Archive for July, 2007


Posted on 2007-07-31. Filed under: Thoughts |

Here’s another quote from Prayer: Finding the Heart’s True Home by Richard Foster. This is from Chapter 3 entitled The Prayer of Examen:

In attempting to explain to us the value of self-knowledge, Teresa [of Avila] adds something that sounds to us quite strange. She writes, “Along this path of prayer, self knowledge and the thought of one’s sinds is the bread with which all palates must be fed no matter how delicate they may be; they cannot be sustained without this bread.” How startling to think that our own sinfulness can be the bread by which we are fed. How can this be?

Paul, you may remember, urges us to offer our bodies — our very selves — as a living sacrifice to God (Rom. 12:1). This offering cannot be made in some abstract way with pious words or religious acts. No, it must be rooted in teh acceptance of the concrete details of who we are and teh way we live. We must come to accept and even honor our creatureliness. The offering of ourselves can only be the offering of our lived experience, because this alone is who we are. And who we are — not who we want to be — is the only offering we have to give. We give God therefore not just our strengths but also our weaknesses, not just our giftedness but also our brokenness. Our duplicity, our lust, our narcissism, our sloth — all are laid on the altar of sacrifice.

We must not deny or ignore the depth of our evil, for paradoxically, our sinfulness becomes our bread. When in honesty we accept the evil that is in us as part of the truth about ourselves and offer that truth up to God, we are in a mysterious way nourished. Even the truth about our shadow side sets us free (John 8:32).

There is, therefore, no need to repress, suppress, or sublimate any of God’s truth about ourselves. Full, total, unvarnished self-knowledge is the bread by which we are sustained. A yes to life means an honest recognition of our own evil, but it is also a yes to God, who in the midst of our evil sustains us and draws us into his righteousness.

Through faith, self-knowledge leads us to a self-acceptance and a self-love that draw their life from God’s acceptance and love.

I really like that quote. So many people are afraid of examining their dark side – their worldly side. So many people, especially Christians, like to pretend that it doesn’t exist. But I love God! He wants to spend time on that part of us and not in a condemning way but in a guiding way – a correcting way. I really like the truth that we can only offer God who we are and not who we should be or who we want to be. We have to start here. No more self-deception – just reality.

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Posted on 2007-07-30. Filed under: Prayers, Thoughts |

One of the books that I am reading right now is Prayer: Finding the Heart’s True Home by Richard Foster. Today, I read chapter two which is entitled “Prayer of the Forsaken”. There is a section in that chapter that really struck me today – two, actually. The first is labeled “A Living Relationship”:

That is the next thing that should be said about our sense of the absence of God, namely, that we are entereing into a living relationship that begins and develops in mutual freedom. God grants us perfect freedom because he desires creatures who freely choose to be in relationship with him. Through the Prayer of the Forsaken we are learning to give to God the same freedom. Relationships of this kind can never be manipulated or forced.

If we could make the Creator of heaven and earth instantly appear at our beck and call, we would not be in communion with the God fo Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. We do that with objects, with things, with idols. But God, the great iconoclast, is constantly smashing our false images of who he is and what he is like.

Can you see how our very sense of the absence of God is, therefore, an unsuspected grace? In the very act of hiddenness God is slowly weaning us of fashioning him in our own image. Like Aslan, the Christ figure in The Chronicles of Narnia, God is wild and free and comes at will. By refusing to be a puppet on our string or a genie in our bottle, God frees us from our false, idolatrous images.

There is another section – right before the end of the chapter – called “Trust Precedes Faith”. It put into words a picture I’ve long had of the relationship between trust and faith.

I would like to offer one more counsel to those who find themselves devoid of the presence of God. It is this: wait on God. Wait, silent and still. Wait, attentive and responseive. Learn that trust precedes faith. Faith is a little like putting your car into gear, and right now you cannot exercise faith, you cannot move forward. Do not berate yourself for this. But when you are unable to put your spiritual life into drive, do not put it into reverse; put it into neutral. Trust is how you put your spiritual life in neutral. Trust is confidence in the character of God. Firmly and deliberately you say, “I do not understand what God is doing or even where God is, but I know that he is out to do me good.” This is trust. This is how to wait.

