A Sacred Journey

practicing pilgrimage at home and abroad

Why I Went on a Pilgrimage to Ireland (+ why I’m going again)

Samhain Garden, Ireland

This past March, I visited Ireland for the first time.

I joined a group of ten other pilgrims on a pilgrimage facilitated by Christine and John Valters Paintner of Abbey of the Arts.  For eight days, we visited Sacred sites along the western coast of the Emerald Isle, with each day’s theme focusing on a different practice that encourages us to be Monks in the World.

On the first evening of our journey, as the pilgrims gathered together in Christine and John’s living room to orient ourselves and learn names, Christine asked a question I had not yet had the time to ask myself: “What is it that brings you here?”

The weeks and months preceding the pilgrimage were chaotic at worst and busy at best, and the roller coaster that was my life in that season didn’t come to a halt until days after I had been on Irish soil. Professionally, I knew why I was on the journey—Christine has been a generous advocate and mentor since before I started my work with A Sacred Journey, and I wanted to learn more from her about leading pilgrimages. Emotionally and spiritually, though, my desires were unclear.

Amidst all of the coming and going, I had not yet had the opportunity to pause and wonder what the deeper question was behind my quest. As someone who writes about pilgrimage and is continually inviting others to engage their own journeys with intention, I was deeply embarrassed. I felt like a fraud. How am I supposed to lead others on journeys if I myself had failed to be attentive to the journey at hand?

But, as someone who writes about pilgrimage and is continually inviting others to engage their own journeys with intention, I was also aware that I will forever be on a journey (pride be damned), and the invitation to re-engage the journey with intention is always there for us, waiting for our acceptance and surrender. “Always, we begin again,” St. Benedict said. And so, I did.

After sharing the questions, hopes, and longings that brought us on this journey to Ireland in that moment in time (or, in my case, wondering what they might be), we left our first gathering that night with the invitation from Christine to “receive” a seven-word prayer about the journey ahead.

The invitation prompted within me a deep sigh of relief. Could it be that, although I myself had not diligently prepared for my journey (as a Type A person always should), God had already laid out the path and spread a table before me and all I needed to do was surrender and receive? (Note to my future self: this is always the case.)

Celtic Cross, Ireland

Over the next few days as we hiked through fields to ruined monasteries and abandoned holy wells, chanting together or listening in solitude to what was stirring within us at each stop, I played with words that might become my prayer, turning over the rocks of my emotions and hoping to uncover a seven words sourced from the Sacred desire hidden underneath.

Then one afternoon in Galway, after we returned from our daily trek to encounter the Sacred, the words came. I was crossing a bridge over the River Corrib, on my way to Christine and John’s apartment for our evening gathering, when I paused. Something about the force and speed of the river resonated with me. It felt akin to the weeks and months that led me there—the pace of my days, my crowded mind, my weary soul.

Despite my best efforts to avoid it, I couldn’t escape from this season of uprooting (which included five weeks away from a home that didn’t really feel like home yet). If I wanted to feel grounded, I would need to find a way to center myself in the midst of the chaos, and the words that arrived that day provided me with an answer:

Sink in deep beneath the rapid river.

I have always been drawn to water in a mystical way, so in that moment I knew the words I was receiving were an invitation from God (not to mention that “sink in” was the word/phrase I received only months prior in the New Year for the year ahead, also by Christine’s prompting).

Over the course of the trip, we encountered water in many new ways, each instance adding a new line to my prayer and another invitation from the Divine to find the source of Life in the midst of chaos. As our journey came to our end, so did my prayer, its final phrase revealing the path God had been laying before me there in Ireland all along:

Sink in deep beneath the rapid river.
Surrender to the ocean’s roar.
Sit quietly beside the trickling stream.
This is what you came here for.

Holy Well, Ireland
I’m returning to Ireland again next March, this time to co-lead a pilgrimage for young adults in their 20s and 30s with Christine and John. On this journey, we’ll gather near a different body of water, Glendalough, and I look forward to discovering what it has to teach me along our journey’s theme, “The Soul’s Slow Ripening.”

The Celtic Christians were right—creation is truly revelation. We just need to slow down long enough to receive its Sacred message. The green hills, cool waters, and harsh winds of Ireland are calling me back to its landscape once more, inviting me to learn from the Celtic wisdom that echoes across that Emerald Isle on the edge of the world.

If you’re in your 20s or 30s and feel a tug to journey to this Sacred edge and listen closely to its ancient wisdom, I’d love for you to join us. The deadline to register for this transformative journey is next Wednesday, September 17. Feel free to contact me with any questions you might have.

Learn more about the pilgrimage »

GO FURTHER…

Have you ever journeyed to Ireland? What did its landscape teach you? Leave your response to the questions or the post in the comments.

