The Rhythm of Life: An Experience of Engaging in Daily Practice | Cultivate

Part three of my Daily Practices paper

From Design Sponge, another favorite blog.

{Cultivate}

            It was a rare sunny day in February this year that I planted seeds. Seattle isn’t supposed to be sunny in February, so I interpreted the sun’s appearance as a personal commission: it was time to cultivate. The previous year was my first time experimenting with my potentially green thumb. I planted both basil and parsley, and I came in everyday after working at the daycare and stared in gratitude and awe at how much each had grown. I could tell by my roommate’s reaction that my amazement wasn’t a typical adult response. I was spending ten hours a day with over twenty three-year-olds after all, and their curiosity and celebratory spirit was permeating my way of being.

            I eagerly planted my seeds this year, remembering the pure elation that observing the progress of the sprouts brought me the year prior. I planted both basil and parsley again, hoping for more success with the parsley this time, and placed them in the sunniest window. I watered them each morning before I left and marveled at their growth when I returned. I found joy with each new sprout—so much that I still find it difficult to pick leaves off of the basil plant to use in pasta sauce, even though I suppose the intention is to use the herb and its gift of flavor in the end.

The practice of cultivation isn’t foreign to Christianity. In fact, it’s foundational to our humanity seeing as God cultivates us as his beloved creation (I wouldn’t be surprised if God looks at us with pure elation when He observes our progress, just as I do my plants). In the forward to Craig Goodwin’s book, Year of Plenty, Eugene Peterson writes: “Care of creation…is fundamentally about this incarnation, the core doctrine of the Christian faith, God with us in the Jesus of history.” Is it not marvelous that the growth of one seed can produce 40 seeds in addition from the one from which it sprouted? Whether it a beautiful flower or the most delicious fruit, with a bit of water and a proper environment, we can bear witness as God breathes growth and life into His created world.

This can be seen in the way care and cultivation of creation translates into nourishment as well. In her book Mudhouse Sabbath: An Invitation to a life of Spiritual Discipline, Lauren Winner, a devout Jew-turned-Christian professor, highlights the relevance of food to spirituality: “Food is part of God’s creation. A right relationship with food points us toward Him.” Winner makes a case for eating seasonally, naming the practice as a form of liturgy.

God created humanity to rely on the land, and He created the land to nourish humanity. However, in this modern world of instant gratification and indulgent consumption, the food we eat seems to appear at the snap of two fingers, rather than received as a gift from God. It isn’t a coincidence that watermelon grows in the summer to give hydration against the summer’s heat and potatoes in the winter to give energy in winter’s bitter cold. When we choose to eat seasonally, not only do we decide to recognize God’s provision with gratitude—we can also feast in the abundance of His harvest!

            As I reflect on God’s cultivation of His creation and His beloved and how I can participate in that process, I am reminded of Jesus’ words in his Sermon on the Mount. “Consider the lilies,” Jesus urges, as he speaks of God’s attentiveness and cultivation of His creation. Jesus knows that the beauty of the lily is evidence of God’s care, how He “clothes the grass of the field.” Through this allusion we can be filled with gratitude and feast on God’s provision for us too.

The Rhythm of Life: An Experience of Engaging in Daily Practice | Exist

Part deux of my Daily Practices paper - note: you might have seen some of this before!

From Hither & Thither

{ Exist }

            I often resent the mundane task. In what seems to be a continually increasingly busy life, the mundane tasks get thrown into the “have to” category on my checklist, and quickly morph into things I “have to” do. My resistance doesn’t simply come from a lack of desire to complete a tedious task—the language around the category dooms the task from the start. To me, “have to” leads to the death of the soul, while “get to” opens up the possibility of life. I used to work at a summer camp where we had no rules, only “get to-s.” You “get to” not run at the pool, you “get to” clean your tray, you “get to” have lights out by 11pm. A clever person would quickly realize that these in fact are rules, but the reframing of them as things you “get to” do invites a spirit of freedom to the task, rather than obligation.

            Last week, while working at the Mars Hill Graduate School bookstore, I “got to” 

stock shelves 

with a new order. I “had to” do the same thing the week prior, and  “had to” 

do it again. In fact I carried 

the outlook of having to do it for at least the first thirty 

minutes of the task. I was bearing the weight of all 

of the work that demanded my 

attention in the weeks ahead, yet  all

                                                                              I could

                                                                                                      do

                                                                         then

                                                                         was stack

                                                                                                      Reese’s

                                                                                                      Cups.

Of course my productive self found a way around this limitation by dwelling over the tasks that awaited me, and I quickly became angry that any dear time I might have had for myself was slowly fading away. But around this point, a voice of guidance beckoned inside me: “savor this mundane task.” It was a revelation, to say the least, and a prodding of the Spirit, most definitely. Here I was with this moment of complete and rhythmic peace in front of me—a task so mindless that it offered such freedom—and all I had to do was to surrender to its simplicity in slowness of pace to be set free.

