handful of representative photos of each person or family group.

 

As I stood there in the garage holding an old black-and-white photo, I was prompted to think, Someday I’m going to be a photo in someone else’s hand, and they are going to decide whether to keep it or toss it. It’s quite a humbling thought—and a little depressing.

 

After that first thought floated through my mind, another followed right on its tail: So, Gem, what are you so worked up about? It’s probably OK to stress less about pretty much everything.

 

I had a momentary flash of what felt like a pure letting go—a kind of detachment I hadn’t felt before. It felt really good. Unencumbered. Free.

 

It only lasted a minute, and I was reminded yet again that my life here is fleeting. This has become an important theme for me in this season because I’m trying to let go of the unhealthy version of drive and ambition (ego) in my life. I want to live in-process and enjoy the moments and the people.

 

Once in a while it’s good to remember the main theme of Ecclesiastes: “Meaningless, meaningless, a chasing after the wind.” Or as my spiritual director likes to call it, “trying to hug a cloud.”

 

In whatever season of life you find yourself, it’s OK to pause and remember that life is short. An unhurried posture helps us remember this. When we are unrushed, we have a chance to remember that God has given us this great gift of a life.

 

I no longer want to waste any time in fretting, worry, anxiety, pushing, driving, or distraction.

 

I would rather love every moment that I have. Because yes, someday I will be a photo in the hands of a distant relative, and they will be deciding whether to keep it or just give thanks for the memory and throw it away. And I am learning to become OK with that.

 

For Reflection: 

How good are you at letting go?
What is one area of your life that could use a little purging? When might you take a next step?
How are you trying to “hug a cloud” these days and how does that make you feel?

 

UL #355: Jesus Grows People, Not Programs

 

Many leaders wrestle with the question: If I slow down, will I still get anything done? In this episode of the Unhurried Living Podcast, Alan explores Jesus’ words in John 15 alongside the wisdom of farmer-poet Wendell Berry to reimagine productivity, not as frantic busyness, but as abiding fruitfulness.

Discover a vision of work that nourishes rather than depletes, both for you and for those you serve.

In this episode, you’ll learn:

Why busyness can actually disconnect us from the very Source of true fruitfulness.

How Wendell Berry’s vision of sustainable farming offers a powerful model for ministry and leadership.

Why lasting kingdom productivity always begins in abiding and focuses on people over programs.

Resources

Scripture: John 15
Bringing It to the Table by Wendell Berry

 

 

 

 

Living Today Without Borrowing Tomorrow's Trouble

Blog by Alan Fadling

Anxiety in our cultural context has not diminished since the publication of my latest book, A Non-Anxious Life, in February 2024. The hunger and thirst I hear from those who’ve read and responded to the book continue to be deep and heartfelt. I’ve spoken to Christian leaders who struggle to imagine what it would actually look like to live in the non-anxious way of Jesus. I’d like to share what I’ve continued to learn in my ongoing journey with anxiety, especially learning not to worry about tomorrow.

 

I’ve shared how anxiety has been a lifelong struggle for me. As I was writing the book, I realized just how often anxiety had driven me and animated a lot of my work. But living in constant worry about tomorrow is not the same as preparing well for tomorrow. Busyness wound up by anxiety is not the same as productivity rooted in peace.

 

Jesus’ words about anxiety in Matthew 6 continue to help me. There he reminds us that we needn’t worry about our lives, about our needs being met, or about our uncertain future. He’s not telling us to ignore the realities in front of us, but rather to trust a deeper reality that undergirds us. But maybe like me you’ve worried plenty about these things.

 

I don’t hear Jesus laying down the law about my anxiety. I hear him reminding me what life in the kingdom of his Father in heaven is like. It is a life in which everything we most deeply and truly need is provided. It is a life that is rich because it is lived in communion with the One who is life. And because God is already present in our tomorrows, we needn’t try to get there ahead of him through our worrying.

