.002 Creating Space

It has become a routine, now, that a friend and I meet in the chapel three mornings a week to pray.

Eight-thirty. The sun rests at the optimal height to stream through the stained glass windows, throwing colour all over the carpet where we sit.

We sit down, maybe read some scripture, share some joys or worries we're experiencing, and then we end off with prayer. This whole process takes all of twenty minutes, but it shifts the entire tone of the day.

The reason we began doing this stemmed from a conversation about carrying our faith over into university and how to live it out practically. There are choices, time constraints, assignments, voices telling us who we should be and how we should conduct ourselves, and other noise to wade through daily, constantly, and in the juggle and balance of it all it is easy to let faith blend into the din. It is easy to become distracted by all these other things to the point where priorities and perspective warp and prayer becomes an afterthought.

I've made a conscious effort this semester to be responsible with my time. First year I went to bed late and slept in late. I procrastinated too much and chose social activities over work priorities more often than I should have. This year, I wanted something different. I wanted to use my time and resources well. Part of this decision included intentionally and consistently getting up earlier, and this morning chapel prayer offered a meaningful reason to do that.

It is one thing to pray on your own, but praying together is enriching in an entirely different way. Faith is a journey, and not one to stumble through alone. These morning prayer sessions are a connection point, a crossover of two journeys and a way to acknowledge that we're walking together; we're not in this alone. We pray for each other and people we know and we wrestle with the question of how to live with purpose and mission where we are here as students.

This "lesson" really is a journey of creating space. Carving out time to be still and connect in a meaningful way, even if it is for only twenty minutes, or ten, changes me in subtle, small ways that stack up into bigger change. I find myself a little more focused, a little more hopeful, a little more peaceful, a little more content, and slowly my perspective shifts.

There is really no planned structure to this morning prayer and the time length varies, but it allows for a kind of inner breathing room and an openness with another person. We share hopes and worries and truth and we learn through this process. We've learned that sometimes God says "no" to things we think are good for us and opens other, different doors for us to explore. We've learned that sometimes finding God's will looks a lot more like taking a step in faith than searching for banners in the sky.

So in answering this question of how to live with purpose as a student, I'm learning that one of the starting points is how I view and capture my time. I have influence over how I fill it, whether that be the specific task or activity I engage in, or simply the attitude I walk in with. Time is my canvas and this purpose is found in how I choose to colour it in.

The One I Didn't Want to Post

I didn't want to post this. There is nothing scandalous here, no deep, dark secrets, but being vulnerable in a public space is just rough, sometimes. Often I'll learn things about myself and it turns into a post and I just kind of pray, "God? Couldn't you teach me about some kind of world issue or.... I don't know, something else that isn't so personal!? Couldn't this be a bit less like a journal?" But no, this is what it is.

As a little update, I've been keeping up my weekly pilgrimages to the mall to pray. I keep the fact that I do this pretty quiet in "real life," because I love having this space in my week totally carved out and secret. I've had so many interesting encounters and experiences on these outings, and it is a rhythm that has enhanced my life, and my relationship with God, so much since first semester. it is amazing how simply taking the time to show up and pray expectantly, or just sitting in silence, has opened my eyes and my heart. It has been a way to intentionally refocus, and it has been so, so worth it.

I've changed so much over these past two semesters of school. One of the prayers I pray most often is: "God, what needs to change in me now?" I find that those prayers are always answered in the most interesting and startling ways.

That essay I wrote about? The issue was less about the content and topic of the essay, and more about what it sparked in me. I'm finished it now, but I've been thinking hard about all of this, grappling with this passion I have for writing and where I want to take it from here. I say I'm grappling with it because, really, it has been a point of contention with myself for as long as I can remember.

Writing is what makes me fundamentally myself. Words on the page expose my most truthful self, something that can't be expressed in any other way. On the other hand, I've always wished that I had a different gift. I've tried to store this one away, hide it, downplay it, pretend that it isn't mine. I've been frustrated that writing isn't a necessarily "performable" talent (like dancing or singing), I've kicked back against the honesty that writing forces me up against every time.