            Kathleen Norris talks about the practice of surrendering to the daily task in The Quotidian Mysteries: Laundry, Liturgy, and “Women’s Work.”  “We want life to have meaning, we want fulfillment, healing, and even ecstasy,” she says, “but the human paradox is that we find these things by starting where we are, not where we wish we were. We must look for blessings to come from the unlikely, everyday places….” Last Tuesday that place for me was in the bookstore stocking new inventory.

Like Norris, laundry is also one of those places for me (and I’m likely not the only one who relates), alongside washing dishes and the dreaded waiting for the bus. All these things are things I “have to” do most days. These daily tasks are as much a part of my life as my hair is brown and my skin white; they simply exist. So how can I practice, as I was able to in that revelatory moment in the bookstore, changing the way I see the everyday task from a prison of “have to-s” to an expanse of “get to-s”? Norris seems to do this by turning the leaf of mundane tasks over in into simple and slow moments of contemplation.

“What we dread as mindless activity can free us, mind and heart, for the workings of the Holy Spirit,” Norris implies, “and repetitive motions are conducive to devotions.”Something I must be reminded of everyday as I face life’s interruptions and perfunctory demands, Norris tells that when we surrender to the task that is before us, we then have the space needed to simply and slowly pause, to soak in God’s presence in the mundane task through contemplation, and through it all to flourish.

The Rhythm of Life: An Experience of Engaging in Daily Practice

After a hiatus filled with paper-writing and philosophy (so maybe not much of a hiatus), I am winding down and am ready to begin sharing the paper that culminates (and commences) my study of daily practices. I'll share it in five bits since it was written in five bits (plus, 15 pages is just too long of a post, right? Right). So, without further ado...

From my favorite blog.

Prelude

The dictionary defines “practices” in two ways, one being “habit[s] or custom[s],” and the second expanding on those habits and customs toward a goal: “repeated performance or systematic exercise for the purpose of acquiring skill or proficiency.” Likewise, the dictionary defines “daily” as “every day” or “day by day.” The synonyms offered for the word “daily” continue in rote: “day-after-day, day-to-day, each day,” on and on, over and over. With each similar phrase I nod my head as I read, soon being taken beyond the list of words to a steady rhythm. It is through the same rhythm that an occurrence becomes a habit, a custom, a practice: through the pattern of the day-to-day—the daily rhythm. Through openness and awareness in these daily practices, Christians who seek the holy can begin to experience something far greater than the ordinary—they can encounter the kingdom of God.

            Daily practices in Christian spirituality can be traced back to the beginning of time—day seven, to be specific. “Thus the heavens and the earth were completed, and all their hosts,” the text of Genesis reads; “By the seventh day God completed His work which He had done, and He rested on the seventh day from all His work which He had done. Then God blessed the seventh day and sanctified it, because in it He rested from all his work which God had created and made.” That seventh day came to be known as Sabbath. God emphasizes the importance of observing the Sabbath as spiritual practice when he gives Moses the Ten Commandments. God’s fourth commandment to His people is this: “remember the sabbath day, to keep it holy. Six days you shall labor and do all your work, but the seventh day is a sabbath of the LORD your God.”

            In his book Sabbath, Dan Allender emphasizes that God did not need rest on the seventh day; rather, he spent the time delighting in the completion of His perfect kingdom. Though we are no longer in the garden because of sin and brokenness, God desires for us to both remember and hope for the kingdom for which we were created through practicing Sabbath. His decree to “keep it holy” emphasizes the uniqueness of the Sabbath practice: to be “holy” is to be “set apart.” Of the pursuit of the holy, Allender writes: “The holy comes in a moment when we are captured by beauty, and a dance of delight swirls us beyond the moment to taste the expanse of eternity in, around, and before us.”

And thus the spiritual and daily practices blossom out of God’s command to keep the Sabbath, for as Christians we practice these things with hopes of being “captured by beauty,” seeking to “taste the expanse of eternity in, around, and before us.” We are followers in pursuit of the kingdom of God, and we practice through the faith that we are united with God and can experience His holiness, just as Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden.

            In Finding Our Way Again: The Return of the Ancient Practices, author Brian McLaren speaks about this faith through the lens of contemplative practice: “the contemplative tradition claims that we human beings can also experience the living God in this life in ways that range from gentle and subtle to dramatic, ravishing, and electrifying.” McLaren goes on to list traditional contemplative practices, “means by which we become prepared for grace to surprise us”: along with Sabbath, he includes simplicity and slowness, gratitude and feasting, fixed-hour and contemplative prayer, and meditation and memorization. “By using them,” McLaren says, “we prepare ourselves to receive ‘the good coincidences of life: the priceless, quiet gift of well-being; the gentle habit of living deep and loving well; and sometimes, even, the lightning strike of inspiration or ecstasy that arcs by surprise into our souls from the fullness of God.”