PS: pictures from my journey

Who Are You? Discover Your Archetypes (+ a quiz!)

archetypes

Until a few years ago when I discovered Joseph Campbell and the meaning behind the mythology I had learned years before, I didn’t think much about archetypes.

To be honest, before then I feel like I had rarely heard (and even more rarely used) the term. But now, with some guidance from the work of Campbell (among others) and a little Jungian insight, archetypes fascinate me. I love anything that can give me more insight into my True Self (which is a token desire of my key archetype—more on that below), and so when I stumbled across the book, Archetypes: Who Are You?, by spiritual teacher Caroline Myss, I immediately put it on hold at the library. I picked it up just as I was finishing Barbara Brown Taylor’s Learning to Walk in the Dark, and its ideas have captivated me since.

“The idea of the archetype originated with the great philosopher Plato and is at the core of the influential Swiss psychiatrist Carl Jung’s analysis of human behavior,” it says on archetypes.com, the site that accompanies the book. “Simply put, an archetype is a pattern of behaviors that, once discovered, helps you better understand yourself and others. Archetypes are the blueprints of your soul.”

While I’m enjoying the book, I’m even gleaning more from the site that goes along with it. At archetypes.com, you can even take a free quiz to discover your top three archetypes. I took the quiz recently and received these results (which couldn’t be closer to the truth):

archetypes

Once you take the quiz, you can further explore your archetypes, discovering the family within your archetype, your archetype’s shadow sides, and even find tips for everyday life with your archetype in mind. You can also meet people with similar archetypes who are also seeking to know more of themselves since its a social network of sorts. I haven’t used that part of it yet, but I have a feeling that if I did, it would leave me feeling a whole lot better than many late nights on Facebook.

One thing is certain: I’m pretty hooked!

GO FURTHER…

So, who are you? Take the archetypes quiz at archeytpes.com and then come back and share your results in the comments!

PS: the archetypes of famous religious figures

A Change of Plans & a Change of Perspective: Why I’m Not Walking the Camino…Yet

If you follow along closely, you might remember that my husband, Kyle, was planning to walk the Camino this September and into early October. That means he should be in Spain right now, but he’s not—instead he’s here with me in our new home. And while I’m grateful to have him by my side in this transition, I’m saddened that he’s had to put his journey on hold—at least from now. Here’s what happened, in his own words. -Lacy

Camino de Santiago de Compostela

For a couple of years now, I’ve been planning to walk The Camino de Santiago de Compostela.

This past May, I finally decided that it was time, and bought the tickets; I would be leaving on the 31st of August. It felt surreal for a while. Buying plane tickets abroad is something that I had only done once before. But the reality began to sink in—I would actually be going to Spain to walk the Camino, and I’d be leaving in just over three months.

I was so excited.

Soon, my heart had already boarded a plane and was already walking. My heart had already arrived in Paris in the early morning on the 1st of September (the route called the Camino Francés, which I would be walking, begins in France). In Paris, I had seen, tasted, smelled, touched, and experienced as much as one really could in one day (mostly to redeem the last time I was there, when I got the flu). I had stayed with an acquaintance I met at the Taizé Community two years ago and had already taken a train to Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port, France, where I began walking the 500 miles to Santiago de Compostela, Spain.

My heart was already fully on the Camino, while I was spending the summer preparing for my body to join.

I’m a fairly active person. I like to walk or ride my bicycle when I can, and I regularly exercise to continue recovering from a back surgery I had several years ago. Still, I felt I needed to do some serious hiking to break in some new shoes and gear I’d bought for my impending long walk in Spain.

beginning the hike

looking happy and healthy before we began the hike (from left to right: me, my friend Brian, and Paul)

Two months before my actual departure, I  made plans to join my friend Paul as he hiked another section of the Pacific Crest Trail, which he spent 6 weeks hiking the previous summer (read about his journey here). The section of the trail we’d be hiking was 75 miles, and we would walk it in 5 days. That’s 15 miles a day, which is around the daily amount that I’d be walking on the Camino, so I thought it would be a nice way to warm up and get used to walking day after day with a pack on my back.

Makes sense, right?

one of the many alpine lakes along the trail

one of the many alpine lakes along the trail

However, while beautiful, it was far different than I had expected. The terrain of the Pacific Crest Trail is completely different than that of the Camino. The mountains are steeper and the trails haven’t been beaten down by centuries of pilgrims and people just traveling between towns. No—this was serious backcountry hiking, and my body let me know. Not even 24 hours in, I already had blisters forming on my feet in places I’d never had blisters before. My knees were aching, my back was stiff, and it took everything in me just to keep up.

I returned accomplished, but physically defeated. After a week or so,  I assumed I would be feeling better, but that wasn’t the case. I soon learned that the hike had given me an injury that typically takes a few months to really heal. I began icing and popping anti-inflammatories like candy. This helped, but it wasn’t enough. “If you weren’t traveling soon, I would put you in a boot for six weeks,” my podiatrist (who also happens to be my uncle) said.