I do not fully understand the reasons for the wildernesses of God’s absence. This I do know: while the wilderness is necessary, it is never meant to be permanent. In God’s time and in God’s way the desert will give way to a land flowing with milk and honey. And as we wait for that promised land of the soul, we can echo the prayer of Bernard of Clairvaux, “O my God, deep calls unto deep (Ps. 42:7). The deep of my profound misery calls to the deep of Your infinite mercy.”

As I enter into this Desert Communion with God, I feel totally lost. I do not even know if I have yet truly entered the desert or if it still awaits me as I journey forward. Perhaps I’m only now in the outer edges of the desert and I have not yet entered into the desert proper. But even being lost, I am not in fear. I trust God. My meditation lately has been comprised mostly of two thoughts: “My God loves me and is for me” and “My God is with me; I am not alone”. Reading the above passage was a nice confirmation of those thought processes as I enter into this stage of my Journey.

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Posted on 2007-07-29. Filed under: Life, Thoughts |


I am a horrible husband.

I am a horrible dad.

I am a horrible friend.

I am a horrible business partner.

This is what I’m hearing from everyone today. And what is horrible? – to evoke horror.

My hope is built on nothing less
than Jesus blood and righteousness
I dare not trust the sweetest frame
But wholy lean on Jesus name

On Christ the solid rock I stand
All other ground is sinking sand
All other ground is sinking sand


When darkness veils His lovely face,
I rest on His unchanging grace
In every high and stormy gale,
my anchor holds within the veil




His oath, His covenant His blood,
support me in the whelming flood
When all around my soul gives way,
He then is all my hope and stay




When He shall come with trumpet sound,
O may I then in Him be found
Dressed in His righteousness alone,
faultless to stand before the throne

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Church at CrossPointe

Posted on 2007-07-29. Filed under: Life, Thoughts |

I went to CrossPointe today for service; I was at the 11 am service. I got there right at the end of “turn around and greet your neighbor”. It’s a very informal church – very relaxed and I’m not sure how I felt about that. This morning, they showed a video interview of Bono from U2 so I didn’t get to hear the pastor speak much. However, I did enjoy the interview. Bono spoke on a few things that made me think.

He spoke of the lack of duality in CCM – that there is no tension, no sense of fighting a battle or overcoming. Everything is pretty happy in Christian music and it just doesn’t ring true to him and his experience. I would agree with him on this. I don’t listen to a whole lot of CCM because it just doesn’t touch me primarily due to its sheer happiness. Bono said that if we were to look for the equivalent of David’s Psalms in today’s music, it would probably be found in the Blues. 🙂 I love the Blues!

He also spoke of the organization that he’s setup called One. They are advocates for those that he says are in stupid poverty. He said that we’ll always have poverty but some of it is just stupid – it’s fixable now and shouldn’t exist. He said that Jesus only spoke of judgement one time (not sure about that) and that was when in Matthew 25:31-46 that starts out this way:

But when the Son of Man comes in His glory, and all the angels with Him, then He will sit on His glorious throne.“All the nations will be gathered before Him; and He will separate them from one another, as the shepherd separates the sheep from the goats; and He will put the sheep on His right, and the goats on the left. “Then the King will say to those on His right, ‘Come, you who are blessed of My Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world.‘For I was hungry, and you gave Me something to eat; I was thirsty, and you gave Me something to drink; I was a stranger, and you invited Me in; naked, and you clothed Me; I was sick, and you visited Me; I was in prison, and you came to Me.’

He said that the distinguishing factor between the sheep and the goats in this passage was how you physically cared for the downtrodden: the hungry & thirsty (poor), strangers, naked, sick and imprisoned. That really struck me. I had never really focused on that passage in that way before. It reminded me that Faith without works is dead and that I needed to focus more on helping others where they’re at and not just those that it’s comfortable or easy to help but to help even those for whom helping is annoying.

There were some other things that he said that I liked but I really can’t remember them right now. I am glad that I went – just for the way that he expounded on that passage. That is something I’ll carry with me for the rest of my life.

I didn’t really have any conversations with the people in the church. I guess because I got there a little late. I may go back; I’m not sure. One thing I didn’t like is that the church was really pale; there wasn’t a whole lot of diversity.

