A Voice in the Noise

May 2, 2017 Books to read, Fear and Anxiety

Praying Open Handed. {Deeply Rooted and Transformed Series}.

I am honored to have my voice included in the release of Everbloom {Available TODAY from Paraclete Press}. Together we are journeying through the book's sections: Roots, Trunk, Branches, Blossoms. The beautiful thing about this book is that it is not meant to just be read. Become part of the story. Journey with me. Read along as I share a piece from each section, respond, and ask you to respond with me....

{Read} A FINE DAY for you to be God BY RONNE ROCK (click the title to read the excerpt)

{My response} praying open handed

Nothing turned out like I expected it would but everything turned out exactly as it should have. I went into our first international move with dreams and plans, a heart full of hopes for a life planted deep into the ancient soil of that bustling city. I thought we would stay there for years but we left after six months. I dreamed of speaking fluent Arabic and six years later when my Palestinian bus driver learned I had lived in the Middle East and started trying to converse with me I just shrugged and said "shawaya arabi," meaning "I speak only a little Arabic."

Now in the throws of our second international move, two children in tow this time, I keep reminding them and myself to hold onto our dreams loosely. We write our prayers and wants on a big piece of paper taped to the living room wall because we know God cares about our hopes and dreams. He wants to hear what is in our hearts and it is a beautiful practice to lay them out honestly and see how He answers our prayers. It's also a beautiful practice in surrender when we see how He answers them by saying "no" or in a way that is not what we expected. I want to expect the unexpected this time, to see God show me how His plans are better than what I could ask for in my limited view.

I pray with open hands these days, surrendering all I want to God, asking Him to give me His will instead. Palms up. Trying to let go. Asking Him to make me ready to receive. When my daughter asks why I tell her a story about our move ten years ago.

I had pictures in my head of what our flat would look like when we moved to Egypt. I had heard not to expect to find a place quickly, to be open to looking at lots of flats. I didn't have high hopes but had two things that were non-negotiable. I wanted an elevator and a balcony. The elevator was for the days when the temperatures reached 120 degrFahrenheitheit and climbing flights of stairs seemed an impossible task. The balcony I dreamed of was a window into the beautiful city and it's people. I had these images in my mind of hanging the clothes to dry amidst children playing next door, of sitting out on the balcony, the noise of the city rising all around me while I wrote and studied.

The first place we looked at had both of those things but something just didn't feel right. I stood on that big balcony and just didn't believe this was the one. We kept it in mind but looked at other flats. We braced ourselves for weeks of searching. The next day we climbed four flights inside the sweltering concrete stairwell. No elevator. The heavy wooden door opened into the cool flat, the air conditioner straining against the heat. The landlady introduced herself as Samiha and accompanied us around the little flat, proudly showing us how it had everything we would need. It was fully furnished and she promised a second air conditioner in the bedroom, a new washing machine in the kitchen. Internet could easily be installed (though as we soon learned easily means something a little different in Egyptian terms). The close line was stretched outside the kitchen window where you had to precariously hang out to reach the clothes. The wide bedroom windows looked out over a busy street but there was no balcony.

It didn't have the things I had hoped for but we just knew this was the one. The next few hours were a blur or finding an ATM to get the deposit and signing a lease in a language we didn't yet understand. A friend's realtor negotiated for us and Samiha smiled widely as she handed us the keys. We had a new home in just a few days and after the whirlwind was over and we trudged up those stairs we wondered if we'd done the right thing.

It wasn't until months later we could look back and see how that flat was handpicked for us, how it was exactly where we were supposed to be. Samiha became a dear friend, which our local friends said was quite odd. "You don't get to know your landlady, that's a business relationship," they said. But she became family to us in a foreign land. Countless hours were spent at her little basement apartment nearby, practicing our Arabic poorly and watching Egyptian soap operas as she told us stories about her acting days. We broke the fast during Ramadan at that dining room table, learned to cook bechemel sauce in that kitchen. We were close enough to her to talk about faith and pray for each other, to ask the deep questions and bare our souls.

And as we climbed that hot stairwell back home, dodging the stray cats and bags of trash left to be picked up by the doorman, we met the neighbors that invited us into their homes, too. Some days we smiled and kept going but most often if their doors were open, we were going to be stopping in for tea, at least. We would finally make it home after hours spent in conversation with new friends, our minds tired from trying to navigate two languages. The click of the air conditioner was a welcome sound as we collapsed onto the couches and finally rested.

I didn't get the flat I hoped for; my dreams of a balcony to overlook the city weren't fulfilled. We got something so much more important. We had asked God to let us find a home, not just a flat. We wanted to become a real part of the community, to find a family there. As we walked up the stairs, we got to know the people. As we spent time with Samiha, we were known. God didn't want me sitting there on a balcony looking out over the beautiful city. He wanted me out there living in it. And that's what I really wanted all along, too.

I still wear the brightly colored bangles Samiha gave me as a gift when she found out we were returning to America. They are a reminder of my friend but also of the way God's will is so much better than our own plans, how eternity broke into our world in the community we built in Egypt that will remain a part of us all our lives.

So, I keep my hands open these days. I ask God to help me see past this fleeting, temporary world and all the things I think I have figured out. I ask Him to let eternity break into my little world, break open my heart, and exceed my expectations.

{Now share your story} How could you commune with and serve the desperate in your community? Describe where you have seen Eternity break into your world.

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April 25, 2017 Books to read

He Is Enough. {Deeply Rooted and Transformed Series}.

{Read} Encasing My Fear by Johanna reardon (click the title to read the excerpt)

{My response} he is enough

Though it has been fourteen years since I graduated college I still have the same frightening dream on occasion. I'm back in college and a few weeks into the semester, I look again at my class schedule to find there was a class I missed. It is too late to drop the class but I have missed weeks of lectures. I enter the class to find everyone else chatting and laughing and I feel naked, exposed. I know there is no way to catch up. I have let something drop and it's too late to fix it.

The feeling in that dream creeps into my everyday life all too often. The tightness in my chest, the air feeling like it is being wrung from my lungs, reminds me that I fear losing control. Dropping something. Letting someone down. Not being enough. The feeling became all too real last fall when the responsibilities were piling up like a stack of bricks on my chest. Two jobs, two kids, and getting ready for an international move crowded my schedule and overwhelmed my spirit.

I remember the moment I knew I couldn't run from it anymore. Between work and church, kids scrambling for my attention, the to-do list a mile long—there wasn't a moment to stop. But I physically couldn't keep going anymore. I laid on the bed staring at the rocking back and forth of the ceiling fan above me, willing my breath to find that same regular rhythm. I placed my hand on my racing heart, begging it to slow down. Each inhale felt like a knife turning inside my chest, my lungs like a leaky balloon that spurted the air out as soon as it entered them. I had spent years saying I could handle my own anxiety and it felt like a defeat when I admitted I couldn't anymore.

***

"I find myself doing things out of character these days," I told her as I took another sip of overly sweet tea, feeling the sugary film build up on my teeth. The conversation at those monthly dinners with my oldest friend who has been a counselor and Myers-Briggs practitioner always find their way to personality or anxiety. Knowing her has made me think about who I am and how I relate to others and I tell her how I feel different than I used to. Orderly, structured, a planner to a fault. That has always been me. So afraid to drop something, I make sure to have a plan and follow it to ensure everything gets done.

Last year when I had two international trips only weeks apart, those traveling with me couldn't believe I had two sets of bags packed weeks in advance and a detailed list of all I had to wash and repack in the two-week window between trips. A year later, after my realization that fear had overtaken me and I needed to do something about it, my husband looked at me with disbelief.

"Your flight leaves tomorrow," he said in a questioning tone. "And you're not packed?"

"No, I have time in the morning, " I shrugged and laughed when he said, "Never in twelve years have I ever known you to do that."

I told this kind of thing to my friend, explained to her how I've changed and I didn't understand how I could go against my nature like that. She looked at me and said something that changed the way I saw who I am: "A lot of what you think is your nature, is actually your nurture. Did you do those things you always used to because they were who you really were or because you learned them, felt like you had to do them? Could it be that you are finally becoming who you should be?"

***

I have always known fear is a problem for me, that my anxiety had deep roots in feelings of control and perfectionism. But I never really dealt with it, felt more comfortable running from it and pushing it deeper. If I could just keep everything calm, could just act like it wasn't there, then everything would be okay. As I read JoHanna Reardon's No More Fear each day I saw myself in the pages and God showed me just how deeply rooted this sin of fear was in my heart.

I saw the way I have taught myself over the years to be in constant motion, bought the lie that there is no time to rest. My fear of not being good enough had made me try hard to do it all and, like a juggler, keep every ball in the air all the time. When one drops, as it is going to do sometimes, my perfect world shatters. Not that planning is bad. I will always be a schedule maker. But the obsessing over the plans is the sin of not trusting the God who tells me to come to Him and rest. Jesus rested and modeled the holiness of just doing the next thing the Father asked of Him but I have to do all the things, all the time. And it was tearing me apart.

I have been intentional about resting and practicing sabbath over the last few months, of letting go and trusting Him for just the next step. I have felt like these things are so out of character. But I am seeing that they are who I was meant to be all along. My fear was defining who I was, making me twisted into something God never intended. As I am slowly finding freedom from the fear, I am finding ways to bring my burdens to Him and trust that what I have to offer is enough. For Him. For my family. For myself. The strong arms of God are holding me up when I choose to take a break and let myself rest on them. I can let go every now and then. They will be there to sustain me. It isn't about me being enough after all. It is about Him being enough for me.

{Now share your story} what do you fear most? where do you see the strong arms of god?

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April 18, 2017 Books to read

Traces of Faith. {Deeply Rooted and Transformed Series}.

I am honored to have my voice included in the forthcoming release of Everbloom {Coming April 25, 2017 from Paraclete Press, Preorder now available}. Over the next four weeks, I will be journeying through the book's sections: Roots, Trunk, Branches, Blossoms. The beautiful thing about this book is that it is not meant to just be read. Become part of the story. Journey with me. Read along as I share a piece from each section, respond, and ask you to respond with me.

Through the pain, loss, beauty and redemption in these pages, you'll find freedom in Christ and the courage to embrace your own story. The women of Redbud know the importance of spiritual shelter, and how easy it is to feel alone and misunderstood. In the Everbloom collection they offer essays, stories and poetry: intensely personal accounts of transformation, and the journeys to find their own voices. Best of all, they invite you to join them, with writing prompts that encourage a response of honesty, faith and imagination. Accept the invitation: set out on the journey to find your own voice....

{Read} This Tree by Sarah Finch (click the title to read the excerpt)

{My response} Traces of Faith

I think about it all the time. What am I leaving behind for them? What am I leading them into? Am I messing it all up for them? Will they see something in my faith worth pursuing? Will they cling to God when the winds start to blow?

Becoming a mother brought into sharp focus that my faith isn’t all about me. My relationship with Christ is my own but it is lived out in community and it is on display for the world to see. As a writer, this reality is even more magnified. Each word I write is a window into the work of Jesus in my life. Am I guiding others towards a loving God or elevating self? It feels like a heavy responsibility sometimes.

But it wasn’t when I became a mother or when people started following my blog that my legacy started to matter. It started the moment I fumbled through a prayer to give my life to someone who gave His life for me. That’s when I was transplanted into a life of faith and my roots began to grow into the only solid ground that remains when everything else shifts around us.

I started this year gazing at the gnarled roots of the bonsai lovingly curated by the brothers of the Monastery of the Holy Spirit. God has brought to mind the thought of those trees often this year as I think about roots and transplants, as my family explores the international move we hope for. In the desert of transition this year I have prayed for deep roots that allow me to bear fruit:

But blessed is the man who trusts me, God,

the woman who sticks with God.

They’re like trees replanted in Eden, putting down roots near rivers –

never a worry through the hottest of summers,

never dropping a leaf, serene and calm through droughts,

bearing fruit in every season.

(Jeremiah 17.8, The Message)

My focus has been all wrong though. I have struggled to be the strong woman I want my children to see. I have begged God to make me more disciplined when my body is heavy with anxiety and I just can’t drag myself out of bed to meet with Him. I have cried out, God, why can’t I be that tree that never has a worry in the hottest of summers? Is my faith not strong enough? Are my roots not deep enough? I want to be stronger than I am. I want to be more consistent. I want to feel His peace and know that “quenching of [my] soul.”

I. Me.

When I think about my spiritual formation as a solitary pursuit, as something for my own benefit, my energy is depleted. My efforts fall flat. But when I focus on the seeds to come, remembering the traces of faith I want to leave behind, something shifts in me. It’s not about me. I will be cut down. My life is a breath, a vapor. But I can plant seeds that will long outlive me.

At the very foundation of the life I want to live is the benefit to others. In the Rule of Life God has been working out in me over the past couple years, these words of Robert Mulholland have been part every draft and version I have written: “Being conformed to the image of Christ for the sake of others.”

I don’t want my life to be about my growth for the sake of growth, for the sake of being a mighty tree others look at in awe. I want my roots to grow deep so that I can bear fruit for the hungry, so that my branches become shade for those who are weary. I want to grow strong so that when I am cut down mightier shoots may take my place.

I am asking God to shift my focus, off of my own growth and onto the growth of others because of my life. I am asking different questions:

Am I welcoming the outsider? Do I love the unlovable? Do I seek justice and mercy?

Do I magnify Him in my grief, show peace when the world was falling apart around me?

Do I guide my kids in Truth, point them to a crucified life, a life more about Him than themselves?

Am I allowing the work of faith that began in me to do more than take root; Am I allowing the work of faith in me to spread to others?

“Lord, help me leave a legacy of grace. Help me weather the storms that you have sent so that my words and actions will withstand the temptations and trials of this earth, so that I will not lose hope in your faithfulness. I pray that the work of faith you have begun in me will take root and spread. Amen.” –Sarah Finch

{Now share your story} Describe the seeds you will leave behind.

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April 4, 2017 Transition

Living in the Borderlands

The concrete floor and exposed pipe ceiling are, at the same time, a welcome sight and a dagger of grief and sadness through my heart, one that is deep in transition. It’s just a Starbucks, you might say. No, it’s a symbol of all that I am grieving and losing in my life right now.

I’ve been waiting for nine years (or 25 years, depending on how far back you want to go into my story) for this coffee shop to open. As I walk in its doors, the familiar sounds of hissing espresso machines and whiney folk music mingling in my ears, my heart is heavy.

For years I have said we needed a coffee shop here. My family moved to what was once a sleepy Georgia town when I was only ten, from just one county over. I’ve hated this place and cried when I left it, too. I’ve moved to other towns and even countries, but Georgia has always been on my mind, the sweet scent of confederate jasmine and gardenia following me wherever I have gone.

Not much but pine and red clay marked this strip of roadside when we moved here. The big intersection in town consisted of a corner family gas station and a single grocery store. Ours was one of the first houses built in the new subdivision going up just a couple minutes from that red light. We could have been the first settlers in the Wild West for how it felt to a skinny freckled little girl moving into this unknown and barren land.

Over the years we watched our little intersection change as the growth of Atlanta pushed into our south metro town. Concrete replaced the undergrowth as the road widened and big stores pushed that little family one out into the distant memory of the few of us who lived here “back then”. The field that held the annual haunted hayride that every person I knew attended is now covered over with stores and medical offices.

You will still always run into someone you know at any of the multitude of grocery and drug stores that dot the intersection these days, reminding me that we were once a small town. But nothing looks the same and every inch of land that isn’t built on yet is under construction. I’ve returned back to this place again and again—after college and then grad school, finally 9 years ago after living in the Middle East. This is where I grew from child to woman and where my own family started. It has been the only home my two kids have ever known. They’ve watched it change like I did. But now we’re the ones who are changing. Everything is changing.

I’ve loved coffee shops since before I drank the sweet nectar I cannot live without now. The introverted people person that I am, I can be alone in a crowd here. I can be surrounded by conversation and relationships happening around me but still be alone with my thoughts. I do my best thinking and writing in these staples of hip culture, these meccas for caffeine lovers.

Every Saturday morning I venture to the nearest Starbucks to have my “office hours” in which I do my writing and editing. I am usually the first one in the parking lot and don’t leave until the sun is up and my joints are aching from hours of being lost in thought and staring at a screen. I think I literally screamed out loud while I was driving past the new construction that is common on my way home from work. They had put up a Starbucks sign just minutes from my childhood home (that is only 3 miles from my current one).

Today as I sip my usual grande non-fat caramel macchiato I know I may only enjoy this long-awaited coffee shop a dozen times before I fly away from it for years. When I see it again, the shine will have worn off of the gleaming new espresso machines. Who knows how many stores will have closed down and new gone up? Will any of the tall Georgia pines still reach to the sky down this busy stretch of highway?

