A Sacred Journey

practicing pilgrimage at home and abroad

Thoughts from the Other Side: Cultivating Spaciousness as an Everyday Practice

Ravenna Park

Whether I’m ready for it or not, my week of spaciousness has come to an end. Or perhaps I should say instead that my time to work has returned, because in the end, that would be more accurate. Spaciousness, after all, is always available—if we choose it.

My week of spaciousness was less a week of complete freedom (as I had dreamed it would be) and more a daily (and hourly) lesson in choosing to make space. I’m often dreaming of days or seasons filled with complete freedom and fulfillment. It seems that the grass is indeed greener on the other side, at least in my mind. My desire for days like these springs from something real, to be sure. But those days and seasons of freedom and fulfillment that I cling to occurred less because of circumstance and more because of choice.

That was one of my greatest lessons last week as I sought to create space. In preparation for my time, I had cleared my calendar diligently, ensuring there would be plenty of room to follow wherever my soul leads. Saying “no” and shutting down shop for a week can be difficult, but I was stern. Wasn’t that enough?

I quickly learned that it wasn’t, and that lesson became my theme for the week.

You see, while I was keeping options open to pursue whatever felt spacious to me at the moment, there was one thing I knew I wanted to do during my week of spaciousness: spend plenty of my time in my garden reading. It’s where I’ve felt most grounded over these past many months as we’ve settled back into Seattle. What better place to spend a week of spaciousness? I had even bought a new book for the occasion (Elizabeth Gilbert’s The Signature of All Things, in case you’re curious).

The Signature of All Things

As Sunday rolled into Monday, I entered the week with every intention of spending most of my hours lounging in the garden, coffee or rosé in hand (depending on the time of day, obviously), and reading Gilbert’s latest novel voraciously, looking up only on occasion to contemplate in amazement the vivid blue hue of my hydrangeas. (And, getting up on occasion to refill my bowl of kettle-cooked potato chips—it was a week of spaciousness, after all.)

Dreamy, I know.

And it would have been, except for the fact that last week seemed to be the week that my landlords chose to do repairs on the facade of our apartment building, which meant lots of banging on our walls and men on ladders in our tiny yard—my beloved garden, my thin place, my Sacred space.

I had done everything I could to make my fantasy a reality. I’d cleared my schedule—said “no” to all of the things! I’d cleaned up the garden and bought a new book. I had even chilled the rosé!

But on Monday morning, although the birds’ song was beckoning me outdoors, I sat inside, construction workers hammering outside my window. The only place of complete privacy was the bathroom, and even there you could hear the banging.

I had all the time in the world, but it didn’t feel spacious.

I allowed myself time to sulk, because sometimes sulking is important. It let me know that my soul was upset, and that it wasn’t going to give up its desire that easily simply because it was inconvenient. But once my time of sulking had sufficiently passed (a period that involved the coffee, rosé, and a fair amount of the potato chips), I realized I had a choice to make: I had already made the space. What could I do now that would feel spacious, in light of the circumstances?

The Crumpet Shop at Pike Place Market

The Crumpet Shop at Pike Place Market

And so, I made plans to seek spaciousness elsewhere, at least until they were finished. I went on walks, visited Pike Place Market (one of my favorite places in Seattle), and did my fair share of people watching while sipping lemonade. And during the times I was at home, I baked muffins with the music turned up loud enough to drown out the banging. I also did a fair amount of pinning on Pinterest—if the world around me wasn’t feeling spacious, I could at least channel my energy into imagining things that do.

By the end of the week, the construction workers were gone, and I was finally able to sit in my garden and read away. But even then, there was distraction, and it became a daily (and hourly) practice to remind myself to choose not simply what seemed attractive at the moment (oftentimes it’s looking something up on the Internet), but to choose instead the activity that brings me life. Little bursts of fulfillment can be fleeting, but choosing spaciousness will nourish and root me—satisfactions that last far longer than a moment.

This is the lesson I take with me as I return to work this week. And this is why I started by saying that my time of spaciousness isn’t over, because it’s always available, if I choose it. As I enter back into rhythms of work, I’m contemplating how I can also establish daily rhythms of spaciousness. It begins with clearing time in my schedule, for sure, but it will also be something that I will have to be intentional about, day by day and moment by moment, being flexible when less than ideal circumstances arise (and they will).

It will be a daily practice, certainly. But I have a feeling it will be a practice that, when cultivated, will produce a Sacred garden of delight and rest—perhaps even with it’s own bright blue hydrangea.

GO FURTHER…

How will you choose to cultivate spaciousness today or this week? Leave your response to this question or the post in the comments.

We Almost Bought a House (on great desire, deep disappointment, and the meaning of prayer)

skeleton key

Yesterday, we almost bought a house.

This house had everything we wanted at a price we could afford. Sure, there was room for improvement, as would be expected for most things in our price range, but we’re DIY people so we like it that way.

Not only was the house ideal, with sunny nooks for reading, raised beds prepped for gardening, and a mountain view from the master bedroom (bonus!)—the location couldn’t be beat.

It was less than 500 feet from the library  and a stone’s throw from there to the post office. Next door to the post office was my new favorite used bookstore, where I found these on Saturday while listening to the live Irish music being played in the back of the store. Further down the street was Kyle’s favorite coffee shop and multiple restaurants we’ve been wanting to try. In the other direction was the zoo and the farmers’ market. And on a nice day, we could even ride our bikes to church—just a couple of miles down that same winding road.

Do I have you dreaming along with me yet? Truly, we were in a state of bliss.

In the Seattle real estate market, we’re learning, homes go quickly. Not only do you have to move at a fast pace, but you also have to be willing to compete, because it’s more than likely that each home has multiple offers.

After studying every detail online Saturday night and Sunday morning, we looked at the house in person yesterday in the early afternoon. Less than two hours later, we were making an offer, writing our initials and the date on more papers than I could have ever imagined. With only one other on the table, our agent thought we were a shoo-in, and we put in an escalator, saying that we would beat any offer up to a certain amount, to guarantee it.

With the offer in and waiting to be reviewed at 6pm (we would know by the end of the night!), I found myself more full of hope than I had ever been (or so it seemed). Desire sprung out of my soul like a geyser with a force equal to that which had kept it down for so long, and I danced in its rain as it fell to the ground as if a season of drought were finally coming to an end.

It felt so good. I felt so free.

I’ve been wondering about the meaning of prayer a lot these days—what it is, what happens during prayer, what it results in—especially in times like these when I want to gather up Prayer Warriors in hopes that their faithful petition on my behalf might solidify the deal (you know, so as to cover all of the bases). But really, I’ve been thinking that it’s not about might, but instead all about desire. Praise, petition, thanksgiving—each is an expression of deep longing. And the expression of deep longing requires surrender—of defenses, of ego, of control.

It is an intimate exchange, which seems appropriate for communion with the Divine. That’s what prayer is, really—something that I feel any person of faith would agree with. And communion means “an act or instance of sharing.” And that doesn’t mean it’s just me sharing my desires with God, because the prefix “co” means “together, mutually, in communion.”

When I bring my desires to God—in praise, in petition, in thanksgiving—letting go of defenses, ego, and control in a stance of complete surrender, God is with me in my desires—together, mutually, in communion.

But to risk by surrendering to desire is to also risk surrendering to pain. I thought of this as Kyle and I sat in church last night as the clock passed 6pm, our phones on vibrate just in case we might get The Call. I wondered if I should be risking so much by being vulnerable with my desires—was it wise? After all, there was still a small chance that we might not get the house—that my desires, now laid bare on the table as an offering of hope, might not be fulfilled.

But there was something about that sweet communion of bliss that felt so full, so whole, so authentic. I didn’t want to be protected from it by reason, however “wise” it might seem.

If the Divine was truly there with me, alongside me in my desire, then I wanted to bask in the glow of that radiant hope, no matter how fleeting. In the same way, if I surrendered to my disappointment and grief if my desires weren’t fulfilled, I knew that the Divine would be there alongside me as well, however sorrowful that communion might be.

As the service came to a close, Kyle tapped me on the shoulder to get my attention and showed me his buzzing phone. Our agent was calling. This was The Moment—one we had only been waiting only six hours for, but with desire that seemed to hold the weight of a lifetime.

We quickly ducked outside and found a private place so we could answer the phone. Reason told me it was so we could hear clearly; my desire told me it was so we could have plenty of space to burst into celebration. I watched as Kyle listened intently, nodding his head as our agent spoke on the other end. Because I couldn’t make out what our agent was saying, I focused on his eyes and his mouth, waiting attentively to catch the first glint of a brightened expression that said, “We got it!”

But nothing came. There were more words that I couldn’t decipher on the other line (too many to be good news?), but still no expression from Kyle.

And then it happened.

He looked straight into my eyes with mutual longing and slowly shook his head back and forth. No. “We didn’t get it,” he mouthed.

The others who had put in an offer countered our offer by $25,000—tens of thousands more than the house was really worth, our agent said. We couldn’t do it. It would be foolish, our agent advised.

And so we walked away—from the possibility of getting that house, from the bliss of surrendering to our desires, from the place where moments ago we thought we would be celebrating—eyes wide, hearts full, grins glued to our faces.