My heart sank. What that really meant? It wasn’t a good idea for me to go. While doing what I thought was preparation for the camino, I’d sustained injuries that would prevent me from going.

The day following this realization was dismal until I realized that while my desire was postponed, it was not stolen. I could change my plans and leave for the Camino the following spring instead. It would give my body a chance to heal, I would be around as we settled into our new home, and I could approach my journey with more intention than my busy summer had allowed. With each of these realizations, I gained new perspective, and less than a day after accepting temporary defeat, I was pleased and grateful for the change of plans and the time to heal.

Until this point, I reluctantly believed that the pain was worth the beauty. Beauty was, without a doubt, the only mercy the Pacific Crest Trail offered me. But perhaps the mountains were meeting my deeper needs in another way. Perhaps the pain was serendipitous, giving me a chance to nurse other wounds in my body unrelated to the hiking trip that still need to heal, and another chance to become more acquainted with my desire.

Perhaps no journey is complete without growth, and worthwhile growth is often unlikely without some discomfort or pain.

I didn’t go hike the Pacific Crest Trail seeking injury, but I choose to believe that there was meaning to my suffering. Though plans have changed, I am look to leaving for the Camino once again and with new perspective,  imagining the day when I reach Santiago de Compostela as a different person, more keenly aware of my desires and my wounds, ready to explore what my own healing can bring to world.

GO FURTHER…

Has your journey ever been postponed by unexpected events? What lessons did these surprises teach you? How did they impact your journey going forward? Leave your response to the questions or the post in the comments.

Cease and Feast: Why You Should Practice Sabbath

This post originally appeared last year around Labor Day in the US (which happens to be today), but I thought I’d share it again as a reminder to take some time to cease and feast. If you have the day off today, I hope there’s plenty of room for rest and delight! -Lacy

sabbath-post

When I was in graduate school, I took a class all about Sabbath.

One of the assignments was to practice sabbath in three ways: one with a friend, another with someone who is a bit foreign to the practice, and one in solitude.

My Sabbath with a friend was spent with my dear friend Katie. During that day we shared some of the best things we had in common—we watched David Whyte speak at the Search for Meaning Festival, perused bookstores to our heart’s content, ate lunch out, took a walk around the nearby lake, and sipped hot tea as we talked about life. Though we had lived together previously, this was the first day we had spent entirely together simply enjoying ourselves, and it opened us up to deeper relationship.

As for the Sabbath with someone foreign to the practice, I instantly knew my ideal companion (or victim, depending on just how hard it would be). My dad knows how to be productive more than anyone I know. Consequently this means that he rests less than anyone I know. Even his sleeping is done in a productive manner, so I don’t count it.

I knew a day without productivity for my dad was going to be a difficult one, so I brought my husband in for personal support. Ironically, though, I realized that ensuring that my dad had a Sabbath experience meant that I was not having one at all. And so, I too had to let go of my addiction to productivity, which in this case was a vision of a productive Sabbath experience for my dad. I know—an oxymoron, right? (The productive/Sabbath part, not the Sabbath/dad part, but also maybe just a bit.)

As it turns out, I ended up doing a lot of things with my dad that day that I hadn’t done in a long time, and even some things that we had never done at all. There were a few struggles on both ends, certainly, but we made it through. When we let him off the hook early around 5pm, I left feeling that it was a good and surprising experience. (No word yet on whether he’s attempted a Sabbath again.)

The final part of the assignment—my Sabbath in solitude—turned out to be one of my favorite days in Seattle (quite akin to my envisioned ideal scenario described a few weeks ago here—it can be recreated after all!). It was New Year’s Eve, and I began the morning traipsing through my favorite place in Seattle, Pike Place Market, and then lingered over coffee and a chocolate croissant at Le Pichet for nearly two hours as I journaled, reflecting over and celebrating the year gone by.

I then stopped into the Seattle Art Museum, sampled some salted caramels at Fran’s across the street (the absolute best), grabbed a slice of pizza at the Italian delicatessen, and took it home where I spent the afternoon reading magazines, dreaming about an upcoming trip abroad, and drinking tea. It was truly heavenly.

But I never would have had that experience without the boundaries of Sabbath.

Outside of the confines of Sabbath productivity reigns, distractions beckon, and there is always at least one more thing I could get done. These are things to work on in their own right (perhaps a better word than “work” would be more appropriate here), but Sabbath is an opportunity to intentionally pause for a while, say “all is good,” and to celebrate that goodness in the way our hearts know best.

sabbath-post-2

Sabbath, of course, finds its roots in the seventh day of creation. It’s on the seventh day, we’re told, that God rested after all the work of creating was done. But in his book Sabbath, Dan Allender emphasizes that God did not need rest on the seventh day; rather, God spent the time delighting in the newly created world.

Kim Thomas, who wrote Even God Rested, describes the Divine’s action on the seventh day—and thus the model for Sabbath as well—as ceasing and feasting.

I love that.

Sabbath is a practice to pause and remember what was intended and is written on our hearts, what we search for as pilgrims, and what is to come when our essential selves are set free and we are fully united with God. It is a time to cease our everyday tasks and productivity—to cease even our sorrow or worrying—and to feast on love, on life, and on the goodness of the Divine. It is a conscious creation of a time and space that is Sacred.

God emphasizes this by telling the Israelites to “keep it holy” when practicing Sabbath. To be “holy” is, of course, to be “set apart.” Dan continues in Sabbath to say this about the holy:

“The holy comes in a moment when we are captured by beauty,
and a dance of delight swirls us beyond the moment to taste
the expanse of eternity in, around, and before us.”

This is what practicing Sabbath is all about—ceasing from our everyday and being “captured by beauty.” It’s about feasting on our delights, our relationships, our blessings, and what is good. And when we do this we are able to “taste the expanse of eternity,” we’re able to touch a bit of heaven, and we’re able to experience Sacred Encounter.

Today is Labor Day in the United States, a federal holiday that takes place each year on the first Monday of September. Labor Day was originally established over one hundred years ago to honor workers, giving them a day off from their labor and a chance to celebrate and be celebrated (thanks Wikipedia). These days it is considered a sign of the end of summer, offering a three day weekend when many families head to the lake or the beach one last time. Those staying at home might consider it as one more day to get some things done.

However, perhaps there is no better day to begin practicing Sabbath than on Labor Day—a gift of sorts in the calendar year. It’s a day off work with no Sunday services to attend or Saturday errands to run—a day that was originally created for us pause from work and to celebrate.

“Sabbath is a practice to pause and remember what was intended
and is written on our hearts, what we search for as pilgrims,
and what is to come when our essential selves
are set free and we are fully united with God.”

I know I’ll be ceasing and feasting. What about you?

GO FURTHER…

Have you ever taken a day of Sabbath? What did you cease from and feast on? What was difficult about it, and what brought great relief? Leave your response to the questions or the post in the comments. (Or share your Labor day plans!)

When I Discover All of My Desires Being Met (+ pictures of our new house)

Stained Glass on the Front Door

morning glow through the stained glass on the front door

Abundance.
Valued.
Settled.
Energized.
Ease.

These are the Core Desired Feelings that emerged when I revisited The Desire Map by Danielle LaPorte in April. (Read my Core Desired Feelings from my first time working through the book here.) When I named these desires as my season of asking “What’s growing?” came to an end, they seemed so accurate and filled me with hope of the new season to come.

front of the house

front of the house

And yet, with house-hunting and many ten-hour work days these past few months, they became the furthest things from my mind. In stolen moments where I paused to breathe, I often wondered, “What ever happened to ease?” But before I had the chance to clear a path to pursue it, life’s tornado would come by, sweeping me up again into it’s ever-twisting funnel.

living room, with stained glass and leaded windows on each end

living room, with stained glass and leaded windows on each end

Last week, though, after signing the final papers for our house, saying good-bye to The Seattle School staff as I left my role as Content Curator, and packing up 25 boxes of books, I decided to take a final pause in our tiny garden—one of my favorite places over the past six months—and intentionally revisit these Core Desired Feelings in this season of change.

Are they being met? I wondered. Am I choosing to seek them? Where am I making choices against them?

the dining room, with a view of the kitchen in the back and a curious puppy getting acquainted his new home

the dining room, with a view of the kitchen in the back and a curious puppy getting acquainted with his new home

Right now I am indeed at a threshold. It would be easy to miss it, though, if I instead focused solely on my growing list of to-dos, which is an ever-present temptation (along with its neighboring itch, figuring things out). What surprised me, then, despite my continual distractedness, is that as I brought these Core Desired Feelings out of the vault in which they had been kept these past many months, I realized that things have been falling into place without any conscious action on my part.