Just like this intersection, everything in my life is unfamiliar these days. I don’t recognize my own home anymore with most of our belongings packed and the new tile and paint that has readied it for selling. There is nothing routine about my schedule anymore as planning and packing crowd out enjoying the sunny spring days that are marked by the yellow pollen’s arrival on my front porch. We will move sometime this summer to a borrowed basement on the other side of town, right on the border between this county and the one of my birth. A few months after that, Highway 34 will be a just a recollection after our international move.

But it’s right now that I am living in the borderlands. Between wanting to go and longing to stay. Between roots and wings. Between a calling and a rootedness. Between everything I’ve always known and what is waiting out there to be learned.

It’s these places of push and pull that hurt the most. Transition is the feeling of not belonging anywhere. There’s pain in the knowledge of all we are leaving but joy in what I believe we will gain, too. There’s irony in the bittersweet knowledge that I’ve waited 25 years for a coffee shop to arrive in this part of town just to move away from it. There’s deep sorrow in the longing for my home while another home calls to me. This place is still firmly mine though I feel removed from it already.

In this borderland of goodbye I ache for the familiar but know if I let it get too familiar the separation will hurt too deeply. I know I shouldn't cling to Georgia as home more than anywhere else. I am trying to remember that nowhere in this world is ever truly going to be where I belong. "For this world is not our permanent home; we are looking forward to a home yet to come." (Hebrews 13.14, NLT)

You are home, Jesus. Anywhere in this world is a borderland between the now and the everlasting, between brokenness and wholeness. I ache for comfort you never promised me. Wherever I am, God, teach me how to live in this place that never changes—in the tension between holding on and letting go.

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March 15, 2017 Books to read, Motherhood

Practicing the Presence of God for 21st-century Women. An introduction to Catherine McNiel and Long Days of Small Things.

I sigh as I tug on the hem of the cleaning gloves for what feels like the hundredth time and wipe another fingerprint off the wall with the magic eraser that is all but torn to shreds. Now that we are getting our house ready to sell, I notice every smudge and imperfection made by little fingers. Each one represents another chunk of time, another task to do before the deadline we have set for getting ready to move. It seems all those little segments of time add up to more hours than I have available these days. The practical has been pushing the spiritual out of my life and my soul is parched. I ache for quiet moments to seek God like I used to, those precious days I get to retreat to the monastery or go to a writer's conference. I am fortunate to have those opportunities but then I return to "real" life and I long to be able to find quiet in my every day for the spiritual practices that feed my soul.

But I also know that time slips away so easily and I don't want to wish away the hours with these little ones that won't be little for much longer, my nearly eight-year-old already turning into a young woman in front of me. When I take a few minutes out of my dinner preparation to pour red and yellow paint onto a plate and brush it onto their eager hands, I notice how much more paint it requires these days. I have stacks of handprint pictures from their preschool years but we haven't done this in a while. Their fingers barely fit on the page and I'm startled at how sad it makes me. It's funny how I laminate and treasure these little fingerprints, evidence of how tiny they once were. But those same precious marks don't seem so precious when found on my clean walls.

As I working mom of two, I have found the noise of life to be overwhelming. Hence the desire for this place online I created two years ago (with a 5 and 3-year-old at the time) seeking to help myself and others find God's voice in all the real and virtual noise of life. I have explored new spiritual practices (like examen, silence, keeping the church calendar) and tried the same methods that I want to work but can't seem to make fit into my life anymore (waking early to read the Bible, journaling, online women's studies).

I remember the first time I heard about Brother Lawrence, the famed seventh-century monk who wrote The Practice of the Presence of God about finding God in the common daily tasks of the abbey. I thought this is what I need, wisdom in finding God in ordinary life. I read the small book eagerly, and while his words are an inspiration, I still found it difficult to relate the practices of a French monk to my schedule in which I am either taking care of someone or working most every waking hour of the day until the house is quiet and my mind is incapable of anything more substantial than a conversation or television show.

So, here I am - busy mom, wanna-be contemplative, failing at the practice of God's presence - and a friend asked me to read her new book on motherhood and spiritual disciplines. Honestly, at first, I thought, oh, another thing I don't have time for. Another book to tell me what I should be doing and I'll try for a little bit but then just end up feeling guilty I am not doing better at it. I picked up the book at a retreat and read the back cover: "Rich, soul inspiring practices for moms who have neither quiet nor time." I was intrigued.