When I think of who I am, the first two words I would use to describe myself would be "writer" and "introvert," both parts of myself that I've wanted to change countless times as I've grown up. I've always had this strange wish to be a logical, extraverted person and not this quiet, creative personality that I've been given. I remember, as a very young girl, retreating to my closet to write among stacks and stacks of papers; half finished ideas, stories, letters. I hid it all. Even now, I equate writing with hiding to some extent.

Hiding. Flying under the radar. I've been a bit of a wallflower all my life because it is the most comfortable place for me to be. I prefer to stand away from the spotlight. My idea of a good time mostly consists of activities that can be done alone. That is my niche. However, as a Christian, being alone all the time isn't what I've been called to do. I've also been given this intense love for people, and I've been learning to balance my natural tendency to retreat and this calling to love people.

So- writing. It is uncomfortable. It is gritty. It is also one of the most fulfilling parts of my life. Just as I haven't been called to hide away, I have also not been called to stifle my gifts or hoard them selfishly. That is why I share my writing. It is not something that I want to do, exactly. I'm not here to impress anyone or imply that I have all the answers. This is what I have been given, though, and every time I have used this gift, I've been blessed in countless ways. I'm reminded of the parable of the talents in the Bible, the one where the servant buries the treasure his master gives him rather than putting it to use. That is not who I want to be.

This year, praying about what needs to change, I've grown into myself more than ever. I've begun to embrace this creativity, my writing, my opinions. I'm trying to hide less and settle more into what I've been given.

This is where I stand now, at the edge, batting questions back and forth and peering through keyholes in search of answers. I'm constantly being pushed into uncomfortable corners of honesty and truthfulness, and I'm learning to be okay with that. I'm learning balance and autonomy and wisdom. I'm learning to accept the gifts I've been given and use them well. I'm learning that change is an ongoing process and that when I ask, I will receive. When I press in and really seek, I will find. I might not find what I thought I wanted, but that is the beauty of it all. There are so many unexpected gifts in so many unexpected places.

Slow Release

Last week was a hazy sweep of work, laughter, emotion and action. The days smudged together and time warped and Friday night was so welcome. The week exhaled to a close.

I've been thinking about Lent in between all of the chaos. I have a few blog posts written and saved in a document on my laptop that wander through my thoughts about Lent, but none of them seemed authentic enough to share.

Last year, I engaged in Lent for one of the first times and it altered something in me on a very deep level. It taught me about looking outward rather than inward. It taught me about trust and prayer and walking on the edge of wonder and anticipation.

I prayed for five different people over the forty days of Lent. I didn't decide to do this because of Lent, but it happened to come up around the same time, so I ran parallel to it, grafting myself into the practice. The five people didn't know that I was praying for them, but I saw very direct and clear answers to my prayers manifested in their lives. Something fresh and rich grew up in me during that time and I point to that season as one of the most healthy and vibrant periods in my life.

I wanted to recreate that experience again this year. I wanted to have a focus and a direction and, to be honest, a cool story to tell about it. I've been trying to bend myself into Lent by attempting to find something meaningful to give up. Lent has already started and I still haven't pinpointed what to go without.

What is really resonating in my spirit right now is a quiet "wait for me." I think that I might simply need to use this Lenten season to sit and wait in expectation for God. Something in me pushes back against this. I don't want to wait. I want to see. I want to experience. I want the miracle and the transformation right now.

On the weekend, I engaged in a worship session that brushed up against a callous place in me. I realized that, somehow, I've been gripping burdens like a lifeline and their weight is pulling me down, suffocating my spirit, squelching my joy at times. I don't know what exactly I'm holding onto, but it is allowing fear and insecurity to seep in around the edges.

I thought I was done with this. I thought that I had found freedom from all of my fears already. I can't believe I've come full circle. I didn't properly guard myself against relapse. All of these thoughts caved in on me as I realized how heavy and ingrained these burdens are. They have begun to grow and intertwine like vines to build up a protective layer, a shield, a wall of distance.

