“How are you?”
That’s a complicated question to answer these days, isn’t it? How am I in general? How’s my health? How’s my family? The state of the world?
Truth be told, my answer to that question varies dramatically throughout my day. Moments of anxiety, followed by gratitude, followed by anger, followed by relief. Each day we encounter a whole spectrum of emotions. But if you asked me right now, right this minute, I would answer that I feel deeply grateful.
And not for anything miraculous or jaw-dropping. I had several spontaneous drop-ins today in the office, each one of them a gift. I met with my spiritual director and felt so heard, understood, and known. The different studies that launched this week at church were so full of life and energy. I finished a hard workout that I almost allowed myself to skip.
At the end of each day, I’ve incorporated a spiritual practice called the examen where you simply ask the question where did I feel closest to God today and where did I feel furthest from Him. What were the moments of consolation and the moments of desolation? This practice is a way of noticing and seeing your life by creating awareness of God’s presence.
And what it has revealed about myself is that I spend most of my day focusing on desolation. On the criticism. On the problems that need solving. Desolation feels safer, somehow. I protect my heart by living in the place of anticipation of what could go wrong. And as a result, comfort and contentment are always one or two hurdles away. I never arrive. And slowly, over time, I numb the consolation. I hold the joy at bay.
I was at a backyard concert last Sunday night to hear Zach Winters and it was such a delight. But something he shared caught me. He was commenting on throwing axes and how each miss was followed by an appropriate bodily expression of frustration and anguish, but that, when the ax hit its mark, he noticed there wasn’t a corresponding cry of elation. But there should be. We need so much more than to express our frustrations. We deeply need to cry out in joy.
Because these moments of gladness are crucial to making it through life. We so desperately need that joy. Scripture tells us it is our strength. And God is constantly piercing the darkness of our world with the light of hope and truth and goodness. He shines beauty into our lives in simple ways, but also deeply beautiful.
And it reminds me of that verse Paul wrote:
“Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.” Phil. 4:8
Thinking about the good doesn’t mean we bury our heads in the sand. We aren‘t to ignore the desolations. Solving problems, fixing mistakes, preparing for the winter, are all wise steps and necessary. But they are not the bread we consume to give us strength for the journey. The consolations are all around us, and savoring them can feel vulnerable. But that vulnerable place is where God draws closest to us. It is where our hearts are truly fed. And as we dwell on these things, God draws near. Paul tells us that as we do, “the God of peace will be with you.”
A new friend just popped in this week and gave me a prayer shawl her mother had knitted for me. It is gorgeous and the colors look just like the ocean. Just thinking about it makes my heart feel warm. And that warmth is so much more than a tender moment of friendship. It is a reminder that I am known, by my friend, but most of all, by my God.
Where today have you felt the warmth of God draw close? How did it feel? Can you hold that for a moment?