New House: Bedroom 1

first downstairs bedroom

I stand at this threshold—between working part-time at The Seattle School and returning full-time to A Sacred Journey; between nine years of seemingly nomadic living and my very first house of my own; between what has been and what will be for my family, my vocation, and my life—and as I take the time to sit back and truly see, I’m surprised and humbled to find all of these Core Desired Feelings already being met.

second bedroom on the first floor

second downstairs bedroom

As this roller coaster of a summer began to slow down and I revisited these Core Desired feelings, I at first felt guilt that I’d missed four good months of pursuing these feelings. But then I began to wonder—if prayer is truly communion with God and the sharing of your delights, doubts, and desires with the Divine, then perhaps these Core Desired Feelings emerged four months ago as a prayer of the soul, released into the heavens and captured by the One who sows life. Perhaps God has been tending to these desires all along, even without my constant vigilance. (Imagine that!)

first floor bathroom and second floor bathroom

first floor bathroom and second floor bathroom

Or, perhaps the realization that these Core Desired Feelings are being met is simply a shift in perception, brought to the surface in the slow, silent moments when I finally choose to pause. Could the two be so different? After all, A Course in Miracles (popularized by Marianne Williamson, among others) defines a miracle as a shift in perception, and finding these Core Desired Feelings met without much effort on my part undoubtedly seems like the work of the Divine.

second floor master suite (formerly an the attic)

second floor master suite (formerly an the attic)

Whatever it is, I’m starting to take notice, and I think that’s the part of the equation I’ve been missing all along. There’s so much value in setting intentions and choosing to make changes when circumstances are getting in the way of your True Self, but it can also leave a future-tripper like me always striving for what’s next and never sinking into what is.

the backyard

the backyard

As I cross this threshold, I want to practice awareness and continue to set intentions and make changes as I pursue my Core Desired Feelings, but I also want to add a new practice into the mix so I’m not missing the work of the Sacred Guide as I’m caught up in my own master plan. I want to name the things that bring me life, count my blessings, and recognize the areas in which my desires are already being met—resting in abundance, being valued, feeling settled and energized, experiencing ease. Because if their source is Sacred, I’ll find them there, waiting—every last one.

GO FURTHER…

When have you been surprised to find your desires met without your effort? When have you found prayers answered that you didn’t even know you had? Leave your response to the question or the post in the comments.

PS: Discover your Core Desired Feelings with The Desire Map by Danielle LaPorte.

PPS: I’ll be engaging in the Sacred practice of nesting over the next few weeks, and I’ll be sure to share with you pictures of the finished product when I’m done, as well as tips to make nesting a Sacred practice for yourself, too.

Have You Forgotten How to Fly? (an invitation to journey from Robin Williams)

Like the rest of the world, I’ve been deeply saddened by the recent death of Robin Williams, and have felt compelled to memorialize him in some way.

Last Monday after hearing about his death, some friends and I were talking about his films that have impacted us in one way or another, and as we named film after film, opening ourselves up to the emotions they each evoke, I had a feeling Netflix would be maxing out that night.

It’s unlikely that anyone reading this knew Robin Williams, and even those closest to him could never fully know his inner world, but those of us who have  felt a little more hollow over this past week know one thing: his presence on screen had the power to touch our souls.

Mrs. Doubtfire (my first PG-13 movie!), Dead Poet’s Society, Good Will Hunting, Patch Adams—the list of perennial favorites could go on and on. One of my personal favorites? Hook.

And so, this weekend Kyle and I joined the ranks of millions of others live-streaming Hook on Netflix on a pilgrimage of remembrance in honor of one whom we simply cannot let go. And while it brought back all of the warm, fuzzy feelings that a 90s-era children’s movie is guaranteed to do, I found myself astonished at the brilliance of the whole story in ways that I had never before noticed. (Truly—I was so impassioned that I wanted to write a paper about it. Didn’t I finish graduate school two years ago?)

Apparently it didn’t receive much critical acclaim when it came out in 1991, but if the famed mythologist Joseph Campbell had still been alive at the time, I guarantee you he would’ve given it a standing ovation. The archetypal themes of the Hero’s Journey in Hook are loud and clear, and pilgrim—if you watch closely, I have a feeling you’ll find an invitation for your own journey there, too.

As the movie begins, we meet Peter Banning, a man who can’t even sit through his daughter’s play (ironically about a not-so-unfamiliar story) without doing business on his cell phone (and check out that cell phone!). He’s too wrapped up in another world to notice his son’s desire and continues to make empty promises.

We soon find out that he has forgotten how to play and imagine, and has become too closed-off to express love. We also find out that he’s afraid to fly, which in the world of Peter Pan is no surprise, because he’s out of touch with any happy thought. (Naturally, he has no memory of being Peter Pan.)

He has, undoubtedly, lost his way.

In the inciting incident (the invitation in every journey), Hook kidnaps Peter’s children in an effort to lure Peter to a duel, and to be honest, I’m not even sure Peter would have found a way to go after his children if Tinker Bell wouldn’t have wrapped him up and flown him to Neverland herself. Once they arrive, Hook can’t even recognize Peter, and this “so-called Peter,” as Hook refers to him, doesn’t even have the capacity to rescue his children, resigning early, blinded by his own shame.

And so, Hook gives so-called Peter three days to prove himself—that is to say, three days to become Peter Pan once more. (Three days, people—do we think this is a coincidence?)

