The Path

A sun-speckled, winding road led to a sun-speckled, winding footpath. Our steps, softened by a pine needle carpet, brought us to our destination. It was simply and thoughtfully prepared. There’s not much you can add to a grove of live oaks at the edge of a swampy salt marsh, without overdoing it. The sun dipped low on the horizon. A breeze overhead ruffled the Spanish moss draped on long-armed trees. This was the most beautiful space for a wedding I’ve ever seen.

The bride and groom seemed at home in themselves and with each other. Their ease and warm hospitality was also beautiful. But there was something else I witnessed that weekend, even more beautiful to me.

The night before the wedding, the groom alluded, briefly and privately to me, of a struggle in his family. We shared the bond of a family grown and stretched by adoption. I sensed a rawness and weariness.  Without him saying much at all, I felt an overwhelm and isolation lying just beneath a beautiful surface. They were all there, dressed in their finest, smiling in the pictures, celebrating their son and his new wife as best they could. And I wondered, if in some ways, they were barely, silently holding it together.  Maybe that’s because of my history – where the surface is fragile, and I’m telling myself ‘It’s ok. I’m ok.’  But put a feather of stress on me and see what happens.

What stays with me from the weekend celebrations was the groom’s dance with his mom. He was a big boy, a grown boy, now a married man. Most of the dance his back was to me. It took her full stretched arms just to reach around his broad back. All I could see were her hands on his back. Her fingers spread. Every so often and ever so gently, patting, rubbing his back. Holding her son. Even now, as an adult. I saw in those hands a parent’s deep love and strong desire. The smallest gestures with the biggest feel. I felt it in my bones. It’s timeless. No matter their age, you want to hold them. You want to feel connected.

And sometimes they don’t let you. There are awkward years as kids pull away, moving toward independence. It’s normal. and Not. Easy. I don’t minimize that.

But these hands, that I couldn’t look away from, perhaps knew another kind of pain, another layer of grief, another category of loss and helplessness. I’m not comparing. I’m just saying- it’s unique. And I say this even though I don’t know her. I don’t know her details. Her details vary from my details. But I know something of the desire to connect and the pain that can come when that is refused. It’s a pain that can isolate, because it clouds one’s sense of self and purpose. It can chip away at well-being, healthy confidence, and other relationships.

This mothers’ hands mirrored back to me my desire for closeness, and my pain of rejection, of being misunderstood, and of not being able to bridge the immense gap of disconnection. I didn’t know that my desire to be a mom would come with all this pain. It made my desire feel dangerous, maybe misguided, or even wrong.

It’s only been recently that I’ve learned the important role of listening to my desires in the context of spiritual discernment. By discernment, I mean “wisdom that enables me to see and interpret the leading of the Holy Spirit.” [i] It differs from decision-making (which is largely a thinking-based consideration of choices). Discernment, in contrast, comes from our hearts. It’s about discovering the deepest desires of our hearts, those planted by God.

A retreat leader recently shared with me that only three questions are needed in places of discernment:

What do I want?

What do I really want? and …

What do I really, really want?  [ii]

This surprised me. I’d been taught not to trust my heart. But in the cautionary advice, I failed to even listen to my heart. I just stuffed all that mess in the caboose. Problem is, the caboose got heavier and heavier. Feelings don’t go away when I ignore them. They still influence me; I’m just less aware that they are.  A heavy caboose is train wreck waiting to happen!  Or it’s an inevitable break down. And while it’s unwise to immediately trust my feelings, it’s crucial to examine them, which is what these three questions invited.

I learned that the first question (What do I want?) will likely elicit fears and anxieties taking up space inside. (I want my son to not lose his job. I want him to stop self-harming. I want this new therapy to provide relief.)

The second question often touches the surface of life. Not necessarily superficial, but of a more practical nature. (I really want a vacation. I really want a quiet, peaceful day – a break from the tension. I really want to go hiking in the woods on a cool, fall day.)

This opens the way to the third question, peeling back another layer, reaching deeper desires, God-planted longings in my heart. (I really, really want to feel supported. I really, really want to know I’m not alone in this. I really, really want to show up as I am, as I am able, and be accepted. I really, really want to experience God’s presence where I am and feel completeness and contentment here. I really, really want my son to be whole.)

George Ashenbrenner, a priest and author says, “To discover what we deeply, truly desire forces us to wade into a swamp of needs, expectations, demands, casual wishes, moods, obligations, and much more. Your deepest, truest desire may coincide with one or another of these interior experiences but will always cut deeper into your heart than any of them.

True desire is fire in the heart.” [iii]

True desire is fire in my swampy heart.

That’s why the mother of the groom, dancing with her son, moved me so. Because what I sensed in her hands, the desire to hold, care, connect – touched the fire in my heart from which our adoption journey began. And I needed that jolt.  Because years of wear and tear and turmoil on every person and relationship in our home caused me to doubt and to wonder – What was I thinking when we chose to adopt?  Because the love we had to offer wasn’t enough and the therapies we invested in didn’t help, because extended family relationships started breaking down, I questioned –Did I hear God wrong on this?  Because I’d observe our son in our home and see how miserable he was, an accusing voice in my head taunted – Was it my American arrogance that thought he’d be better off with us?

But growing in discernment, I became aware – God isn’t asking these questions. In fact, as I stayed with this mother-son dancing-holding moment, I sensed God impressing upon me – You didn’t get this wrong. I want you, to please stop, analyzing and second-guessing. Stop tearing yourself down. You were following the desires of your heart and My heart. That place of discernment and invitation and your yes to Me is holy, sacred, and good.

Moreso, I sensed I wasn’t the only one to ever feel this way, to ever doubt myself. There are times we all need such a mirror, to look back and feel the fire in our hearts where a journey began. I can’t offer a magnifying glass that makes sense of it all. But a mirror, reflecting a holy fire in the deepest place of a heart.

Trevor Hudson, a South African Methodist pastor, often urges, “listen to the longings in your heart because your longings are your bus ticket home.  Let longings lead you. Let them inform your next step.” [iv]  With a fresh glimpse into the fire in my heart, I reflect on a season of discernment around adoption and know – I was listening to my deep longings. I can rest in this. And let it rest.

But discernment is not a one and done. Not a transaction. Not a checklist. Listening to our longings takes us on a journey. And this journey will always be some measure of incomplete and contain mystery that refuses to define the end of what should happen. It can be me, and others, the culture, and even the church that sometimes writes in quicker happily ever after stories. These are smaller stories. They are less, not more.

When I don’t trust God, I tell smaller stories – when I’m living in fear and want to hurry the story, or eaten by guilt and want to fix the story, or swallowed by doubts and want to run away from the story, or controlled by pride and think I know how this should go. All – smaller stories.

But walking by faith asks me to be open and free and continue to discern – because I don’t know where I’m going or what this is going to look like. God writes long stories, life-long stories. So discernment is always on-going, because the journey is continuing to unfold. This looks like staying in touch with my desires in the present moment.

Today – What do I want? What do I really want? What do I really, really want? becomes a path that leads me to God’s Spirit dwelling in my deepest longings.

And by this, God leads me home … home to purpose, home to contentment, home to freedom, home to God.

Your deep longings matter. They greatly matter. This isn’t sentimental, or even just compassionate. It’s actually very practical also: Your deepest longings matter because this is where you find God and this from where God leads.

Experience has taught me that it’s not just the destination that beautiful. Beauty and goodness are waiting to be found all along the winding path. They like to surprise me; They often inform me. I’m learning to become a noticer. Invariably, if I’m seeking God, the path will bring me to the edge of my swampy heart. It’s God’s favorite destination, but not always mine. And it’s always better exploring it with some company.

“My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going.

I do not see the road ahead of me.

I cannot know for certain where it will end.

Nor do I really know myself,

and the fact that I think that I am following your will

does not mean that I am actually doing so.

But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you.

And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing.

I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire.

And I know that if I do this

you will lead me by the right road though I may know nothing about it.

Therefore will I trust you always

though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death.

I will not fear, for you are ever with me,

and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.”

― Thomas Merton [v]

This is a nearby path I walk with a friend.

We both get lost sometimes, disconnected from our deepest desires. Here, it’s safe to share a swampy heart.

As we walk, we often find our way again. We recognize the path with God as one of love.

It’s not achievement, not success, not perfection, not humankind’s approval that assures us we’re in the right place. It’s love – for myself, for God, and ultimately for others.

 Questions For Reflection…

1. Ask yourself, in the company of God – what do you desire? That first question. That first layer within. The one that likely connects with your fears and anxieties. Don’t second guess this. Don’t try to clean it up. Simply and honestly offer to God whatever comes up. God wants to hear all of it.

2. And now, the next question – What do you really want? Look again, within your swampy heart, and name these desires – the more practical things lying on the surface of your life. Place them before God in your mind’s eye.

3. Return once more to the question. Another layer deep. As you are able, begin to put your own words to your deepest longing.

   • What do you really, really want?

   • If this really is your bus ticket home, what do you want to do? (Your deepest internal longings will feel more like water hitting a sponge than water hitting a rock. … something you are drawn toward, not driven by, not forced or coerced. You’ll likely find a measure of peace, accompaniment, or resilience emerging.  This may not align with common sense or a big external sign or what others say or think. This will come from within you where God dwells.)

4. Our most authentic, deep desires always lead us out of ourselves – toward others, yes, and also laying down our many varieties of self … self-protection, self-image, self-reliance, self-promotion (while not neglecting self-care). As you offer your deepest desires to God, are there other desires you need to release?

5. Is there a situation/past decision where you are questioning yourself? What is causing you feel doubt? or fear? or guilt? or pride?  Where might you be hurrying, fixing, running away, or assuming you already know the answers?  What role has desire played in this situation? As you open this to God, is there something God wants to tell you or show you? Is there something God wants to give you – some gift of grace?

6. Where have you recently experienced beauty or goodness? How have they surprised you? How might they be informing you? Maybe experiment with becoming a Noticer of beauty and goodness in your day. Slowing down can help 😉

7. Who keeps you company in the swampy places? How do you make time for this?

8. Is there a word or phrase from Thomas Merton’s prayer that stays with you? that resonates? or disturbs you? Pause to share that with God, along with any questions or feelings that come with it. Allow space for God to respond to you. Let a conversation begin.

Juli Able

[i] Father Jim Manny, S.J.

[ii] Father Jim Fleming, “Discerning Great Desires in Ignatian Prayer, Ignatius House Retreat Center, Atlanta, GA, May 2, 2023

[iii] George Aschenbrenner, S.J., “Stretched for Greater Glory”, 2004=

[iv] Trevor Hudson, “God and You: A Preached Retreat with Ignatian Flavor”, The Wings Center at Eagle Ranch, Sept 25-28, 2022

[v] Thomas Merton, “Thoughts in Solitude”, 1958.

The Beauty of Sea Glass

“I will go before you and make the rough places smooth.” Isaiah 45:2

Jon asked me the other day why I enjoyed looking for sea glass along the rocky coast of Montecito, California or in Rockport, Massachusetts. I tell him it is like looking for hidden treasure. 

I can get lost in it for hours, (just ask Jon), searching and collecting. I crawl in rocky caves, move large rocks, look between boulders and dig under the sand. It is exciting, as you never know what you are going to find… the stem of a wine glass, a rare blue piece, a marble, the bottom of a beer bottle or just lots and lots of white, green and brown pieces.

Sea glass starts as bottles and other glass items… junk, trash. It also comes from tragedies like shipwrecks. The glass is tossed on the shore, broken and then tumbled smooth by the waves and currents of the sea. It can take up to 10 years in a constant ocean environment for broken glass to become sea glass. A perfect piece of sea glass has no shiny spots, is well frosted and has smooth edges, edges all beautifully softened, smoothed and worn by the continuous tossing of the ocean's waves against the harshness of the rocks and sand. 

It takes years for the jagged, junk glass to become beautiful and cloudy. It is not a one-time toss or an instantaneous event. The ocean takes the garbage thrown into it by humans and turns it into something beautiful and worthy. 

And isn’t that what God’s love does to us? As we are tossed by the storms of life, His loving presence with us softens our hearts, smoothes away our jagged edges, and makes us beautiful in His sight. God turns our junk and our tragedy into beauty. And as we age our cloudiness becomes even more beautiful. 

This is why I love looking for sea glass.

Grace & Peace,
Brenda Golden

January 29, 2016

Lessons From the Stars

Just as the lights of the city keep me from seeing all of the stars that are actually there, the noise around me and in me keeps me from hearing God as he whispers His personal message to me continually.

I was in Buena Vista Colorado last week. Buena Vista is a town of around 2,000 people with only one stop light. When I first visited there 40 years ago that was the case and it is still the same today.  Actually I was a few miles above the town on the edge of a mountain where there were few houses and no bright lights. I was at over 8,000 feet in altitude and the air is thinner as well. The first night of the visit I was outside with our host and he suggested I look up. The only way to describe what I saw was that it was awe-inspiring. It almost took my breath away. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky and being in the countryside away from the lights of civilization there were tens of thousands of stars visible. I could see the outline of the Milky Way. The sky was much brighter than usual and only due to the sheer number of the stars visible. The ground itself seemed to be lit by the light of the stars alone. My host made the comment that “you don’t see that in Atlanta” and he was right.

In Atlanta there are only a fraction of the stars I saw that night. As I leave the house in the morning I often look up at the sky and thank God for “showing off.” The magnitude of difference in the Colorado night is impossible to describe. This morning as I got into my truck at 5:30 and looked at the stars I realized that I was only seeing a fraction of reality. There are more stars there than I can see or even imagine. The difference is that the lights of my subdivision and the city of Gainesville and even distant Atlanta overpower the light of the distant stars. The reality is still the reality. The stars haven’t moved or gone away. I just can’t see them because of distraction created by other lights. I have to go to a different place to see clearly.

Hearing the voice of God is a lot like that. Just as the lights of the city keep me from seeing all of the stars that are actually there, the noise around me and in me keeps me from hearing God as he whispers His personal message to me continually. As moving into the sparsely populated area of Colorado enables me to see stars I didn’t realize existed, so moving into solitude (simply being by myself) and silence allows me to be in position to hear God speak. As I have to look up to see the stars, I have to look in to hear the voice of God. As the stars take my breath away, the Presence of the God Who created each one and calls them by name changes my life as I allow Him to whisper to me in solitude and silence. As the stars are seen best in the darkness of the less populated areas, so the witness of the saints is that God is often best heard in solitude and silence. Solitude was practiced by Jesus, who often left his disciples to go to be alone with His Father. It has been practiced and proven by His followers through the centuries.

Just as men and women have looked to the stars for a glimpse of the work of the Creator, I move to solitude to hear His gentle whisper to me.

- Dick Baxter

“The heavens declare the glory of God;
the skies proclaim the work of his hands.
Day after day they pour forth speech;
night after night they display knowledge.
There is no speech or language where their voice is not heard.
Their voice goes out into all the earth,
their words to the ends of the world.”

(Psalm 19:1-4a NIV - Italics added)

A Shelf of Spiral Notebooks

“What are the things that you and God enjoy doing together?”