We’ll see…

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Posted on 2007-07-26. Filed under: Prayers, Thoughts |

I just began three or four books. One of them is Prayer: Finding the Heart’s True Home by Richard Foster. On the inside front of the coverjacket, there is this quote from the book:

The truth of the matter is, we all come to prayer with a tangled mass of motives — altruistic and selfish, merciful and hateful, loving and bitter. Frankly, this side of eternity we will never unravel the good from the bad, the pure from the impure. But what I have come to see is that God is big enough to receive us with all our mixture. We do not have to be bright, or pure, or filled with faith, or anything. That is what grace means, and not only are we saved by grace, we live by it as well. And we pray by it.

What a great truth! There are people who are ready to journey with God; they have repented of their sins and received forgiveness and there is now no condemnation for them. However, they are hesitant for some reason to take those first steps. Perhaps they are waiting for something to happen within them (in their heart) or around them (in their circumstances). But, that waiting is not necessary. As the book says in Chapter One, “Very simply, we begin right where we are: in our families, on our jobs, with our neighbors and friends. Now, I wish this did not sound so trivial, because, on the practical level of knowing God, it is the most profound truth we will ever hear. To believe that God can reach us and bless us in the ordinary junctures of daily life is the stuff of prayer. …the only place God can bless us is right where we are, because that is the only place we are!

May I always remember this! The best time to start is now and the best place to begin is now and the best person to do it is me!

Earlier in what I guess would be called the introduction, there is this illustration of prayer:

One day a friend of mine was walking throug a shopping mall with his two-year-old son. The child was in a particularly cantankerous mood, fussing and fuming. The frustrated father treid everything to quiet his son, but nothing seemed to help. The child simply would not obey. Then, under some special inspiration, the father scooped up his son and, holding him close to his chest, began singing an impromptu love song. None of the words rhymed. he sang off key. And yet, as best he could, this father began sharing his heart. “I love you,” he sang. “I’m so glad you’re my boy. You make me happy. I like the way you laugh.” On they went from one store to the next. Quietly the father continued singing off key and making up words that did not rhyme. The child relaxd and became still, listening to this strange and wonderful song. Findally, they finished shopping and went to the car. As the father opened the door and prepared to buckle his son into the carseat, the child lifted his head and said simply, “Sing it to me again, Daddy! Sing it to me again!” Prayer is a little like that. With simplicity of heart we allow ourselves to be gatherd up into the arms of the Father and let him sing his love song over us.

And lastly, in the beginning paragraphs of Chapter One, he says this and it’s an important point:

But for now there is one “something” that needs immediate attention. It is the notion — almost universal among us modern high achievers — that we have to have everything “just right” in order to pray. …But we are starting from the wrong end of things — putting the cart before the horse. Our problem is that we assume prayer is something to master the way we master algebra or auto mechanics. That puts us in the “on-top” position, wehere we are competent and in control But when praying, we come “underneath,”where we calmly and deliberately surrender control and become incompetent. “To pray,” writes Emilie Griffin, “means to be willing to be naive.”

Good things to ponder…

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From the Epilogue

Posted on 2007-07-21. Filed under: Thoughts |

This is the beginning of the Epilogue of The Sacred Romance:

The Sacred Romance calls to us every moment of our lives. It whispers to us on the wind, invites us through the laughter of good friends, reaches out to us through the touch of someone we love. We’ve heard it in our favorite music, sensed it at the birth of our first child, been drawn to it while watching the shimmer of a sunset on the ocean. It is even present in times of great personal suffering – the illness of a child, the loss of a marriage, the death of a friend. Something calls to us through experiences like these and rouses an inconsolable longing deep within our heart, wakening in us a yearning for intimacy, beauty, and adventure. This longing is the most powerful part of any human personality. It fuels our search for meaning, for wholeness, for a sense of being truly alive. However we may describe this deep desire, it is the most important thing about us, our heart of hearts, the passion of our life. And the voice that calls to us in this place is none other than the voice of God.

Later, it goes on:

“The whole life of the good Christian,” said Augustine, “is a holy longing.” Sadly, many of us have been led to feel that somehow we outght to want less, not more. We have this sense that we should atone for our longings, apologize that we feel such deep desire. Shouldn’t we be more content? Perhaps, but contentment is never wanting less; that’s the easy way out. Anybody can look holy if she’s killed her heart; the real test is to have you heart burning within you and have the patience to enjoy what ther is now to enjoy, while waiting with eager anticipation for the feast to come. In Paul’s words, we “groan inwardly as we wait eagerly” (Rom. 8:23). Contentment can only happen as we increase desire, let it run itself out toward its fulfillment, and carry us along with it. And so George Herbert prayed,

Immortal Heat, O let thy greater flame

Attract thelesser to it: let those fires,

Which shall consume the world, first make it tame;

And kindle in our hearts such true desires,

As may consume our lusts, and make thee way.

