Rhythms of Growth. Linda Douty
with unrealized life. Twelve fresh months spread before us like a buffet. We learn to write a new year on our checks. We wonder what will fill the sparsely noted calendar pages. Often we rush to figure it out, proclaim resolutions, compose to-do lists. But if we’re listening to winter’s guidance, we may hear whispers that we’re running ahead of the unfolding process. Winter invites us to hold the reins on our runaway spirits, to reflect before we stampede into action.
Expert fire-builders tell us that the empty space between the logs is necessary for fire to kindle. And so it is with us. We must create space to spark the soul’s wisdom. The soul, somewhat shy, speaks in whispers not in shouts; it requires unhurried time.
The ego protests this slowdown, shouting at us to get organized, start moving, attack the looming projects. But the soul pulls us in another direction, urging us to carve out a few reflective moments to consider those calendar entries, to become aware of who we are and where the Spirit is leading us.
We make this process a priority because in the soul’s growth, it is. Prayer, reflection, sipping a cup of tea while staring out the window—anything that allows spaciousness also allows a wisdom greater than we know to pay a winter visit. Be ready to open the door. Slow down and sit a spell.
Reflect: Create a time today (even five minutes) when you can sit in silence and allow your spirit to settle. Don’t expect anything; don’t evaluate the content of the time. Just know that your soul is opening to love and wisdom.
JANUARY 2 • New Year’s Resolutions
I’ve never been a fan of New Year’s resolutions. Like many other folks, I make them, usually break them, then wallow in guilt as I revert to business as usual. That being said, it still seems prudent to project some sort of intention as the new year begins, some evidence of movement toward healthy changes.
This year I’m altering my usual program by engaging in times of silent reflection, reviewing the past year’s moments of joy and challenge and focusing on the lessons offered. What occasions brought delight? What brought pain or suffering? Did I open myself to greater compassion and love because of them? Through this reflective process, I can sense divine presence moving through life’s experiences.
Rather than regarding the difficult times as occasions of God’s absence, it helps to recall the support that bore the wings of love during those thorny passages, the kindnesses that made situations bearable—all signs of God’s encompassing presence. On the other hand, remembrance of the surprising joys teaches volumes about what nurtures and delights. It’s a mixed bag and a total package that spell LIFE, full of light and dark places. Seeing ourselves and our lives as a whole lends a perspective that is illumined by attention and unlocked with the key of gratitude.
So I hope to be a more reflective learner this year—stopping often to do some spiritual fishing, throwing my net into deep waters and seeing what life-giving lessons I can catch. Want to join me?
Reflect: Spend some time reviewing the past year and its events. What invitations to grow did you perceive and accept? How did you change as a result? Give thanks for the ways in which the Spirit can shape you through whatever occurs in your life.
JANUARY 3 • Fallow Time
Farmers speak of the value of allowing a field to lie fallow for a while, to remain idle in order to rejuvenate the soil for future productivity. Listening to winter teaches us that we too can find refreshment through lying fallow.
Joining this cycle of nature—work and rest, action and contemplation, productivity and passivity—puts us in harmony with creation itself. Jesus modeled this rhythm for us. On occasion, he left needy crowds behind to commune with God in prayer, to celebrate with friends, or just to be alone for a time.
When our souls lie fallow, they become aware of the quiet infusion of God in and through everything—not merely the moments we might deem spiritual or religious. Divine creative energy is the animating force that undergirds all of life, all the time. Words from the book of Acts give us a glimpse of this life-giving energy: “In him we live and move and have our being” (17:28).
Though we may not have the luxury of a week’s retreat or a spa vacation, we can find pockets of refreshment even in a busy day—soaking in a hot bath, reading a few pages from an inspiring book, watching the cardinal flutter at the feeder, petting the new puppy, sitting in silence.
Our souls need the same kind of renewal as the farmer’s field. Perhaps we too will be more fruitful if we respect our need to lie fallow occasionally.
Reflect: Make a list of minivacations that can provide respite during your daily round. Post them where you can refer to them often. Find some fallow moments today, simply to be rather than to do.
JANUARY 4 • Cocooning
Once I plucked a cocoon from a tree and pried it open to see what was inside. Bad idea. Inside it was dark, unformed, unfinished. I had disturbed the darkness essential to its unfolding.
The darkness of a cocoon does not reflect an absence of life but rather the activity of life being formed. It takes patience. The gradual maturing of our own souls also takes some cocooning. A time of stillness, even when it feels like a gloomy laziness, allows this process to evolve while we watch and wait and pay attention to what is happening.
Science tells us that each chrysalis attaches to a cremaster—a tiny spiny protuberance that serves as an anchor point to connect the pupa to a stem, twig, or other “holding place”—nature’s Velcro™, if you will. We too stay connected in dark times to that quiet core inside our souls where God meets us, comforts us, sustains us, “cocoons” us—with a giant cosmic hug. Spiritual disciplines can strengthen this connection through prayer, meditation, worship, spiritual friendships, and service to others.
Creativity can also serve as that still point. After all, an artist isn’t a special kind of person so much as each person is a special kind of artist. Your own soul is the canvas, the weaving, the song, the poem—and with every stroke or word, you’re joining the creative dance of life.
Listening to winter leads us to discover a whole host of cremasters—our companions in a growth group, the support of our families, a spiritual director—and above all, our trust in a loving God who champions our wholeness.
Reflect: What connections and creations serve as your anchor points? May you feel blessed today as you allow those still points to nurture your own cocooning process.
JANUARY 5 • My Soul Waits in Silence. . . .
It’s almost impossible to reflect in the midst of a whirlwind. Every day the noise of crowded homes, busy highways, chattering workplaces, and media entertainment—not to mention our techno-gadgets—bombards us! Sitting in silence invites us to focus on matters of the heart, communing with something greater than the cacophony around us—in other words, listening to winter.
So how do we do that? The first obvious answer comes when we choose to stop talking, which includes the ticker tape running in our heads while our lips are closed. Sacred silence is not the silence of a graveyard but the silence of a garden growing. If you stand in a winter garden, it appears that nothing is happening in the somber stillness. Yet biology reminds us that vigorous activity, cellular movement, and unseen life abound underneath the ground—life that we can neither see nor control. Eventually growth emerges in leaves and flowers and, ultimately, fruit.
Intentionally entering the silence signals radical trust. Do we believe that the Spirit can form us without our expert micromanagement? If so, we offer the garden of our hearts for divine tilling and planting with no questions asked. As we relinquish control and judgment of the process, we find over time that green growth emerges—in the form of answered prayer, fresh insights, and an awakening to God’s presence in everything. It seems as if our souls are shaped just as organically as the flowers in this amazing underground process.
Think about it—a garden offers itself to the light and lets go of control. Lilies turn into lilies, tomatoes become tomatoes. Maybe we too can be shaped into what we were meant to be as we trust the divine Gardener in the silence.
Reflect: