A Case for Solitude and Silence - from my recent trip in search of time with God at a local monastery.

As soon as I arrived at the Monastery, God took a hold of me.  I felt Him urging me to go walk the paths around the grounds.  I quickly put my things in my little dorm-style room, grabbed my camera, and headed outdoors.  I began walking across a field, down a mowed “path” leading into a wooded area.  The woods were mostly large overgrown bushes that had been cut back in places to make a path.  Walking along them, the first thing I encountered was a concrete statue of a friar.  My pace slowed and I stopped to take in the breeze and the quiet.  I was asking God why He brought me here and I was asking Him to cast a vision for me, my life and to tell me who I was. I was asking to hear from Him.  I walked on down this path and came across a little alcove where a statue of Jesus carrying the cross was embedded in the ground.  I stooped down and took out my camera.  I took a photo and then stopped.  I set down my camera. Something came over me, a voice, telling me I was on sacred ground and that I needed to just “be” with God.  I was stooped down over my camera bag and I stayed there for some time. “Now get up” I heard in my mind.  I knew I wasn’t talking to myself but that God was now directing me; He had something he wanted to show me.  I continued on down the path, seeing other statues – one of Jesus with a woman, their hands stretched out to each other; the place they met, was where the statues blended together into one. I walked up very close to these statues.

The Lord led me across another field along a mowed path to an area where the path was made up of small rocks and mulch.  Great, thick bushes grew up tall on both sides of the path.  Some clouds had moved in and the sky grew a little darker – not like rain – just enough to cool the breeze and cast deeper shadows.  I realized how alone I was on this path.  A fear welled up in me, maybe I wasn’t that alone at all.  Maybe there was someone else on the path and they would “jump” out at me at any moment. After all, I did drive through a “bad” area to get here.  I took a few more steps and then stopped.  I realized I was praying Psalm 28 trying to get my courage up.  I heard God telling me to trust Him and to continue on down the path.  I didn’t move.  He asked me if I trusted Him.  I took a few more steps, my heart pounding. It was SO quiet.  I walked slowly and quietly, the path ahead disappeared into a sharp turn.  I couldn’t see where it went or what was beyond these tall bushes.  I stopped again  . . . and then turned back.  God told me to stop.  “Really, God?” I said out loud, “This whole trip is going to be about this stupid path?” – “I’m scared.”  I heard Him clearly answer me in my mind, “I know you are. Do you see who you are?” - “Yes, I cried, I’m a scared little girl!” His voice was gentler now, “Yes. Turn back around and walk on.” I obeyed.  I walked down the path and turned the sharp corner.  After a little way, the path opened out into an alcove, larger than the others had been, where an area had thoughtfully been set up with a small statue of Jesus on the cross, benches at the foot of the cross where people could kneel and also a little bench further off.  I walked over and sat on the bench.  “Now what, I asked?”  I pulled out the book I had brought with me. “Put it away” said God. “I get it, God.  You want to talk to me.” I sat quietly, “alright, I’m listening.”

I'm not writing this to impress others with my experience with God.  I’m writing so I can document my time with Him – so I won’t forget - and maybe God will use it to speak to someone else.  

God brought me deep down this path, scared and uncertain, to show me who I am.  I’m a frightened child, crying out to my Father to protect me. I had no answers out here, I didn’t know what to do next, I had no resources available to me.  I couldn’t call out to anyone but my God, my Father. We sat there together quietly. He told me all the things I am out in the world were not who I was.  All the roles I play and all the things I do are not who I am.  That I am simply His child, a child he loves, protects and wants to guide. He told me He wants me to trust Him to set my path and that even when I can’t see what is up ahead, He wants me to trust Him anyway.  He would have places of rest for me along the path; places that were holy and sacred and just for the two of us.  He would have other places, that were larger, places where others could be invited in to worship, but always He would be there with me.

I walked back along the same paths, at peace this time, my hand in His as he led me back. When I got to the Monastery, I entered through the old kitchen which smelled of home, happiness and comfort – the familiar smell of my grandmother’s kitchen. I smiled as I walked through it on the way to my room. It was so incredibly quiet in the building. I walked slowly, much slower than my usual pace. I climbed the stairs, feeling young, very young, child-like.  If this experience was all I would hear from Him at this place, it was worth it.  But, He had much more to say . . . 

more later . . . 

(I hope this letter will compel you to seek Jesus; it is true that He wants to speak to you and will, if only you are willing to listen.)

A Message of Adoption in Easter

Today I heard a sermon about adoption.  About being utterly alone, forsaken by those you trust, struggling through life to make sense of it; to find meaning, to find your place. Feeling alone, no matter how many people you are with. Fighting the suspicion that others are not really for you; others are not able to truly love the “real” you. And surrendering to that doubt; that idea that has been firmly planted in you, that you are not worthy of love . . . just because . . . just because you’re you. That your unworthiness is not due to anything you’ve said or done, it is just your intrinsic lack of value and there is nothing you can do to change that.

And then, unexpectedly, there is a moment in time; a light that comes on in your soul, a voice, a nagging sense that something outside of yourself is saying, “You are my child.  I am for you. Not only do I want you, but I created you so that I could love you; so that you could love others and be loved by them in my name.”

I have heard this voice, and it continually speaks to me.  It is the voice of my God; my Father; my adoptive Father. He tells me there is nothing I can do that will turn Him away; that will make Him say, “that’s too much, Anita; I can’t love you now that you’ve done that.” I know that I am loved by the Author of love, and that like Him this love is never ending. I know that He loves me . . . just because . . . just because I’m me. Not because I’m worthy or have done or said anything to deserve it, and there is nothing I can do to change that.

That is the aspect of Easter that struck me today.  That because of what Jesus did, I became the child of God. And while that it isn't nearly the entire theology of Easter, of Jesus' death and resurrection, it is what God chose to reassure me of today.  Happy Easter!