The more I talked to Catherine that weekend and connected with her humor, her wisdom - I knew I had to read it. I opened the book on the plane ride home that weekend and in just the first few pages I knew this wasn't the "do more" mom book I had been expecting. It was the how-to practice God's presence in the midst of the noise of motherhood book I never thought anyone would write. It was the Practice of the Presence of God for 21st-century women. It was more than soul-inspiring to me. It was life-giving.

So, I'll let Catherine tell you a bit more about her heart behind the book and hope you find it as rich a tool in your journey towards God as I did.

Stick around until the end of the post and I have a special gift for you, too!

Catherine, introduce yourself to us.

Thank you! I’m a mom with three kids (and a few part time jobs). I love to read and garden. I love to study theology and ancient cultures. I’m always trying to learn something new. I enjoy getting to know my neighbors and learning how different people see the world. I love to explore how theology impacts our real, physical lives…and how our real lives impact theology. I’m enamored by the creation of new life but find that working in the garden is less exhausting than pregnancy.

Now, introduce us to your book Long Days of Small Things: Motherhood as a Spiritual Discipline.

Long Days of Small Things is a book that looks at the real life work we do in our everyday lives, and finds God right here in the midst of it. It’s a book for moms (or dads…or grandparents…or caregivers…) who know they don’t have any extra time or energy, but still want a way to connect with God and discover how to find Him.

How do you do that in Long Days of Small Things?

In each chapter I tell stories from our real lives—the seasons and stages of motherhood, pregnancy and delivery, infant days, sleepless nights, caring for children of all ages—and the tasks that fill them. I look at spiritual tools that already hide there—like sacrifice, surrender, service, perseverance, and celebration—and consider how we can open our eyes to the spiritual boot camp we walk through every day. Without adding anything extra to our live or to-do lists, we practice so many disciplines every moment of the day.

Why did you decide to write Long Days of Small Things: Motherhood as a Spiritual Discipline?

A few years ago I was a work-from-home mom with a baby, a toddler, and a preschooler. These precious, demanding children took me all the way to the end of my rope…and left me there indefinitely! My life changed in every way, yet I heard only the same spiritual prescriptions I’d always heard: spend quite time each day with God. Find 30-60 minutes each day to be in silence and solitude before the Lord. As I considered the classic spiritual practices (which I love!)—prayer, worship, fasting, meditation, service, solitude, etc.—it became abundantly clear that the realities of motherhood meant I was likely to fail. Or opt out entirely.

But my spirit didn’t allow me to do that. I heard a lament rising in the hearts of the women around me—I have nothing left, nothing left to care for myself or give to God. But as I looked at the actual seasons and tasks of motherhood, I was convinced that there was no better “boot camp” for my soul. Each day we mothers create, we nurture. Each day we are pushed to the end of ourselves and must surrender, sacrifice, and persevere. Each day we serve, pouring ourselves out. We empty ourselves for those in our care—and isn’t this emptiness the very reliance on God that the spiritual disciplines are designed to produce?

I’m convinced that motherhood is doing an eternal work on my soul, even if I’m too exhausted and overwhelmed to notice just now.

What are the “Practices” that you describe in Long Days of Small Things?

At the end of each chapter, I list three things we are doing already—things like walking, eating, driving, changing diapers, going to work. And I explore how we can use these things, already in our daily routines and schedules, to awaken to God’s presence with us. Moms often don’t have time to add additional tasks and tools into our days, but that doesn’t mean we can’t use the tasks already there! In fact, in many cases, I think these natural things are the most effective.

How has motherhood impacted your understanding of spirituality?

We think of spirituality as something that happens in our minds, in silence. We are taught that our bodies, our mess and complications and noise hold us back from being with God. That doesn’t leave a lot of hope for moms, whose pregnant or post-partum bodies, newborns, toddlers, and van-full of carpool kids have no end of loud, messy, physical, chaotic needs.

But God made us, didn’t He? Genesis describes Him getting in the dirt and forming us from the dust by hand, then breathing His own breath into our mouths. That’s pretty physical and messy! Then He actually took on a body Himself. The King of Kings wiggled around in a woman’s womb, surrounded by amniotic fluid. He entered the world through her birth canal. God was born, you guys. That’s our Good News.

All this physical stuff that we feel keeps us from Him is the same stuff He used to meet with us, to speak to us, to save us.

So Long Days of Small Things is a book for moms “who have neither quiet nor time” as the cover says—or dads, grandparents, and other caregivers.