 

Worrying about tomorrow has been an especially challenging habit to break. What often happens is that an unpleasant surprise startles me and my anxiety kicks in on autopilot. Almost without thinking, I begin to envision dire futures that could result. Anxiety offers itself as a consultant in this anxious attempt at time travel.

 

But the Prince of Peace suggests that in worrying about tomorrow we never gain as much as we think we do. Planning for tomorrow—that can be a very fruitful activity. Trying to imagine countless dreadful scenarios about tomorrow usually hasn’t been as productive for me. We think that worrying prepares us for the future, but in reality it drains us of the energy to actually live today. I can’t live tomorrow today, no matter how much anxiety urges me to try.

 

When Jesus tells us not to worry, he is also saying that peace about my life, about my needs, and about my future is possible. Reminding myself that peace is possible is important. I’ve spent too much time somewhere in the shadows of my imagination believing that peace was simply not possible—at least not for me. But no matter how deeply ingrained my habits of anxiety are in my body, my thoughts, my emotions, even my instincts, I can become practiced in the ways of peace when I place myself as a student at the feet of the Prince of Peace.

 

Since the beginning of the year, I’ve been reading the Gospel of John on a monthly cycle. It strikes me that there were plenty of moments in Jesus’ experience that would have profoundly tempted me to worry.

 

For example, in chapter 2, his mother Mary comes to him with a problem: There’s no wine left at the wedding. I never like being put on the spot to solve a problem. It causes me to feel anxious. But rather than becoming overwhelmed, Jesus responds and acts in harmony with the abundance and power of his Father in heaven.

 

Later in that same chapter, Jesus is provoked by how the temple had been turned into a marketplace, and often a dishonest one at that. He responds by driving the sellers out of the temple courts, which triggers a strong reaction against him. I hate conflict, and anxiety has a way of keeping me from doing anything that could cause it. But Jesus is completely free in the peace of God to let injustice move him to action.

 

In the Gospels, I never see Jesus anxiously rushing to solve a problem. He never worries about how tomorrow’s pressures will unfold. Instead, he trusts his Father, and that trust allows him to be fully present in each moment. He faces real danger, real disappointment, real opposition, real conflict, and yet navigates it all with grace and peace. The more I read the Gospels, the more inspired I am that he can teach me how to do the same in my own life.

 

When I hear Jesus called the Prince of Peace, I realize that he really is the master of peace. Peace is not something theoretical for him. It is something he embodies from his Father, who is the God of peace, and from the Holy Spirit, who is the Spirit of peace. We might even say that just as God is love, God is also peace. And if Jesus lived free from the anxiety of tomorrow, then with his help I can learn to do so as well.

 

For Reflection:

What are some of the circumstances or situations that have most recently tempted you to fill your moments with worrying? 
Where do you feel pulled into tomorrow’s uncertainties instead of today’s possibilities? 
How much has your worrying actually helped you? In your experience, has it borne good fruit or bad fruit?

 

UL #354: Why You're Jumping to Conclusions (Dr. Erin Devers)

 

Ever catch yourself jumping to conclusions… and being totally wrong? Or maybe you find it hard to admit when you're mistaken—especially when it's personal. That’s not just stubbornness, it’s cognitive bias, and it’s wired into all of us. But there’s good news: we can grow beyond it.

In this episode of the Unhurried Living Podcast, Gem Fadling talks with Dr. Erin Devers, Christian social psychologist and author of The Unbiased Self. Together, they explore how understanding the way our minds work can lead us into deeper formation and freer relationships. You’ll hear how fast vs. slow thinking, identity in Christ, gratitude, and community all play vital roles in transforming the way we see ourselves, others, and God.

Whether you’re tired of stuck thinking or want to love more clearly, this practical and hope-filled conversation is for you.

 

 

A Personal Journey Through Doubt, Trust, and Mystery

Guest Blog by Brenda Renderos

If God is loving, then why _______?

 

Fill in the blank. For me, it’s come in many forms: Why does God allow injustice? Why do children suffer? Why does hate so often seem to win? Why didn’t God save my loved one?