And then, we walked into our grief—into the valley that comes with mountains, the desolation that counters the consolation, and the devastation that is the other face of desire. And we stayed.

Communing with God in the midst of sadness isn’t as easy as sharing in the delight. It’s far easier to regain control, pick up my defenses, and just keep going—”It’s okay, we’ll find another one. Where’s the next house?” In the moments that the sadness does creep in, it quickly turns to anger, often against myself—”I don’t deserve it. I’m not good enough. I shouldn’t have risked and surrendered to desire. I knew better. Just keep going…”

It’s harder to be met in your grief by the Divine and to stay there and honor it just as much as you honored your desire. In some ways, it seems impossible to bear. But it’s often by facing the things that seem unbearable that transformation occurs, particularly in relationship. And it is only when we truly surrender—feeling both our highs and our lows in the presence of the Divine—that we can fully commune with God.

This, I think, is prayer. At least that’s what I’m wondering.

GO FURTHER…

What are your thoughts on prayer? Do you freely express your highs and your lows? Have you felt God come alongside you in moments of grief just as in moments of delight? Share your response in the comments.

Declare Your Independence: Where Could You Use More Freedom?

Declare Your Independence: Where Could You Use More Freedom?
Today is Independence Day in the US. It feels strange to call it “Independence Day” because we usually refer to the holiday simply as the “Fourth of July” (even Wikipedia says so), but then again, it’s the fourth of July everywhere, so I’ve been feeling the need to make the distinction lately.

Referring to this holiday is “Independence Day” rather than simply the Fourth has also allowed me to think of the day more liturgically. This year I really loved the idea of Mother’s Day not only being a day to celebrate our earthly mothers, but also an invitation to celebrate the Divine as our heavenly mother—an image so often overlooked and even rejected.

I’d like to think that Independence Day has a similar invitation, too. Certainly it invites us to remember the history of the United States, the freedom we have, and those who have fought for that freedom—both abroad and at home. But it can also serve as an annual invitation to not only remember independence gained in the past, but to declare personal independence in the present.

Today I’ll be joining friends for a cookout and to watch fireworks, just like the rest of the United States. I might even be inspired by the sounds of a brass band to sing a patriotic tune. But I’ll also be celebrating freedom beyond an eighteenth century document and revolution. The independence I’ll be declaring—and the freedom I’ll be celebrating—will also be my own.

No matter where you live in the world, today I invite you do join me in the practice of declaring your own independence from whatever weighs you down in life and celebrating what brings you freedom.

(Unfortunately, though, you might still have to go to work.)

GO FURTHER…

How can you declare independence from whatever weighs you down in life? What brings you freedom? Leave your response in the comments.

PS: I should probably add a disclaimer about the photo and say that by sharing a photo with the absence of the US flag on a post about Independence Day I’m not trying to make any sort of statement. But I will say that I automatically have great affection and respect for whoever lives in a house that hangs a pirate flag on their flagpole. With playfulness like that, I have a feeling they know a little about freedom and declaring independence from the things that weigh them down in life.

Travel Tip: Collect Found Objects

Travel Tip: Collect Found Objects » https://www.asacredjourney.net

This flower was picked during a retreat a few years ago during a labyrinth walk. After the walk, I placed it in my journal to take my intention home with me. Now it sits by my beside, calling me back each day to my true self through the memory it holds.

Here’s a travel tip for you next journey:

Collect found objects from nature to remind you of the Sacred Encounters on your journey.

It’s free, which is always nice, but there’s also something mystical about a stone or a leaf that has inhabited thin places, bearing witness to your own Sacred Encounter and that of the many other pilgrims who have gone before you.

Bringing one of these natural witnesses home with you can symbolize your desire to invite the Sacred Encounters from your journey into everyday life. As natural objects brought indoors into your home, they stand out more than a trinket found at a corner shop, calling you to remember.

Travel Tip: Collect Found Objects » https://www.asacredjourney.net

This honeycomb is from my husband Kyle’s beehive down the street. It reminds me to store up spiritual nourishment so that when times are dry, I still have something sweet and rich to feed my soul.

Because of their uniqueness, these found objects have the power to bring you back to your intention as you pass them each day. And on days when life is so chaotic that you pass by without noticing (days that often come too frequently, unfortunately), your found objects can say your prayers for you, for they are a physical manifestation of  desire and represent a prayer uttered on some other shore for this time and place.

Something else I love about these found objects? They’re secret-keepers. Only you know what they represent, and to be honest, not many people will inquire further. Those who do? They’re your soul friends—keep them close.