A constant unclenching of the fist. Really, isn't that the essence of Lent? Isn't it about giving up, about going without, about regaining focus and grasping meaning in the hollow space that has been channeled into your life? What will fill that gap? Will it be new truth, or a conviction, or simply some air for breathing room?

Maybe, instead of giving up coffee or committing to a different way of prayer for Lent, I need to wait and reflect and begin to loosen the knots that have blunted my spirit and my trust. This whole season must be a slow release, an uncurling of the fingers. It takes time to pull away the layers. The deepest lies are not easily redirected. The heart of a burden is buried deep.

Rather than letting go at the beginning, this Lent will be a journey of release.

Journalling, Special Tea, and Sacred Spaces

There has been an idea growing in my mind lately that threads in and out of my normal thoughts. Last night it surfaced again and I couldn't file it away, so I decided that it was time that I make it happen.

Before university I was a coffee lover. I still am a coffee lover. Strong, full tastes appeal to me and the robust flavour of coffee tops the list. I was convinced that I would be the ultimate candidate for full blown coffee addiction in university but, in a surprising twist of fate, I have switched my allegiance to chai tea. Coffee has slipped to a (very) close second. I will still drink coffee at any hour of any day, and I still love the taste, but chai tea has become my drink of choice here.

There is a chai tea blend at Teavana that I love. I ask for it unsweetened, without sugar, and it is the most amazing drink ever. It is my Special Tea, a tea that I will only ever reserve for special occasions because I do not ever want to get tired of it.

The idea that dropped into my mind was to strike out to the mall, get my Special Tea, grab a booth and do some writing, and that is exactly what happened. Maybe it is abnormal for someone my age to say that they absolutely loved going to the mall to drink tea alone, but I'll admit to it.

One of the best parts of the whole excursion was writing on paper again. I've written in a pen-and-paper journal since I was nine and, in recent years, I've journalled almost every day. However, university changed more than my preferences in hot drinks: I stopped journalling on paper. It blindsided me a little. I didn't expect that over a decade of writing in pen and paper would dissolve in a matter of a few months, but it did. 

Maybe this is part of why I feel this silence so acutely. Journalling has been my form of prayer, of connecting to God, of debriefing the day, of holding myself in check, and tracing back to see how I've grown. I didn't anticipate this discipline changing as drastically as it has. I tried to keep it alive at the beginning, but it felt forced and unnatural. 

I made an executive decision and declared a paper journal hiatus. All my personal writing had deferred to a Word document on my laptop, so I decided to allow that to become my stand-in journal. It is still good, but it is not the same, and I was reminded of that when I sat down in the booth today with my tea. 

When I sat down to write this morning, it felt like old times again. My writing is the most authentic and raw when it is written on paper and I could feel a release of pressure with every line filled.

Pages and pages later, I had to force myself to stop.

That hour in the mall this morning, just drinking tea and writing and praying, stayed with me the whole day. I've been thinking over it, wondering why my journalling (and when I say journalling, that is synonymous with prayer) only worked when I completely removed myself from my normal location.

A change of space. A meeting ground. An intentional connecting of heart and spirit. Maybe this is where I need to be more often. When I lived at home, I would journal at the end of the day in my room. Here at school, my room is where a large part of my life unfolds. I study and work in my room. It is my home base. At home I never did anything in my room except sleep and read and journal. It was, in a way, a sacred space.

Carving out sacred spaces is a theme that I have noticed subtly unfolding in my life over the past few months. I've met God in coffee shops, on bridges, and in an empty atrium. Maybe the shape of this season includes intentional pauses and finding a location to do nothing but meet with God. 

I'm going to try to do this on a weekly basis: to very intentionally carve out portion of my day to meet with God somehow. It doesn't have to be Special Tea every time, but a new rhythm needs to form. A rhythm of meeting. A rhythm of expectation. 

A rhythm of sacred spaces.