 

In my younger years, I thought I had the answers. I had learned well what I was taught—the idea of free will, how God gave us the choice to choose our paths, and that the consequences of those choices could sometimes lead to pain. I also was taught that because of Adam and Eve’s disobedience in the Garden of Eden, we live in a fallen world, and everything bad that happens is part of that brokenness. Those answers felt right, enough to carry me through the confusion and to offer some solace to others who were questioning with me. When someone would ask, I could reply with certainty.

 

But as time passed, I began to sense something shifting inside me. Over the years, as I sat with others in their pain and witnessed the depths of their struggles—families being torn apart, children suffering, hate running rampant in the world, the sting of death claiming loved ones—I found myself sitting with that same question: Why?

 

I could feel the weight of the question in my own heart. The deepest burden came from walking with others who were asking the same question and barely holding on. Their hearts echoed mine: Why? It was no longer a distant, abstract question—it had become personal. And no matter how much I tried to offer an answer, it never felt like enough. I had been taught to always be ready to give an answer. I had been trained to rightly divide the word of truth, to show myself approved, and to be prepared. But more often than not I felt unprepared.

 

Recently, I went on a retreat, thinking I could gain some clarity there. I found myself on a bench overlooking the ocean, the horizon hidden in a thick fog that rolled in every morning and stayed strong throughout the day. The fog wrapped the entire ocean in mystery. I spent days sitting there, lost in the fog, my mind tangled in the same question: Why?

 

On the last morning of the retreat, I again sat on that bench, staring into the fog to try and glimpse the ocean. It was as if the sea had vanished, swallowed whole by the mist. I felt a wave of frustration rise in me. But then, amid the quiet, something shifted inside of me.

 

I heard an inner voice, clear and simple, that spoke five words:

“But you know it’s there.”

 

I stared at the fog, uncertain at first. The ocean was hidden from sight by the thick mist, but somehow I knew it was there. I had seen it before—felt its waves, tasted the salt on my lips, heard the crash of waves against the cliffs. The fog simply obscured it, but it was still there. I didn’t need to see it at that moment because I had experienced it.

 

And so that voice spoke again:

“But you know it’s there.”

 

Those words didn’t didn’t instantly chase away the fog or my questions the fog or to my questions. But they steadied me. They called me to trust what I had experienced of the ocean, even when I couldn’t see it. It was a statement of truth: I know the ocean is there. It was a challenge to not let the fog—the mystery and the confusion—distract me from what I know to be true. And it was an invitation to trust, to surrender to the fact that the fog was beyond my control but my response to it was not.

 

This is how I now approach the why question in my life. I don’t have the answers to every hurt, every injustice, or the suffering of the innocent. I don’t know why some prayers seem to go unanswered and why others seem to be met with silence. I can’t always explain the fog—the confusion and the weight of things we don’t understand.

 

But just as I know the ocean is there, even when I can’t see it, I know God is present.

 

In the fog I find steady ground. I know God is with me, even in the things I can’t explain. And though the fog of questions may feel suffocating at times, I hold on to the truth of what I’ve already experienced of him. The challenge is to trust what I know, even when I can’t see the answers.

 

God invites us to surrender, to walk with him in the mystery, and to remember that even in the fog, we are not alone.

 

The answers may not always come, and that’s okay. In the quiet, in the fog, I can simply say, I don’t know. But I know God is there. And sometimes that’s enough.

 

For Reflection:

How do you respond to the mystery and confusion of life when you can’t see or understand God’s plan?
What have you experienced about God’s presence that helps you trust him in times of uncertainty?
How can you practice surrendering to God’s presence and walking with him through the unknowns of life?

 

 

UL #353: Silencing Anxiety: Jesus’ Path to Inner Stillness

 

In this popular replay episode, Alan Fadling invites us into a deeply personal and practical reflection on anxiety, rooted in themes from his new book, A Non-Anxious Life.