            I explore these practices by writing what I know and wonder, for daily practices are nothing without daily experiences. I am learning to exist—to simplify and slow down in the moment; as I cultivate I am discovering gratitude and what it means to feast on God’s provisions; in my desire to pray I am exploring what it means to allow God the chance to stir through fixed-hour and contemplative prayer; and as I move in my practice of yoga, I am beginning to deepen my experience of strength and stillness through meditation and memorization. As I practice these things I am ultimately seeking the holy, with hopes of being surprised by the kingdom of God experienced in the Sabbath that I long for in the day-to-day.

Siesta: A Practice

The wonderful reference tool Wikipedia defines Siesta "a short nap taken in the early afternoon, often after the midday meal." Talk about daily practices! Where has the Siesta been all of my life? If I'm taking time to pause in the morning and pause in the evening--for Sabbath, for prayer, in order to breathe--then shouldn't I be pausing midday as well? It's the first thing I want to do and the last thing I'm willing to. My "go, go, go" mentality doesn't allow for breaks--even if I break physically, the list is still rolling mentally. And so, as in the eyes of a practitioner, anything difficult must be challenged. This obviously means daily naps, and pauses, and not getting done at work until an hour later because I actually took that lunch break instead of trying to eat and work (or work without the eating).

The Hammock, Gustave Courbet

My therapist says that our bodies always tell us the truth, and today my body said to me: "Siesta, Lacy." And so I did, and then, as I woke up from my nap, my body spoke again, saying "Thank you, friend." It's a really polite body when I treat it well.

So in the spirit of Siesta (and also perhaps because the free internet at my studio--I said that fun word on purpose--has disappeared), these next few days as I finish my Daily Practices paper, I will Siesta from this space. But when I return, I will be refreshed, with a paper behind me and more words to share than can fit in one post. Fifteen pages of writing will do that to you.

"Now, go take a nap." -your body

In Progress,
Lacy

A Desire for Sameness: A Prayer

Not my prayer. Well, it is my prayer, but I didn't write it. I'm in the final weeks of my first year at MHGS, and that, combined with living in two places (it was supposed to be easier), along with wedding deadlines arising has me longing for some consistency. One place I've been able to find this has been coming back to routine--things I have memorized, whether it be an action, thought, or even a prayer. Everyday at MHGS at 9, 12, 3, and 6 (and even further, I'm sure), the bell tolls at MHGS, calling us to an awareness of God's presence. It's a call to a practice of fixed-hour prayer, and I've been loving how it's drawn me out of my chaos lately.

Here is a prayer of Saint Francis of Assisi that has stayed with me since I heard it first, and I hope that it is the next thing I put to memory, to steady me in times like these (I bought it on a little card at the St. Placid bookstore!):

Sunset in Greece, 2008

A Prayer of Saint Francis of Assisi

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.

Where there is hatred, let me sow love.

Where there is injury, pardon,

Where there is doubt, faith,

Where there is despair, hope,

Where there is darkness, light,

and where there is sadness, joy.

O Divine Master, grant that I may no so much seek to be consoled, as to console;

To be understood, as to understand;

To be loved, as to love;

For it is in giving that we receive--

It is in pardoning that we are pardoned;

And it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

Amen.

When that bell tolls tomorrow, I'll be practicing this verse. And if I can't remember it, I'll be saying the Lord's Prayer. Never gets old. Good one, Jesus.

In Progress,

Lacy

Pausing to Celebrate

Yesterday I Sabbathed, but I also was showered. Some friends in Seattle threw me the most delightful lingerie shower, which was so meaningful because it just is strange planning a wedding so far from home. Everything was just right, and I couldn't feel more loved. There were even special wishes sent from afar!

Here are some photos so you'll feel just as part of the celebration:

Lovely, right?

In Progress, but happy to pause,

Lacy

Sometimes the Daily Happens to You

The daily things I've been discussing thus far have all been under my control for the most part, or at least if they weren't, they were at least in direct relation to be, being that they happened to me. But a few days ago, a daily occurrence entered my life that will remain for the next year, if not more. It has nothing to do with me as it happens outside of my window, yet has everything to do with me, because it happens outside of my window. I can literally see into the building, as if I'm perched in a tree across the street, trying to peer in. I can know what's happening inside at all hours of the day by looking through that window, at least with the help of my imagination, and I have a feeling it won't take me long to get to know the usuals waiting outside to gain entry--something that has become a part of their daily practice.

One thing I know for sure: God has something up his sleeve placing us here with such a view for our first year of marriage, and you can tell him I'm in.

The Millionair Club has just become a part of my daily routine and
I'm hoping it will move from observation to involvement.
Read more about it here.