Over the next three days, Peter journeys toward remembrance with the prompting of Tink and the encouragement of the Lost Boys, who are as doubtful about Peter’s identity as Hook was at first. With each new challenge, Peter Banning journeys closer to his true identity as Peter Pan. (It’s the facing of our edges that always propels us toward growth, after all.) In moments both tender and provocative (signs that Peter is journeying closer to his heart and True Self), Peter remembers how to play, how to imagine, and how to love. And when he finally recovers his happy thought (being a father—directly related to the task at hand, no less), he remembers how to fly.

Three days later with his True Self restored (the moment of Resurrection just when it looks like evil has finally won?), Peter flies off to save his children from Captain Hook, who when faced with the real Peter Pan doesn’t stand a chance. Peter returns home from Neverland with his children and his recovered soul. And while Neverland is behind him, with his True Self restored, Peter knows a new journey has just begun.

“So… your adventures are over,” Granny Wendy says (Dame Maggie Smith, playing perfection, as always).

“Oh, no,” Peter responds. “To live… to live would be an awfully big adventure.”

End scene!

Brilliant, right? I hope you’re feeling it, too. (If you’re still unsure, John Williams’ soundtrack will help push you over the edge.)

This journey portrayed by Robin Williams in Hook reminds me of a quote I’ve seen recently floating around on social media. The fact that no one seems to know where it comes from only contributes to its allure. Perhaps that’s because it’s real source is our True Selves, calling to us from deep within to remember.

journey of unbecoming
Robin Williams’ role in Hook invites us on a journey of un-becoming. If we have eyes to see and ears to hear, the Divine is constantly beckoning us, calling us to awaken and remember.

And just like with Peter, there are many Sacred friends to help us along the way.

Who is your Hook? What calls you to fight? What is the fear that keeps you from your destiny—the one that always seems impossible to overcome in moments of doubt? What hidden invitation to Life and transformation lies within its threat?

Who is your Tinker Bell? Who insists that you remember, even when you have to be dragged kicking and screaming, and shares her fairy dust when you can’t think of a happy thought to make you fly?

Who are your Lost Boys? Who challenges you to be your best because they know you have it in you?

And what is your happy thought? What is the mantra you can return to each day of your journey, helping you to remember how to fly? What Truth calls you back, reminding you who you truly are?

Critics be damned—this movie isn’t just about scenery or block-buster hits or revisiting beloved fairytales. It’s about recovering the very essence of life.

The only question that remains is this: are you awake enough to follow its invitation?

GO FURTHER…

What’s calling you on a journey of un-becoming? What beckons you to return to your True Self? Share your response to the question or the post in the comments.

(P.S.: Did anyone know Gwyneth Paltrow was in Hook?!)

The Wanderer is Hidden within Each One of Us (my sprout magazine feature releases today!)

Sprout Magazine: Wander Issue featuring Lacy Clark Ellman

It’s Friday, and I’ve got two exciting ways for you to feed the seeker within over the weekend!

I’ve been following Amanda Fall for a little while now, and so admire the work she does with Sprout Magazine, which she creates, curates, edits, designs, etc., etc., etc., all the while functioning as a mother hen of sorts as she encourages her community to seek the Sacred and their True Selves each day. Her words and invitations never cease to bring warmth to my soul and light to the often-gray Seattle days (today happens to be one of them).

Sprout: Wander

Each month’s issue of Sprout Magazine features the contributions of soulful creatives and has an inspiring theme. The theme of the newest issue, which releases today, is Wander. Given my advocacy for the term and my love all things journey related, I was honored to be invited to be featured in this month’s issue as the Thrive interviewee. Click on the link below to buy this month’s issue and read the interview! (Plus, find a discount code for 25% your favorite print at The Shop at A Sacred Journey at the end!)

Buy Sprout: Wander for just $6 (digital download) »

Also, if you’re in the Seattle area, I’ll be speaking at an Author’s Forum on Sunday (August 17) at St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church in Green Lake (where I also practice spiritual direction) and I’d love to see you there! I’ll be talking about my book, Pilgrim Principles: Journeying with Intention in Everyday Life, and giving a little preview of a class I’ll be teaching next winter at The Center at St. Andrew’s based on the 7 Pilgrim Principles.

The Author’s Forum begins at 11:45am and will last until 12:30pm so you can make it home in time for your Sunday roast. I’ll also be selling and signing books. Hope to see you there!

Learn more about this Sunday’s Author Forum »

GO FURTHER…

How will you feed your seeker within over the weekend?

Everyday Calls to Prayer: 5 Surprising Invitations to Encounter God, Hidden in Your Daily Life

Everyday Calls to Prayer from https://www.asacredjourney.net

I have the best intentions of spending time in silence and solitude with God each day.

In my mind, I wake up with the sun each morning, fully refreshed, and slip out of bed to pour myself a cup of coffee. I sip it slowly in gratitude as I sit on my patio, savoring the moment as the birds chirp their chorus and the wind gently rustles through the leaves of the trees that form the canopy above me.

Certain that I have taken it all in, I open my reading, starting the day inspired. Sometimes it’s scripture or a book about spiritual practices. At other times it’s simply a text that explores a topic that I’m passionate about. Every time, though, it is something that brings me closer to God.

After a chapter or two, I set my reading aside and pick up my journal, putting onto paper what was stirring in my heart. Then, I finish my time in prayer. Sometimes I express my desires in words, as I learned as a young child. At other times, I simply sit in the presence of God, knowing that the silence is enough.

This summer, this daily practice has happened around… a few times. I try to maintain elements of this practice on a regular basis, but the surprises of everyday life often leave it fragmented, at best.

Waking up with the sun is the first to go. Sometimes I drink my coffee intermittently in the bathroom as I fix my hair instead of drinking it while peacefully surrounded by my garden. And the reading, journaling, and time spent in prayer? They’re quickly replaced by an early departure for a long day working or running errands. I don’t have any children yet, but I imagine the interruptions are just as often and far less predictable.

As much as we might love routine, a morning of uninterrupted bliss where we can set time aside for our relationship with God can be hard to come by. As for afternoons and evenings? Afternoons are usually filled with the next “to-do,” and by the time evening comes, weariness often takes over. With one day like this after another, it can seem nearly impossible to find the solitary time with God that you crave.

What if I told you, then, that there are ways to encounter God that are hidden in your everyday life, even within the very tasks that fill your days?

In monastic communities, monks and nuns commonly adhere to a practice called the “Liturgy of the Hours.” For centuries, members of these communities have gathered multiple times each day, pausing when the bells toll and turning toward God in a spirit of prayer.

Though the peace of a monastery might seem the furthest thing from your busy schedule, translating this practice to your everyday life can offer you invitations to encounter God throughout the day in places you might never expect.

Here are five seemingly-stressful everyday circumstances that can instead be turned into times of prayer:

1. Laundry day?

As you sort the dirty clothes from the previous week, call to mind your recent places of struggle and desolation. After they are clean and you begin to put them away, reflect on the week ahead, praying that you’ll experience God’s presence and grow more fully into your True Self.

2. Stuck in traffic on your daily commute?

Turn off the radio and practice quieting your mind and simply sitting in God’s presence.

3. Time to cook dinner?

Join the rhythm of your chopping or stirring with the silent repetition of a verse or a prayer of old, such as “Be still and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10) or the Lord’s Prayer. (Read my own reflections on this here.)

4. Dishes piled up in the sink?

As you wash the dishes, bring to God the places where you need forgiveness and desire to be washed clean, allowing the suds and warm water to bring you (and your kitchen sink) new life.

5. Have so much on your mind that you can’t go to sleep?

Instead of counting sheep, name the things you are grateful for as you drift off into a (much more) peaceful slumber.

GO FURTHER…

What seemingly-stressful everyday circumstance in your life can you turn into a time of prayer? Leave your response to the question or the post in the comments.

 

Our Father in Heaven, Mystery Beyond Knowing: A Prayer of Abundance

our father via https://www.asacredjourney.net

This past Sunday’s reading at church was was “The Feeding of the Five Thousand,” and the liturgy created by my church community served as an invitation to experience the passage in new ways.

I think I often skim over it since it’s a story I’ve heard told since childhood, thinking only of a miracle of impressive numbers and paper loaves and fish (or perhaps felt, depending on your Sunday School era). However, yesterday’s liturgy expanded this passage for me, revealing that this snapshot of Jesus’ ministry isn’t necessarily about the “what,” as I had thought in childhood (Jesus proves he is the Son of God because of this miracle of multiplication), but instead the “who”—the character of the Divine.

Instead of just a magic trick, it’s a gesture of abundance, generosity, and enough (and then some). And it’s a testament to the gesture of the Divine toward us. Not like the prosperity gospel, though, where faithfulness is rewarded with a flashy car and a mansion. Instead, God shows generosity through nourishment (in the case of this passage, literally) and offers abundance through things that bring lasting life—body, mind, and soul.

As we transitioned to the time of Eucharist in last night’s service, we recited the Lord’s Prayer, as is common to the liturgy, but this time with additions to remind us to ask for—and rest in—the generosity and abundance of a life-giving God.

I’m in a season of discerning what brings me life and what weighs me down, and am also learning to rest in the abundance that surrounds me (much more difficult than I would have ever imagined), so the additions to this well-known prayer especially stood out to me. It’s my prayer for the week (or season) ahead, and I want to share it with you, too.*

Our Father in heaven,
hallowed be your name.

Mystery beyond knowing,
close to us as our breathing,
in humble awe we pray.

Your Kingdom come,
your will be done,
on earth as in heaven.

We pray for your vision of justice and mercy
to be made real in our world even now.

Give us today our daily bread.

We pray for your vision of enough;
enough sustenance, enough warmth,
enough healing for all of your children.

Forgive us our debts,
as we forgive our debtors.
Lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from evil.

We pray for the grace to let go of that which is death-dealing
as we embrace your vision for life.

For the Kingdom, the power, and the glory are yours.
Now and forever.

Giving thanks for presence that defies definition
in this life and beyond. Amen.

*Note: These additions are from Liturgy Outside.

GO FURTHER…

Which of these additions resonates with you most? How can you practice recognizing and receiving God’s generosity and resting in Divine abundance in the week ahead? Share your response to these questions or the post in the comments.

I Am a Spiritual Misfit: My Journey toward Contemplative Spirituality

Today’s post is inspired by Michelle DeRusha’s book, Spiritual Misfit: A Memoir of Uneasy Faith, and Convergent Book’s #IAmaSpiritualMisfit Contest. Read my spiritual misfit story below.

contemplative-spirituality

I grew up in a small town. In that small town, there was one post office, one school district, one small movie theater, and only one thing to do on Sunday mornings.

And there was only one place to do that one thing on Sunday mornings—or so it seemed to me as a young girl growing up beneath the tent of conservative evangelical faith—and that, of course, was my church (or, to put it correctly, the church I attended, but a child never sees it that way).

It stood in the center of town at three-stories high, making it the tallest building in the area, along with the dormitories at the conservative evangelical university of the same denomination just a mile down the street. (That was, until they built the four-story bank on the edge of town—that skyscraper along the highway.)

My church was my world—I knew nothing else (well, except for the “Doxology” from visits to my grandmother’s church in a much smaller town a few hours north). As far as I knew, my church was the church, and consequently our way was the way, the truth, and the light.

This was my experience as a child who “was blessed to grow up in a Christian home” (the opening line of my go-to testimony)—not necessarily what I was taught (although…maybe a little bit). But this experience shaped my faith and made me feel like a misfit if things didn’t fall into place.

Luckily, I was a rule-abider with a fear of getting in trouble from the start. Note: this is an excellent quality if you’re trying to fit into a mold. By the age of 11 (thanks to Bible Drill), I’d memorized a sizable collection of verses and key references and could find any book of the Bible (and also name the books nestled before and after) in less than ten seconds flat. I had the “Romans Road” marked in my Bible—upside-down, so I could still read the references while the one I proselytized stood across from me, should the opportunity to witness arise. (I also had it “hidden in my heart” just in case I was without the Good Book or needed the occasional reminder of my own depravity.) I closed my eyes as I sang in the praise band, signed pink abstinence cards in the presence of an accountability partner, and rededicated my life every once in a while just to make it stick.

To the outside world, I fit right in, and on most days, I felt as if I fit, too. But as I left that small town for college and beyond—growing into myself in the process—the distance between the faith of my childhood and the spirituality that God was birthing within me seemed as great as the literal distance between the small town of my youth and where I landed on a map.

While my relationship with God seemed more intimate than ever, when I visited faith communities similar to my childhood church, I felt like a square peg trying to fit into a round hole. If I wanted to fit, I’d have to smooth out my newly-formed edges—if not every day, at least for an hour on Sunday mornings. I’d have to silence newly held beliefs and pick up ones I had left behind, and I wasn’t willing to do that any longer. Instead, I chose to remain true to my convictions in hopes that I might find a square hole that might welcome my newly-formed edges.

Over the past few years, I’ve drawn closer to that hole, and I slipped right in before I even knew its name. It was as if God had formed me for this path from the start, and I had finally found my way. It is the path of contemplative spirituality—a path that is ancient in practice, yet rooted in the present moment—and in it there is room for my edges, my doubts, my questions, and my longings.

We are still in the honeymoon phase—contemplative spirituality and I—and I am learning and loving more with each new day (though not always without a fight). And as I look back on scripture and my Christian roots with a contemplative lens—at those verses and key references memorized so long ago—I’m starting to experience the depth of the Gospel in new ways. I finally feel like I have good news to share. But this time it’s not a list of verses, written upside-down in my Bible for optimum delivery—all of the boxes checked after you “admit, believe, and confess” (thanks VBS).

This time, its an invitation to journey, the Sacred Guide beckoning me each day.

“The soul’s journey in Christian spirituality is a journey of becoming, not simply doing or even being.”

David G. Benner

I am a Spiritual Misfit

GO FURTHER…

When have you felt like a spiritual misfit? Share your response to the question or the post in the comments.

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