Alan shares his own lifelong journey with anxiety—how it shows up in his thoughts, emotions, and even his body—and how Jesus has been teaching him a better way: a path of peace. You’ll hear stories of travel disruptions, anxious thoughts, and tender moments with backyard birds that reveal God's faithful, tangible care.

This episode offers more than ideas—it’s an invitation to embody peace, to let the presence of God displace worry at the deepest levels.

Whether you wrestle with anxiety every day or simply long for more inner stillness, Alan’s words will meet you with compassion and hope.

 

Learning to Love the Quiet: How Real Growth Happens

Blog by Alan Fadling

What if your deepest spiritual growth doesn’t happen on the mountaintop but in the quiet, ordinary valleys of your everyday life? What if prayer that feels dry or uninspired is not a sign of failure but a sacred invitation into deeper trust and transformation? In his book When the Well Runs Dry, Thomas Green gently nudges us away from our hunger for excitement in prayer and toward a quieter, truer communion with God. This isn’t about losing faith—it’s about learning to recognize God’s presence in the slow, hidden work of grace that often unfolds in silence and simplicity.

 

Here are a few more insights that I have gleaned from Green’s book in addition to the two I shared a couple of weeks ago.

 

Genuine Spiritual Growth Prefers the Ordinary

Green says, “One sure mark of genuine spiritual growth, I think, is a growing preference for the ordinary days of our life with God. We gradually begin to realize that it is when nothing seems to be happening that the most important things are really taking place.”*

 

In the beginning of our faith journey, we want exciting or stimulating or intense prayer. We want some “wow” in our prayer.

 

In our spiritual youth, we love exciting experiences. We always want something new. We crave novelty. We long to be stimulated. But Green is saying that as our prayer life deepens, we come to realize that most of our spiritual growth happens in our everyday life rather than in the dramatic moments. Mountaintop experiences can be catalysts for change and growth, but the actual growth happens in the mundane moments of our ordinary days.

 

So often what we think is dryness in our prayer life may be a sort of withdrawal from our attachment to excitement. In such moments, we may be tempted to think that nothing is happening in our spiritual growth if we aren’t having exciting experiences or gaining profound insights or doing dramatic deeds. All of these are wonderful gifts God may give us occasionally. But a long, maturing spiritual life happens mostly in the unexciting, unimpressive moments of our day-to-day life.

 

All of this helps us realize that speaking with God and looking within are not necessarily the same thing.

 

Prayer and Introspection

Green suggests that “one of the great hazards of the interior life is that we go to find God and we end up talking to ourselves. There is a fine line between prayer and introspection.”†

 

When I first read that passage, my initial thought was “Yikes!” I can look back and see many prayers that consisted more of me talking to myself in front of God rather than me speaking with the living God. Or I was saying a prayer for other people in the room to hear more than I was speaking with God. It’s a professional hazard for pastors like me, but maybe you identify with that experience even if you aren’t a pastor.

 

There is a kind of praying that can be an unhelpful, me-focused introspection rather than a fruitful, God-focused communion. There is, of course, an inner reality to deepening prayer, but that is because Christ is in us, abiding in us. Prayer goes deeper as it remains connected to the Christ who makes himself at home in our hearts.

 

This is why when I enter into prayer it helps me to begin with a few unhurried moments of quiet attention. When I do this publicly, I sometimes feel the discomfort in the room at such silence—as though we were on the radio and I was creating dead air. But a moment or two of stillness helps me remember what I’m doing and who I’m speaking with.

 

Finally, one of the most helpful things I’ve learned from When The Well Runs Dry is that…

 

Beginners Try Too Hard in Prayer

 As part of an ongoing personal study project in the spiritual classics, I recently reread The Life of St. Teresa of Avila. In it, she compares deepening prayer to four ways of watering a field: (1) carrying buckets back and forth from a well, (2) using a pump to draw water from the well, (3) planting near a river or stream and using it to irrigate the field, and (4) welcoming the rain.

 

This metaphor is Teresa’s way of describing how our prayer moves from focusing mostly on our own efforts to responding more and more to God’s work.