Travel Tip: Collect Found Objects » http://asacredjourney,net

This moss attached to a stick is from a a retreat a few years ago spent with a group of vibrant, fierce women. It reminds me that there is a vibrant, fierce woman within me, too.

IDEAS FOR FOUND OBJECTS

  • press flowers or leaves inside a book or journal
  • collect a shell from the seashore or a rock from the bottom of a holy well
  • gather acorns or feathers that catch your eye

Like the practice of lectio divina, choose whatever speaks to you, inviting you to set an intention and calling you to remember. And you don’t have to be on a pilgrimage far away to collect these natural witnesses. You can gather things in your everyday life, too, reminding you that the Sacred is especially present in the ordinary—we just have to make the space for Sacred Encounter.

GO FURTHER…

Do you have any found objects—natural witnesses—that you’ve collected that call you to remember?

It’s Here! Introducing The Shop at A Sacred Journey

A Sacred Journey | Shop » https://shop.asacredjourney.net

It’s the 23rd of June, which means it’s time to release the hand-lettered, illustrated prints I’ve been on and on about for the past two months!

I’m so excited to share the final prints with you today, each infused with the spirit of pilgrimage. These prints are available exclusively as downloads in black and white and also with watercolor embellishments. And it gets better: every download package includes four sizes of each print! (That’s four prints for the price of one, not to mention the fact that you can print them off as many times as you’d like!)

Those of you who gave me your email when you took my recent survey should have an email in your inbox right now with a code to download your free print! Thanks again for your responses. I’ll be spending more time with them over the next few months now that the shop is launched!

I surprised my subscribers today with a little treat as well. Missed out? Sign up for my newsletter so you’re ready next time (+ get a FREE mini-guide!) Subscribe now »

The launch of the Shop at A Sacred Journey is also important because it will be the home to future products as well, including the start of the Spiritual Practices Library in the fall, the perpetual liturgical calendar at the onset of Advent, and Pilgrim Guides coming next spring. Read more about new things coming to A Sacred Journey »

So what are you waiting for? Check out the premiere set of prints in the Print Shop »

A Sacred Journey | Shop

Journey Guides + Spiritual Midwives: Sue Monk Kidd

Sue Monk Kidd » https://www.asacredjourney.net

My favorite novel by Sue Monk Kidd yet and her latest—The Invention of Wings. After I finished it I was tempted to turn right back to chapter one and start it once more.

Many moons ago, I said I was going to begin sharing about my journey guides and spiritual midwives—authors who have led me down new paths and aided me, creating the space for new ideas, experiences, and ways of being to be born.

One of those journey guides and spiritual midwives is author Sue Monk Kidd.

The first book I read by Sue (we’re on a first name basis, obviously) was in fact not her breakthrough novel and bestseller, The Secret Life of Bees (still $3.99 on Kindle!), though it had been published for many years at the time. No—the first book I read by Sue was a breakthrough of a different sort—her feminist memoir, The Dance of the Dissident Daughter: A Woman’s Journey from Christian Tradition to the Sacred Feminine.

It was the summer that I became a reader—an avid one, at least. That summer at camp, I stole as many moments as I could to read the pile of books stored in the trunk of my car—the make-shift library for counselors who move from cabin to cabin each week.

With each book finished and neatly returned to my trunk-turned-library, something within me shifted. New questions were being asked without need for answers. Hidden voices were growing louder; unseen parts of me were finally being recognized.

No book had a greater impact on me that summer, however, than Sue’s book. A friend let me borrow it as school ended that spring, and I finally picked it up during the final weeks of summer, not really knowing what it was about or how it would impact me.

Though I didn’t resonate as fully with every piece in the book then as I do now—seven years and many realizations later—a shift undoubtedly took place within me that summer at camp.

I know this to be true because it was at the end of that summer that I crossed out those verses in Timothy telling women to be silent, and no longer sang worship songs which referred to God in the masculine form (and let me say—I deeply enjoyed the rebellion).

Instead, I began dreaming of rituals pregnant with meaning and blankets spread out in a field under a full moon with candles lit, surrounded by a circle of trees representing vibrant women who knew their strength as image-bearers. (You’ll have to read the book, I guess.)

I never made it to that circle of trees—that summer, anyway. I returned to school with a new part of me awakened—some of my true self revealed—and it certainly sparked new explorations of spirituality. You could even say that it was that following fall that I stepped into my identity as a seeker. However, I wasn’t in an environment open to much seeking, and it would be many years until I picked up a book by Sue Monk Kidd again and was called to remember.

Is it any surprise, though, that the book that drew me in again to her work four years later was her pilgrimage memoir, Traveling with Pomegranates? Back with Sue again and in an environment that encouraged curiosity, I devoured her wisdom. And it is no wonder—her story is my story, just as the stories she weaves in her novels are the stories of women everywhere.

