Rhythms of Growth. Linda Douty
inner garden is being tilled and planted by One wiser and more loving than you’ve ever envisioned.
JANUARY 6 • The Ancient Path of Silence
Ask for the ancient paths, where the good way lies; and walk in it, and find rest for your souls” (Jer. 6:16). Silence is an ancient path that has stood the test of time.
As an extrovert, I used to consider silent prayer a waste of time, a time I should use more productively. Why sit when I could be feeding the hungry? For compulsive “doers” addicted to productivity and measurable results, stillness is a tall order indeed.
The practice of silence had to change my life before I could change my mind. Studying the witness of others convinced me that God could nurture my hectic soul, if I could learn to be still. The practice didn’t seem to fit my wiring, but I felt compelled to give it a try.
My first guide in this endeavor was Father Thomas Keating through his method of Centering Prayer. I rose early each morning, his book Open Mind, Open Heart: The Contemplative Dimension of the Gospel in my lap, and sat comfortably—spine straight and feet flat on the floor—trusting that God was tilling the soil of my soul. Keating suggested the choice of a “sacred word” to which I could return when distracted. Since he cautioned against using a word that carried lots of meaning (to avoid thinking about the word rather than emptying the mind), I had to experiment with several words before I found something workable. I finally chose empty.
Even though I sensed no results that fit into my usual patterns of evaluation, I continued to show up—first for five minutes, then ten, then twenty. As the practice became more comfortable, I sat for even longer periods of time. I held fast to the perception that something was occurring in the hidden recesses of my spirit. The lengthening silence brought with it a sense of trust. I slowly realized that silence is the true training ground for the art of listening.
Reflect: Take a chance on this ancient practice. Find a quiet spot and commit to a power greater than yourself. Be gentle with yourself as you plow new spiritual ground.
JANUARY 7 • Drowning in Words
I love words—the sight of them on the page, the vibration of them in the ear, the delicious feel of them as they roll out of my mouth, their power to describe and enchant. I love water as well, but I try not to forget that I can drown in it as well as delight in it. Truth is, most of us are drowning in words.
We are seduced by sound and print in all its forms—from stimulating discussions to vivid descriptions. We become so enthralled with words that we begin to mistake the “right words” for the real thing. We can easily confuse reading a book about prayer with the practice of praying. Words can become an end in themselves rather than a means to the experience of the holy. On the journey of spiritual formation, words can point to God but not provide the experience of God. In the words of poet John Keats, “Nothing ever becomes real till it is experienced—even a proverb is no proverb to you till your life has illustrated it.”1
Silence offers the divine language that enriches the growth of introverts and extroverts alike, yet it can be both deafening and disturbing. Being silent can also feel like a colossal waste of time. We usually try to fill it, obliterate it, or enliven it by inner and outer chatter. I once considered silent practice as one of many forms of contemplation, a mere appetizer on the rich buffet of spiritual options that we could take a bite of—or not. I now believe it forms the foundation of true communication with God.
Psalm 46:10 says it plain as day: “Be still, and know that I am God!” Not “Read another book, and you’ll know”; “Tackle another worthy project, and you’ll know”; or even “Study the Bible more, and you’ll know.” It says to be still and know.
Reflect: Pause several times today to pay attention to your feelings. Sense God’s presence in small details: a sudden surge of love for your family, the taste of hot cornbread, the smell of a fresh rose. Just stop and feel it rather than describe it.
JANUARY 8 • Stumbling through the Silence
My novice attempts at silence, while sporadic and unsatisfying, encouraged me to “keep my appointment with God.” So I did—morning after morning. My mind wandered; I got twitchy. I noticed no immediate change and heard no booming voice from on high. For a person accustomed to being proactive and trying harder, I found it a tough discipline.
At first, silence felt like my enemy; a chorus of chattering voices competed for attention—the “monkey mind.” I had to accept that minds just do that—leap from thought to thought like monkeys leaping from limb to limb. My spiritual guides urged me to remain patient, releasing thoughts without self-judgment or evaluation—in short, to trust the process. Those who write about the contemplative life refer to silence as “the language of God.” To experience this holy voice, I had to present my soul as an empty container to be filled with . . . whatever.
After weeks, I began to notice subtle—almost imperceptible—differences that no one would have noticed but me: a kinder response to an irritation; more patience, less judgment. Not a major spiritual overhaul but slight changes nonetheless. My exterior behavior seemed to receive silent support from inside—oh, so slowly.
But all wasn’t roses and light. Along with budding fruit of the Spirit, I experienced a heightened awareness of my real motives and hidden agendas. Ouch. Ultimately, I came to accept this revealing light as part of the process, encompassed not by judgment and shame but by forgiveness and mercy.
Eventually, the silence turned from adversary to adviser, from foe to friend. Rather than inverting a life of service into mere navel-gazing, silence can charge our spiritual engine and set it into motion. Silent practice is far from lazy inactivity. A lifetime endeavor, to be sure, but it begins with that first brave step into the silence.
Reflect: Sit comfortably in a straight chair, feet flat on the floor, settling into the silence with deep belly breaths. Set a timer for ten minutes. As each thought arises, mentally let it go like nudging a butterfly off your shoulder. Then return to your breathing or your sacred word. Don’t judge yourself as inadequate or inept—only faithful!
JANUARY 9 • Trusting the Hidden Process
So how can we take part in this astounding process of growth? We begin with patience. The Spirit’s guidance doesn’t usually operate in fast mode but rather on “winter time.” In silence, we can offer questions and concerns to God’s wisdom, not so God will fix us or our problems arbitrarily but so we can take our next step in harmony with divine guidance. The Spirit can comfort us in suffering, come to us through others’ actions and words, and nudge us into action in subtle ways. In our microwave minds, we want that guidance pronto and without ambiguity, but patience paves the way.
We offer our full presence by noticing what is occurring now. We do not regret the past or fear the future but focus on being here now in love. Is what we are thinking or doing furthering the service of love?
We open ourselves to deeper perception. Our awareness of this growth process sharpens as we acknowledge what energizes us as well as what drains us. What causes anxiety, despair, joy? What triggers our reactions? How does this perception invite us to change?
Finally, the growth process requires our participation. Once we perceive the guidance, how can we do our part? We summon the courage to take the next step, to move toward the next point of light that we can see.
Reflect: Creation itself grows in silence—plants, trees, flowers. The sun and the moon move in silence. Silence itself gives us a new perspective. Slowly consider your awareness of God’s presence in the silence. Be aware as the vast emptiness, free of sound, fills with a larger and more loving presence.
JANUARY 10 • Getting Unstuck
I remember the wise words of a mentor voiced many years ago: “One of the best ways to get unstuck is to take chances.” He then posed a question that hit me right between the eyes: “When will you learn to take a risk on your own behalf?”
Struggling with the meaning of that question, I realized that I regarded such questions as selfish and egocentric. I had to learn the hard way that