 

Thomas Green draws on Teresa’s insights and quotes these words from her autobiography: “Beginners in prayer, we may say, are those who draw up the water out of the well: this, as I have said, is a very laborious proceeding, for it will fatigue them to keep their senses recollected, which is a great labor because they have been accustomed to a life of distraction.” ‡

 

I believe it was Teresa’s metaphors that gave Green the title for his book. In the first two stages of prayer we get our water from a well. But what if the well runs dry? We then need to look for other ways to water our garden.

 

If the well never runs dry, though, we may not stop using our early approaches to prayer. We may never deepen our conversation with God.

 

The hard work of early prayer may weary us because we believe that prayer is something we are doing for God. Some people say they can’t imagine spending half an hour in prayer. I can understand that, especially if you’ve never prayed for even five minutes. But this also has to do with your vision of prayer.

 

If you think prayer is mainly you coming up with something to say to God for thirty minutes, that can feel daunting. But what if prayer is more like thirty minutes of conversation with a good friend over coffee? Thirty minutes in that setting might not feel like long enough.

 

It’s certainly true that in the beginning prayer requires a lot of effort to overcome our habit of self-distraction. We live in a time when attention deficit is rampant. Too many of us spend hours every day distracting ourselves. Much of modern life seems to thrive on distraction as our attention is being captured and monetized by algorithms. Moving deeper in prayer will likely require us to become comfortable with what would feel boring to us as beginners. We can learn not to sacrifice our attention on the altar of popular amusements.

 

Conclusion

I want to leave you with this encouragement: Prayer is not a spiritual task to master but a loving relationship to nurture. It’s not about perfect words or flawless practices—it’s about presence, connection, and trust. God is already at work in you, inviting you to come closer, listen more deeply, and rest in his faithful love.

 

If your prayer life feels dry or challenging right now, know that this is not the end of your journey—it’s an invitation to go deeper. God is faithful, even in silence. He’s forming you, often in ways you cannot yet see.

 

So take heart. Be patient with yourself and trust the Spirit’s counsel in this process. Whether you’re drawing water from the well or waiting for rain, God is with you, and he delights in every moment you spend seeking him. Keep drawing near and let him lead you into the fullness of his presence.

 

For Reflection:

When was the last time you sensed God’s presence in something seemingly ordinary?
Have you ever mistaken introspection for prayer? What helped you return to true conversation with God?
What does it look like for you to rest in God's presence rather than strive in prayer?

 

*Thomas H. Green, When the Well Runs Dry (Ave Maria Press, 1979), p. 24.

† Green, p. 30.

‡ Green, p. 38.

 

UL #352: Feeling Overwhelmed by Injustice? Start Here (A Christian Guide for the Heart)

 

If you’ve ever wrestled with how your personal faith connects with the pain and injustice in the world, this episode offers a path forward, not in politics or performance, but in deep spiritual formation.

Alan sits down with transformation life coach and ministry leader Brenda Renderos for a tender, honest conversation at the intersection of soul care and justice, especially racial justice. Drawing from her years of experience walking with individuals toward greater wholeness, Brenda shares how a deeply rooted faith can lead to healing, redemptive engagement with our neighbors.

Together, they explore:

How inner transformation and outward justice are connected

Why justice isn’t about guilt or shame but about love and presence

What to do when justice work feels overwhelming or exhausting

And how to take one Spirit-led step forward at a time

This episode invites you to slow down, listen deeply, and consider how Christ might be forming you for justice that flows from the heart.

 

Brenda’s Invitations to Dig Deeper:

The prophets call out religious devotion that ignores justice (Isaiah 58, Amos 5). 

Jesus admonished the Pharisees for tithing religiously but neglecting 'justice, mercy, and faithfulness' (Matthew 23:23).

Is my spiritual life making me more just? And is my work for justice making me more Christlike? 

What is shaping my view of justice? Am I looking at it through a cultural lens, a political lens, or a biblical lens?