Though the story has undoubtedly evolved over the years, to me it seems that each of her books—whether memoir or novel—tell a version of that journey of self discovery shared in The Dance of the Dissident Daughter—from “Christian tradition to Sacred feminine,” from expectation to empowerment.

Because of this, I will forever read her works and breathe in her wisdom over and over, for it is a truth that I need to birth anew each day.

PS: A little bit of Sue Monk Kidd from one of my favorite shows, Super Soul Sunday:

GO FURTHER…

Have you read any of Sue Monk Kidd’s books? Which is your favorite?

When Will I Ever Arrive? (my new spiritual practice)

When Will I Ever Arrive? (my new spiritual practice)

I have always been a planner—always looked to the future for fulfillment.

As a child, playing house was the game of choice, and if I wasn’t playing house, I was playing school. I longed to be an adult—I would have it all then. At least, that was how my sketchbook made me feel—a notebook filled with floor plans and Pottery Barn clippings—a perfect home for a perfect life (and even then, I was just in middle school).

In high school, I remember coming to school on the first day of sophomore year with one goal: perfection. (Do we have any doubts now that I’m a One on the Enneagram?) To me, perfection didn’t necessarily mean that I wouldn’t make mistakes (though there wasn’t much room for error). Instead, it mean I was organized, I was confident, I was mature. Perhaps I got all of these ideas from my Martha Stewart Living subscription. (This would also explain why I asked for bath towels that year at Christmas.)

I didn’t obtain perfection that sixteenth year, sadly, nor did I throughout the rest of high school. (In fact, I came out a little more broken-hearted than perfection might allow.) But that was okay. I was going off to college, finally on my own. Surely this would be the time when I would finally arrive. Surely then I would feel happy, fulfilled, whole.

That was nearly ten years ago, and still, with each new start, the hope is there—perhaps this is when I’ll finally arrive. (Is it any wonder that I’ve moved so many times and been so many places over that period of time?) Even though I have enough awareness now to recognize this longing—its impossibility to be met and its ability to keep me in a state of lack—the question still remains: when will I ever arrive?

Still today, this longing finds its way into my routine, my home, my relationships, and especially my work. These days, it is my husband who gets to experience the reverberation of this longing and feeling of coming up short, whether it’s seasons of self-doubt, expressions of resignation, or bursts of obsessive striving. For the first time, someone is regularly witnessing and experiencing at least a part of what I feel on a daily basis.

Perhaps this is why what he said to me a few weeks ago as we ate breakfast one morning created such a shift in me.

“Maybe you’ll never arrive like you want to,” he said with conviction as he put his fork down and leaned forward on the table.

I slumped with sadness in my chair, his suggestion weighing me down heavily with its truth. So much of my identity was tied with this longing, and to name it as false and begin to release it would mean to release a part of myself, too. But I knew something had to change. Over and over, for years on end, I’ve had the same longing—hidden or not. And over and over, for years on end, I’ve expected different results—to finally, once and for all arrive.

After a few moments, I suddenly sat erect in my chair, an Aha! moment breathing new life within.

“What if arriving isn’t about achieving success as our culture makes it out to be,” I offered, slowly and with a glint of excitement in my eye, “but instead about arriving in the moment? What if arriving isn’t something we strive for in the future but something we choose in the present?”

With his smile telling me that I was onto something, I then went on with the rapid speed that matched my newfound energy. My hands joined in with enthusiasm as I went on to talk about Eckhart Tolle or someone-or-another who said that the future doesn’t exist and the past no longer exists and the only time that truly exists is the present and doesn’t this all suddenly make sense?!?!?!

Whew. I know.

Now, I’ll be the first to tell you that even though in that moment I would have taken my new message to the streets and held a revival, my longing to arrive hasn’t gone away. (After all, perhaps I’ve finally arrived at the answer, right?) It still creeps in daily—sometimes even by the hour—in moments of self-doubt and chaos.

But my Aha! moment hasn’t left me either. Instead, it’s invited me to a new way of being and a new spiritual practice. Now when I get caught in those feelings of lack, I do my best to return and to remember—return to the present moment and remember that by returning to the present I have arrived to the only moment where I can receive peace and fulfillment and connect with my true self and the Divine.

GO FURTHER…

How can you practice arriving today? 

So, What is a Spiritual Practice Anyway?

So, What is a Spiritual Practice Anyway? » https://www.asacredjourney.net

Over the past week or so, I’ve been enjoying slowly going over your responses to the Spring Reader Survey (I plan on giving them my full attention after my print shop launches on June 23). Even though I don’t personally know many of you, after reading your responses, I feel like I know something more of your desires, your questions, and your spiritual journey, and it is a gift to have you share those things with me.