Describe an experience that first caused you to understand motherhood as a Spiritual Discipline.

I was shopping with my three kids. Can you imagine the scene? Lugging my infant in one of those terribly unwieldy baby-carriers. Holding my toddler by the hand, while my preschooler zoomed around the store. The diaper bag was falling off my shoulders, and I clenched the grocery bags with the same hand that grasped my toddler.

And then…the door. I couldn’t figure out how to get us all through. The baby was wailing for milk and a nap, the toddler and preschooler needed lunch (and a nap). I wanted lunch and a nap too, truth be told. But mostly I just wanted to get us out the door. No one held it open for me, but plenty of people watched me make a fool of myself trying to wiggle us all through without banging any heads or pinching any fingers. It felt like a hero-feat, an epic win.

When I finally got everyone home, fed, and sleeping, I sat down to read an article I’d been saving; a short biography of a favorite Christian teacher. The biographer described this hero of the faith as so spiritual, he radiated peace just by walking through the door.

This stopped me in my tracks. The memory of how I looked going through a door was so fresh in my mind. I realized that if spiritual growth entailed developing an aura of peace and radiance, I was never going to arrive—at least not without getting rid of these precious babies!

The contrast between this teacher and myself was so stark, and I realized he and I were simply on two separate paths. I was seeking God through the chaotic but life-giving seasons and tasks of motherhood, and this was going to look entirely different from the classic spiritual practices. “Results may vary” as they say.

How is this book different from all the other books and conversations out there regarding motherhood today?

There are so many books out there for moms on the topic of devotion and spirituality. Almost all of them have this in common: after admitting that moms are exhausted, stretched too thin, without any margin or time or energy, they look for a few extra minutes here or there which might be harvested for God; or offer a Bible study or prayer list that might fit in the tiny slots. Get up at 4:30am before the baby wakes at 5am! Read two minutes of the Bible each day!

I’m all for doing these things when it works, but I’m convinced that we don’t need to exit motherhood to have a spiritual life. Our children are what we create, and this is where our Creator God meets us. I’m certain of it. Without adding more “should’s” or “to-do’s” to our days, we can open our eyes to a unique spiritual journey, made just for us—and find him here. We’re already doing it. All that waits is for us to breathe deeply and being to drink.

What are your hopes for the moms reading Long Days of Small Things?

I told my publisher and editor so many times: I want the title, the cover, and every word to convey that I’m not saying you should do more. You are enough. You are seen. You are loved. You are doing so much already, and there is value here. God is here already. These long days of small things make us feel shunted to the side, second class, invisible.

But I’m certain of one thing: this is the very place God meets us. That’s why we practice spiritual disciplines—to arrive at this place. I’m confident that every flowing, bleeding, dripping, sticky, crying, dirty, wet, exhausted piece of motherhood is a piece that God made and loves, a place where He came, and place where He is.

If moms can hear me say that, and accept the invitation, and find Him there—I will be overjoyed.

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Nicole again here. Guys, I truly recommend this book (and yes, Catherine is a fellow writer but I didn't think I had time to help promote the book but when I looked over the table of contents, realized I needed to read it so I bought it. And when I read it, I knew I needed to share it with you). Go buy and read Long Days of Small Things: Motherhood as a Spiritual Discipline.

Remember I said I had a special gift for you?

I would recommend reading this book with a small group of moms, too. If you are in MOPS, a homeschool co-op, a small group or any sort of gathering of moms, I have a special treat for you. As I was reading it, I was thinking how well the book would lend itself to reading together with others and discussing how you found the spiritual practices applicable in your own lives. Thankfully, Catherine has made a discussion guide available for just that reason and you can download it here!

And if you aren't a mom - I am sure you know one or two! I am going to stock up on this book as a baby shower gift for all new moms. Blessings friends as you seek to hear God's voice in the noise of mothering, fathering, and every other noisy season of life!

Interview and discussion guide courtesy of Catherine McNiel, author of Long Days of Small Things: Motherhood as a Spiritual Discipline (NavPress, 2017). Catherine McNiel survived her children's preschool years by learning to find beauty in the mayhem. Now, she writes to open the eyes to God's creative, redemptive work in each day. The author of Long Days of Small Things: Motherhood as a Spiritual Discipline (NavPress, 2017), Catherine cares for three kids, works two jobs, and grows one enormous garden.