Then shall our hearts pant thee. (Love)

There may be times when all we have to go on is a sense of duty. But in the end, if that is all we have, we will never make it.

And still later:

The redeemed heart hungers for beauty. But the sword cuts both ways. While our heart grows in its capacity for pleasure, it grows in its capacity to know pain. The two go hand in hand. What, then, shall we do withdisappointment? We can be our own enemy, depending on how we handle the heartache that comes with desire. To want is to suffer; the word passion means to suffer. This is why many Christians are reluctant to listen to their hearts. They know that their dullness is keeping them from feeling the pain of life. Many of us have chosen simply not to want so much; it’s safer that way. It’s also godless. That’s stoicism, not Christianity. Sanctification is an awakening, the rousing of our souls from the dead sleep of sin in to the fullness of their capacity for life. Desire often feels like an enemy, because it wakes longings that cannot be fulfilled in the moment.

There is so much to glean from the above as well. In Matthew 23:25-28 and in Isaiah 29:13, we see that God is more concerned with the desires of our heart than he is with what we feel we ought to do, with our duty. These thoughts speak to me so much right now. I have been feeling this longing for something more for quite some time. I am headed to the desert to receive it from God.

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Desert Communion

Posted on 2007-07-21. Filed under: Thoughts |

So, today I finished The Sacred Romance. The first chapter I read this morning was Desert Communion: Learning to Live on Heaven’s Shores.

Here’s a quote:

Every courtship, at least every healthy one, is moving toward a deeper heart intimacy that is the ground for the consummation of the relationship spiritually, emotionally and physically. The first question in the orthodox confession of faith tests our awareness of this wonderful truth when it asks, “What is the chief end and purpose of man?” And the answer: “To know God and enjoy knowing him forever.”

The chapter goes on to say that this knowing isn’t really learning more about him. It’s knowing him as a wife knows a husband. It’s a relationship that is very intimate — full of passion and desire.

Here are some more quotes that really came to life for me:

It is his voice that has whispered to us about a Sacred Romance. What do you hear when you listen for that gentle, quiet voice? What I so often hear, or feel, is a restlessness, a distractedness, where it seems that dozens if not hundreds of disconnected or scattered thoughts vie for my attention. Bits and pieces of my smaller story, and sometimes major edifices, flash onto the screen: what other people think of me and what I need to do to win them. Anger, ego, lust, and simply blankness of spirit all take turns occupying my heart.

We often find ourselves praying for God to “do” this or for him to help us “do” that. Our prayers seem to originate from somewhere near the surface of our skin rather than any deep place inside. We go away feeling that we have not communed, that we have not put down our burdens, and indeed, we haven’t.

Two years ago, worn out by three years of spiritual battle, I found myself asking the question this way: “Jesus, if your Spirit abides in me in the person of the Holy Spirit, who is my Comforter, why do I so often feel alone and you seem so far away?” What came to me in response were Jesus’ words in John 15:5, “I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing.” Jesus was saying, “Living spiritually requires something more than just not sinning or doing good works. In order to live in the kingdom of heaven, you must abide in me. Your identity is in me.” If I’m not abiding in Jesus, then where is it that I abide?” I asked myself.

My “comforter,” my abiding place, was cynicism and rebellion. From this abiding place, I would feel free to use some soul cocaine – a violence video with maybe a little sexual titillation thrown in, perhaps having a little more alcohol with a meal than I might normally drink – things that would allow me to feel better for just a little while. I had always thought of these things as bad habits. I began to see that they were much more; they were spiritual abiding places that were my comforters and friends in a very spiritual way; literally, other lovers.

It also dawned on me that holiness, surprisingly, also comes not out of doing but out of staying at home [abiding], with who and were we are and with who and where God is in us. … And in the meantime, out of this abiding, Jesus transforms us. Our identity begins to coalesce, not out of doing, but out of living with a good friend for a number of years and simply finding we have become more like him.