One thing that stood out in your responses is your hunger for spiritual practices. In response to my question about which types of post you like best at A Sacred Journey, posts on spiritual practices ranked highest at 85 percent, with posts on intentional living not far behind. With that insight, along with my recent announcement of the beginning of the Spiritual Practices Library of mini guides coming in the fall, I’ve been wondering for my sake and for yours, What is a spiritual practice anyway?

When I begin to try to answer that question, what comes to mind are examples. You’ve got the seven ancient practices recently brought to light again by The Ancient Practices Series, edited by Phyllis Tickle—sabbath, tithing, praying the hours, the liturgical year, Eucharist, fasting, and pilgrimage (my personal favorite, of course).

There are practices specific to contemplative spirituality, many stemming from the desert fathers and mothers, such as lectio divina, centering prayer, examen, walking the labyrinth, and even spiritual direction and companionship.

And then there are other practices that have been adopted from spiritual traditions beyond Christianity, such as yoga and meditation.

But naming various types of spiritual practices doesn’t really answer the question of what a spiritual practice actually is. You could, of course, look deeper at the meaning behind the words, perhaps drawing significance from synonyms. But people aren’t too fond of thinking of spiritual practices as disciplines—it’s hard enough to understand the word practices as is.

It’s likely we all first encountered the word practice in childhood, when we practiced sports to become better athletes or piano each day to prepare for the big recital. I, for one, wasn’t a fan of practicing piano (and I didn’t like sports enough to want to practice them, either). I was supposed to practice piano for thirty minutes each day, and I hated practicing so much that I wanted to quit taking piano lessons all together.

I remember expressing this to my mother more than once as I slumped at the piano bench in resignation after losing out to the metronome once more. “No,” my mother would reply from the other room. “You can’t quit piano because my mother let me quit when I wanted to and I’ve regretted it ever since.” (I will confess, she was right. I’m glad she told me no, and I’m glad she made me practice.)

My days of taking piano lessons and having to practice each day are long behind me, but my younger brother, on the other hand, has turned practicing piano into a full-time job. He recently graduated from college, where he was a piano performance major, and is off to graduate school in the fall for the same thing. He practices eight hours a day when he’s able—the same pieces day after day, hour after hour, until the time comes to perform them for a recital or juried performance. And then he starts all over again.

He becomes better and better with each session, no doubt. But between you and me, I couldn’t imagine anything worse.

No wonder people struggle with the idea of spiritual practices when practice in our culture is a means toward achieving a goal. While routine is at the root of all practice, spiritual practice as not about perfection. Practice as a means to perfection is great for mastering a tennis serve or a piano fugue, but the spiritual journey is an entirely different paradigm.

The spiritual journey is a never-ending pilgrimage—a continuous cycle of departure, arrival, and return. It isn’t something to be mastered; rather, it is something to be lived.

This is where intentional living comes in. If the spiritual journey is something to be lived, then spiritual practices help bring us back to our intention. They serve as an invitation to actively journey, to open ourselves toward Sacred Encounter, and to listen deeply to our Inner Witness—the indwelling of the Holy Spirit and the place within us where the true self and the Divine meet.

This could happen through one of the tried-and-true spiritual practices mentioned earlier. But the places we are passionate bring us back to our intention as well. For you, this might happen through making music or hiking in the wilderness. These days, creating space is feeling more and more like a spiritual practice for me—in my schedule, in my home, and especially in my mind.

But here I am naming examples again. (It’s hard not to, isn’t it?) Still, I think we’re close to a more suitable definition. So, what is a spiritual practice anyway?

A spiritual practice is a regular rhythm that calls us to return and remember—to return to our intention and remember what it is that we seek.

GO FURTHER…

What invites you to return and remember? How can you turn that into a spiritual practice?

What’s Growing: New Things Coming to A Sacred Journey

What's Growing: New Things Coming to A Sacred Journey

one of many peonies currently blooming

In April, I made a big decision. I had been traveling for five weeks, in the moving process for many weeks prior to that, and in a liminal space since the previous September. In this in-between season, I wrote and released my first book, launched a new version of this website, and began blogging on a more regular basis.

A lot was happening, both personally and at A Sacred Journey, and I wanted to take some time to step back—not to discover how I could keep up the pace, but instead to see what was growing.

It was all inspired by the garden at my new apartment. When I left for five weeks of travel, February was just turing into March, which might as well be January in Seattle weather. There was a corner in our small yard that I knew had been used as a garden, but at that point it was filled with dead leaves and sticks, with the occasional bulb poking through.