I was recently talking with a friend who didn’t feel close to God at the time and I felt led to ask that question. After our time was over I asked myself the same question, “When do I feel closest to God?” For me, the immediate answer was "solitude and silence."

As I look back over my life, I have been gently drawn to being alone with my thoughts and prayers. I have particularly enjoyed the thoughts that being in the mountains or at the ocean seemed to bring forth. Everyone, however, is different, and what is special for one is not special for others. For some the feeling is in church, others when helping the homeless, others when having a “quiet time,” others when reading and meditating on scripture, praying, or being in a small group. I know people who are most sensitive to God when fasting. I have a friend who meets God in biographies of those who have gone before.

For each of us there are valuable avenues of communication that God utilizes in His unique relationship with us. The first question in the Westminster Shorter Catechism is: “What is the chief end of man?” The answer is “the chief end of man is to glorify God and enjoy Him forever.” The enjoyment of being with God is what we tragically often miss. We talk about a personal relationship with Christ, but if we are honest, the personal is often missing. Our communication can be very mechanical and rigid. We don’t look forward to spending time with God. We do it because we have been told it is important, or we don’t do it at all. Often our excuse is that we are just too busy, sometimes even doing God’s work!

That was my situation when I was on the Young Life staff some 40 years ago. I was in ministry working with high school kids, loved it and felt God’s presence as I ministered. Personally, though, I had a very unrewarding devotional life and that made it hard for me to maintain my “quiet time” with God. Knowing that I should be doing more would activate my guilt response and I would buy a new spiral notebook for my prayer list (I have a whole stack of partially filled notebooks in my closet today). I would begin reading 5 chapters in the Bible, praying daily for others and myself, while I kept a list of what I had asked God to bring about. After a few weeks or maybe even a month of being faithful to the process, I would quit. Once I had missed a day or two, it became hard to get started again. The pile of notebooks with empty pages grew, but my devotional life did not. It was like a dance of drawing closer and withdrawing. While there were moments of enjoyment, they were not frequent enough to keep me engaged on a regular basis. While I believed intellectually that God was present, that somehow was not enough. The belief was in my head, but it wasn’t confirmed by my experience or felt in my heart. 

Later in life, God, in His grace, drew me from my monologue to a dialogue. God used writings by some of the devotional masters to gently provide a vision that was more available. God used that new vision to open new doors. I discovered that solitude and silence could be a time of enjoyment with God and I began to look forward to those times. In silence, I moved from my head to my heart. I found that as I spent time simply alone and quiet that small clarifications would appear into my mind that gave me greater understanding of God and His action in my life. I came to recognize the Presence and action of God in small things in my day. As a Young Life motor coach driver, I had enjoyed driving all night while the kids slept. Looking at the stars through that big windshield brought a sense of gratitude. Now I knew why. Growing up, I always enjoyed a time of silent prayer during the evening service at my church. God had been drawing me to solitude for years.

The reality I experienced, as I began to carve space for solitude, was that God wanted to communicate with me, not just listen to my requests. He wanted more than my monologue. Scripture took on new depth and became a means of His communication as I moved from scripture reading to scripture meditation. It became a place where I listened to God speak into my heart. For me, solitude has become the place where I can hear God’s whispers in my life as I turn away from the external and internal noise that often drowns Him out. In addition, it changes the pace of my life as I spend unhurried time with God and sense His calm, slow Presence. 

So, what is it that you enjoy doing with God? If you don’t know, maybe you should try solitude! Dallas Willard has defined joy as a “a pervasive and constant sense of well-being.” That is why joy and suffering can exist at the same time. Solitude may be the road to experience that joy. I pray that you may find that joy in your walk with God in whatever path He leads you.

“No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind has conceived what God has prepared for those who love him.” 

 I Corinthians 2:9b

“The eye cannot see, nor the tongue tell, nor can the heart imagine how many paths and methods I have, solely for love to lead them back to grace so that my truth may be realized in them.”   

Catherine of Siena