A great way to begin is by simply sitting with scripture. Read passages like Isaiah 1:17, Micah 6:8, or Luke 4:18-19, and ask: 

What does God say about justice? 
What does this reveal about his heart?
What is his invitation for me in this season?
What is one small way I can stay engaged this week, even if it feels slow?

 And trust that even the small things matter in God's bigger story.

 

 

The Hidden Power of Meaningful Repetition in Your Spiritual Life

Blog by Gem Fadling

Shrink wrap. That was the only thing between me and the latest smooth tones of Karen Carpenter. I would peel off the plastic, feel the cover, and with great anticipation open the album jacket.

 

If I was lucky, it was a double cover and would open up like a book. Words spread from left to right against a background of faded images of Karen and her brother Richard, and I would read every single one.

 

I’d set the record on the turntable, place the needle in the first groove, turn it up loud, and lie on the floor. I would let the entire album unfold over the next 45 minutes or so, reading every word as it was sung, getting a feel for the flow of the songs.

 

This was my “liturgy” every time I played a new album. And it was a good one. All the time in the world, taking in the music, understanding the meaning and the order of the songs, enjoying Karen’s deep, velvety voice.

 

Of course, calling this routine a “liturgy” is a stretch, but it was my structure—my way of listening.

 

Most of my early Christian life, I was told that liturgy was bad. It was referred to as “meaningless repetition,” not heartfelt worship like our church practiced. But even people who don’t consider themselves liturgical have a liturgy.

 

According to Google, liturgy is “a form or formulary according to which public religious worship, especially Christian worship, is conducted.” That’s a fairly dry definition compared to what I now experience week by week in the form of meaningful repetition.

 

Every week my heart has a chance to realign with my core beliefs. I participate in centuries-old ways of worship. Scripture is read—both Old Testament and New Testament. Silence follows to take in what was heard. A sermon is shared based on the passages.

 

Then we recite together the Apostles’ Creed, a beautiful synopsis of everything I hold dear. After that is a time for much-needed confession. I have a chance to get down on my knees and speak out loud with my own mouth how I fell short that week. I receive forgiveness and blessing.

 

Then comes one of my favorite inventions ever: Passing the Peace. Hearing the words “Peace be with you” multiple times from people around me has a way of softening the edges of the week.

 

The service culminates in the Lord’s Supper (Eucharist), a most appropriate focus of each and every week. The table is set, the wine is poured, the bread is laid out. I go forward, receive the bread and cup, and return to my seat.

 

I then watch as each person receives and is blessed. Little ones are prayed over. I feel as though I share in each person’s blessing as they make their way through the line.

 

This is my weekly liturgy with my church community. There is a simplicity, a rootedness, a sweet and peaceful spirit that pervades our worship. This is liturgy at its best.

 

Another beautiful aspect of formal liturgy is there is only one “star of the show.” It is Jesus himself and the Eucharistic table, which in our church is placed front and center. The worship leader and even the pastor stand off to the side when they speak. We are continually pointed to Christ visually, symbolically, and literally.

 

Whether we call ourselves liturgical is neither here nor there. We all have communal liturgies in our forms of public worship. We might even have a personal liturgy or rhythm of life. What practices, rhythms, and patterns do you have in place to keep your heart and mind aligned?

 

In this season of my life, I firmly believe that meaningful repetition is good. A classic illustration of this is extending love to others. When is a good time to stop saying “I love you”? I can assure you, the repetition of that phrase never gets old. That’s because I mean it. It’s meaningful repetition.

 

I want every part of me—my mind, heart, soul, and body—to have a sense of significant rhythms. The patterned refocusing and realigning of my soul is as real to me now as the need to shower or brush my teeth.

 

I love resting on a process that has stood the test of time. And yes, even more than my “liturgy of Karen Carpenter,” my soul is at home in the rhythm of our church community’s weekly liturgy.

 

For Reflection: 

What liturgies (meaningful repetitions) do you have in place as you seek to remain mindful of how God is nurturing your soul?
In what ways have you embraced meaningful repetition in your work of formation?
How do you remain focused on God and his ways day by day, week by week?