Besides these false comforters that we abide in, there are also the less-wild lovers I spoke of in Chapter 9 that are intertwined with our heart because they give us an identity. Whether it be accumulating great wealth, being seen as profound due to our knowledge and cleverness of speech, being physically attractive, or any of the hundreds of other small stories we have learned to abide in, we live in fear that we will sooner or later be exposed and our identities will be stripped from us. We redouble our efforts at “doing” to prevent this calamity, and again, in our ontological lightness, our lack of being anchored in anything substantive, we experience the spiritual life as burdensome and exhausting.

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest, says Jesus. Most of us think of spiritual progress as requiring us to do more, even as our heart cries out to us to lay our burdens down.

When we hear the phrase “trust totally in God,” most of us probably sigh, hearing it as one more requirement that we have never been able to live up to. But what if we were to listen to our hearts, and hear it as a need to faint, a need to lay down our “doings” and simply make our needs known to Christ, and rest in him?

How do we go about actually “doing” rest? When Jesus was preparing for his public ministry, as well as his battle with Satan, he went to the desert…. There is a place on each of our spiritual journeys where the Spirit also desires to lead us into the desert. We hear him calling to us in the restlessness and weariness of our own heart…. Adds Henri Nouwen, in The Way of the Heart, “Without solitude, we remain acolytes of our society and continue to be entangled in the illusions of the false self.” In order to learn who we really are, we must have a place in our lives where we are removed from the materialism, entertainment, diversion, and busyness that the Vanity Fair of our society and culture immerse us in. The things sold at the booths in the Fair are tranquilizers that separate us, and protect us, from the emptiness and need of our heart. As we leave these less-wild lovers behind and enter into solitude and silence in our own desert place, the first thing we encounter is not rest, but fear, and a compulsion to return to activity…. Our emptiness is often the first thing we find when we face honestly the story going on in our heart. It is the desert’s gift to us.

Resting in Jesus is not applying a spiritual formula to ourselves as a kind of fix-it. It is the essence of repentance. It is letting our heart tell us where we are in our own story so that Jesus can minister to us out of the Story of his love for us. When, in a given moment, we lay down our false self and the smaller story of whatever performance has sustained us, when we give up everything else but him, we experience the freedom of knowing that he simply loves us where we are. We begin just to be, having our identity anchored in him. We begin to experience our spiritual life as the “easy yoke and light burden” Jesus tells us is his experience.

OK, that’s all of the quotes from that chapter. I can’t really put into words the thoughts and feelings I got after reading this chapter. But, I do have an affirmation that this is what God is calling me to right now. He is calling me to the desert – to rediscover him and to rediscover myself in him. He is calling me to live a life with him – a life with no guarantees of what will happen, a life in which I have to trust him completely and to utterly depend on him for every good thing.

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No rest for the weary

Posted on 2007-07-21. Filed under: Life |

Well, I’ve been up since 6 PM yesterday (20 July). Last night, I stayed up and watched Monk, Psych and Human Weapon – a cool new series on the History Channel, I think. I sat down to watch TV after having dinner with G, playing Old Maid and light sabers with him and then attempting an Italian lesson with him. I then physically assembled, installed and configured two firewalls for a total billing of 3.75 hours – not bad when my goal each day is for 4 billable hours. While I was doing that, I tried to watch The Natural but I didn’t really enjoy the movie. I also did some walking last night around the neighborhood.

This morning, I went to get my haircut but the barber shop wasn’t open yet so I went and got some coffee and finished The Sacred Romance. I’ll be blogging more today about what I read. Then, I went and got my haircut and now I’m back home – about to take a shower and hopefully lie down for a bit.

I’m hoping to tackle my bedroom/office today and try to get more semblance of sanity in the room. I’m tired of living from boxes. I also would like to take G to a dojo I found online and let him observe a class to see if it’s something he wants to do. Also, I’m planning to take B to buy her a bike. There’s also some things I need to do to the truck and some server work that I need to do for customers today. Also, I’ve got a list of books that I want to try and find at the library. I plan to do a lot of reading in the next few weeks. Oh yeah, I need to balance the checkbook and pay some bills today too.

After looking at that list, maybe I won’t lie down. 😐

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A Pilgrim in the Desert

Posted on 2007-07-21. Filed under: Life, Thoughts |

I know it’s been a really long time since I last blogged. And it’s been a busy “long time” with lots of things going on and lots of changes.