However, I knew that while I was away whatever was there would begin to grow, and I was anxious to see what appeared. As time went on and I transitioned from cold and windy Ireland to dry and hot Arizona, I kept asking my husband, Kyle: “What’s growing?”

My many labyrinth walks at the retreat center in Arizona made me realize that I had this question for myself and my work, too. After I unpacked my bag back in Seattle in April, finally in a place I could call home, I shared with you my question and announced that I was going to take things more slowly as I waited to see what was growing.

What's Growing » asacredjourney.net

wild blackberry blossoms, promising many delicious pies

Over past two months, the metaphor has served perfectly, because as I’ve pondered what’s growing for me in my new home, my work with A Sacred Journey, and my general well-being, things have literally been growing around me.

Things planted long ago in my garden by someone other than me have sprung up—peonies, roses, and hydrangeas—the last of which I’m still waiting to discover what color they’ll be once they bloom.

On my walk to the bus (and literally in every wild place around this city), I’ve discovered wild blackberry blossoms and am making plans to return and forage as many as I can handle in the coming months, with hopes of not stopping until my fingers have turned a deep shade of blue.

I’ve also done some growing of my own in containers (terra cotta pots to be exact—my favorite). When it was determined that the sun had come and indeed decided to stay for a while, Kyle and I headed to a local greenhouse to start growing things of our own. We came home with lavender, mint, parsley, kale, strawberries, and various lettuces to put in a “salad bowl” that you can harvest all summer long. (I know—amazing, right?)

 

Grow your own "salad bowl" » asacredjourney.net

our “salad bowl,” ready to harvest

It turns out that over the past few months, this is how things have been growing for A Sacred Journey as well.

Some things I’ve discovered growing are things planted long ago that are being imagined anew and are finally coming to fruition. Other things are wild and surprised me as I crossed their path, but they also offer the juicy delights and abundant growth. And there are also things that I have planted myself over the past two months with care and intention, inspired by your responses to my recent survey and also by my own desires and what I think will grow best in this season in which I find myself.

So without further ado, here’s what’s growing at A Sacred Journey—some things that you already know about and other things that are entirely new:

NEW THINGS COMING TO A SACRED JOURNEY

a sacred journey print shop

I’ve been sharing my creative process with you over the past many weeks and am excited to launch the print shop and my premiere set of hand-lettered prints on Monday, June 23rd (this was one of the wild developments!).

These prints will be available in different sizes and colors and are exclusively available via download, so you’ll receive them immediately and can print them on your own. Those of you who took my reader survey in May and provided your email address will receive an email the day of the launch with a code to download a free print or put to a larger order! (Thanks again for your time and input.)

While the shop is launching with only three prints, I plan on adding to the collection as time goes on, including a perpetual Liturgical Calendar with themes, prompts, and reflections to help you sink more deeply into the Sacred journey of the liturgical seasons, available just in time for Advent.

spiritual direction

As you know, I recently finished a spiritual direction training program and received a certificate in spiritual direction. I’m excited to begin serving as a spiritual guide to seekers in an intimate setting, learning more of their own spiritual journey and walking alongside them, helping them discover and name the presence of the Divine in their everyday lives.

I’ll begin seeing directees in Seattle this summer, and when I open up my practice to those elsewhere for sessions over the phone or Skype, you’ll be the first to know!

pilgrim guides

This fall I’ll launch a collection that will continue to grow for years to come: Pilgrim Guides. Pilgrim Guides will be a line of downloadable resources for the pilgrim at home and abroad. The first guides available in this collection will be part of the spiritual practices library, offering mini guides on ancient practices for modern times. I’ll also be releasing guides on creating a morning ritual and packing essentials for the intentional traveler, expansions of my popular posts.

pilgrimage to Ireland

Another big development that I announced not long ago is the pilgrimage to Ireland I’ll be leading next March with Christine and John Valters Paintner of Abbey of the Arts. Designed for seekers in their 20s and 30s, this pilgrimage will be a time of retreat and reflection near Glendalough, home to one of the most important monastic sites in Ireland.

The theme for this journey is “The Soul’s Slow Ripening: Celtic Wisdom for Discernment,” and we will spend time listening to the wisdom of ancient Celtic monks for how to live a life of discernment and holy unfolding. It will be both an inner and outer journey and a time for renewal and inspiration.

Consider joining us, won’t you? Find out more here.

and more…

Spring is slowly fading into summer here in Seattle and the growing season is in full swing. So it is, too, with A Sacred Journey. There are many things still growing in regards to my work here, especially ideas for more offerings in the coming years, and I’ll be excited to share them with you when the time comes.