Right now, I’m feeling like a pilgrim on a journey. It seems that all of the changes have re-awakened my inner man that has been slumbering for a very long time. Specifically, it’s the part of my inner man that’s in desperate pursuit of God. I haven’t felt desperate in a long time but I do now. And I think that feeling of desperation is important in pursuit of God. It doesn’t mean that I feel like he’s hiding from me or that I feel unsafe right now. But it does mean that I recognize my utter dependance on him and that I desperately need him in my life. I am seeking his love and passion and comfort. I am not seeking knowledge of them but I need those things themselves in my life, in my heart. I need to be aware of them, to be aware of God’s presence and his concern for me. That, I think, will help put me in a place where I can begin receiving healing and wisdom from him.

So, over the last few days, I’ve been seeking God and I’ve been hearing from multiple sources that I need to be willing to follow God wherever he’s leading me. I trust that his heart is good and I trust that he is for me — that he wants the best for me. Now, that doesnt’ mean that he wants the easiest life I can have. But he wants the life for me that he wants — the one that fits with his will.

I also feel like he’s calling me to the desert. In the Bible, he called many people to the desert in order to be with him and to learn from him. It is a time of breaking down and rebuilding. It is a time of being alone, though not necessarily lonely. It is a time of refocusing and learning to hear.

I am hopeful for restoration of my relationship with God and that is my focus right now. I want him to be pleased with me and to use me. And this journey with him does require me to let go of many things. I think he is leading me into a new chapter of my life that will be based on less selfishness and more giving and sacrifice. However, I want self-sacrifice that brings life to my spirit and not death. I don’t want to have to kill my desires for living fully because I believe God wants me to live fully, to live authentically and on-purpose out of love.

I am re-reading The Sacred Romance and below is a quote that really impacted me. Soon, I will be getting to a chapter called Desert Communion which I’m eager to read.

We are faced with a decision that grows with urgency each passing day: Will we leave our small stories behind and venture forth to follow our Beloved into the Sacred Romance? The choice to become a pilgrim of the heart can happen any day and we can begin our journey from any place. We are here, the time is now, and the Romance is always unfolding. The choice before us is not to make it happen. As Chesterton said, “An adventure is, by its nature, a thing that comes to us. It is a thing that chooses us, not a thing that we choose.” Lucy wasn’t looking for Narnia when she found it on the other side of the wardrobe; in a way, it found her. Abraham wasn’t wandering about looking for the one true God; he showed up with an extraordinary invitation. But having had their encounters, both could have chosen otherwise. Lucy could have shut the wardrobe door and never mentioned what had happened there. Abraham could have opted for life in Haran. The choice before us is a choice to enter in.

So much of the journey forward involves a letting go of all that once brought us life. We turn away from the familiar abiding places of the heart, the false selves we have lived out, the strengths we have used to make a place for ourselves and all our false loves, and we venture forth in our hearts to trace the steps of the One who said, “Follow me.” In a way, it means that we stop pretending: that life is better than it is, that we are happier than we are, that the false selves we present to the world are really us. We respond to the Haunting, the wooing, the longing for another life. Pilgrim begins his adventure toward redemption with a twofold turning: a turning away from attachment and a turning toward desire. He wanted life and so he stuck his fingers in his ears and ran like a madman (“a fool,” to use Paul’s term) in search of it. The freedom of heart needed to journey comes in the form of detachment. As Gerald May writes in Addiction and Grace,

Detachment is the word used in spiritual traditions to describe freedom of desire. Not freedom from desire, but freedom of desire…. An authentic spiritual understanding of detachment devalues neither desire nor the objects of desire. Instead, it “aims at correcting one’s own anxious grasping in order to free oneself for committed relationship to God.” According to Meister Echhart, detachment “enkindles the heart, awakens the spirit, stimulates our longings, and shows us where God is.”

So, that is what I’m doing. Setting Out on a Journey as a Pilgrim. Detaching from things that could or do get in the way of my relationship with God – that get in the way of my pursuit of him. This detachment is but for a time. In the desert,  I hope to discover which things actually do get in the way and permanently leave behind attachments to them. Once I am out of the desert, it will be time for reattachment but only to certain things. I await God’s direction as to what those are.

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