Until then, you can still find inspiration on spirituality and intention in travels and daily life each Monday, Wednesday, and Friday right here on the blog (with an occasional break here and there—let’s call it a Sabbath, shall we?). And, of course, you can easily stay up-to-date on new posts by subscribing to my newsletter. When you do, you’ll also get a FREE download of the mini-guide that inspired my book. Subscribe here.

GO FURTHER…

What’s been growing within you in this season?

How Do You Want to Feel? (my core desired feelings + discover your own)

The Desire Map

The Friday before last, I set off to one of our new favorite coffee shops in a nearby neighborhood with pen, notebook, and my copy of Danielle LaPorte’s The Desire Map in tow.

For the first time in a while, I left my laptop behind; the only reason I’d be needing the Internet for the next few hours would be for a good dictionary and thesaurus, and I had both on my phone.  I wrote recently about my new intention to begin taking one retreat day each season in order to return to my center and realign with my true self, and this was my first retreat day of many seasonal pauses to come. What better way to start than revisiting my Core Desired Feelings?

Though Core Desired Feelings are a new concept to many, the idea is pretty self explanatory:

How do you want to feel in the deepest part of your being?
What feelings make you come alive?
What feelings make you feel more aligned with your true self, and consequently closer to God?

I first went through The Desire Map last summer. I pored over every word, took the time to thoughtfully answer every question, listened to the recording over and over, and discovered my Core Desired Feelings for the season at hand. I shared them with you last August in a post about moving temporarily to San Diego:

Core Desired Feelings

My core desired feelings last summer?

freedom. centered. empowered. refreshed. fulfilled.

During that season in my life, these were feelings that I yearned for, and our deepest longings can always tell us something of our greatest needs. They are also great indicators of how things might need to change. (Remember the great wisdom from Phil Cousineau’s The Art of Pilgrimage? The question leads us to the quest.)

I added these Core Desired Feelings to a vision board and put them on the refrigerator in my house in San Diego. And in moments when I became flustered, irritable, or felt unsure or out of touch (which I’ll be honest, occurs in some form multiple times on a daily basis), I would bring my Core Desired Feelings to mind. In the moments when I paused, took a breath, and realized I had a choice in how I felt (which is a practice in itself that is still challenging to me), I would ask myself:

What can I do in this moment to make myself feel empowered, refreshed, and centered?
What could I change about my circumstances to make me feel free and fulfilled?

It’s a difficult practice to do, let alone to remember in those moments of chaos, and it often feels counter-intuitive to those who grew up in a religious world where desire was more often seen as a negative force. But desires at their core are all positive, earnest, and Sacred. We just have to work through the sometimes-murky impulses to get to their root. And at the root of our desires, just like at the root of our selves as image-bearers, is the presence of God.

In fact, you can think of your core desires as an invitation from the Divine: and indication of your growing edge and a revelation of the gifts God has uniquely for you as you continue on your journey toward Life.

Now I’m in another place and another season. I’m spending time asking What’s Growing? and am putting down roots for the first time in quite a while. I’m in the early stages of this new place and season, but I’ve already noticed a shift, particularly in my Core Desired Feelings, which is why I sat down two weeks ago to go through the process again.

Here are the Core Desired Feelings I named for this season—my new and Sacred invitation toward Life:

How Do You Want to Feel? (my core desired feelings + how you can discover yours)

abundance. energized. valued. settled. ease.

Each of these new Core Desired Feeling is unique to this season, and each hits right at the core of what I’m learning (my growing edge) and the longings I’m hoping and praying will be realized and fulfilled.

I’m writing them down and pinning them up all around me to remind me how I want to feel. If our core desires serve as guides for our journey, then these Core Desired Feelings serve as guideposts, and I’m looking to them to show me the way toward my true self and the Sacred in the season ahead.

I want to invite you to determine your own Core Desired Feelings for the season ahead, too. The process is richest if you go through the entire book and I highly recommend you buy yourself a copy and wear out its pages (it’s just $13.92 on Amazon!), but I’ve included some questions below from The Desire Map to get you started.

QUESTIONS & STEPS TO HELP YOU DISCOVER
YOUR CORE DESIRED FEELINGS

In response to the following questions, list how you want to feel. After you answer the questions, notice the commonalities—your Core Desired Feelings are hidden there. If you need some help thinking of feelings, Danielle LaPorte’s Core Desired Feelings Library is a good place to start.

How do you want to feel within the category of…
1. livelihood and lifestyle?
2. body and wellness?
3. creativity and learning?
4. relationships and society?
5. essence and spirituality?

GO FURTHER…

So tell me: how do you want to feel? 

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