Celebrating 2 years of Writing on Substack
+ a 5 minute practice in slowing down
This month marks two years of writing on Substack (!!). I’ve begun to picture these posts like a yellow legal pad1 — I think and write and labor over an essay and then just tear it off the top and toss it into the bin (or send it out into the internet — so not the very best metaphor, but stick with me).
What I’m getting at, is that once it’s been sent out (or torn off), I’m not thinking about it much. Writing here, in many ways, has become the last step in my processing of an idea or experience. Writing, for me, is like a puzzle. It’s the path I take to clarify ideas — it’s how I synthesize what i’ve been learning, thinking about and living. Somedays, it’s how I slow down, and take a look around.
In the last few years I’ve grown more comfortable with using the word writer to describe myself. I have long idealized the life of a writer — when your morning walk and endless stacks of books (among other things) count as your work. I’ve realized recently though, that my work as a pastor and spiritual director is not so different from that of a writer. Both jobs (as well as writing) demand time for contemplation and reflection. All three insist that I spend time in prayer, that I notice my children’s laughter, that I engage with new ideas — and as it turns out, the life of a writer, (or pastor, or spiritual director) is about the overflow of your life. I’ve come to realize that it’s is as much about a way of being in the world as it is the actual work.
Eugene Peterson writes2: if I vainly crowd my day with conspicuous activity or let others fill my day with imperious demands, I don’t have time to do my proper work, the work to which I have been called. How can I lead people into the quiet place beside still waters if I am in perpetual motion?
More practically, he writes: I mark out times for prayer, for reading, for leisure, for the silence and solitude out of which creative work — prayer, preaching, and listening — can issue.
I began to write this essay last month, before I started Seminary3 when it was much easier to make time for prayer, reading, leisure (ha!), silence and solitude. Now, I’m reading (all the time) but some of my other ways of being in the world no longer feel available to me. And I wonder, is it the same for you?
Are you in a season that is bursting at the seams? A season where as much as you’d like to (and are even willing to) there isn’t anything you can cut out? When you read Peterson’s words do you think “sure of course — sounds nice!” Then you’re not alone.
I mentioned at the beginning that sometimes writing is how I slow down and take a look around. I thought we could take time to pause together. So if you’ll join me, let’s slow down, breath and notice what is:
First, Notice how your body feels. Are you lying in bed? Do you feel stiff? Are your eyes still blurry? Are you sitting at your desk? Can you put your feet on the floor and feel the ground beneath you? Can you make yourself 5% more comfortable?
Next, take six deep breaths with a six-count inhale and a six-count exhale.4
Be reminded that God is near — prayerfully consider what it would be like to look to God in your stress, in your overwhelm, in your busy season. How might God meet you in this season? What is standing in your way?
Consider these lines from the poem Psalm 23 Redux5 by Carla A. Grosch-Miller
Beneath the whirl of what is
is a deep down quiet place.
You beckon me to tarry there.
Imagine yourself meeting God in the deep down quiet place — even among the whirl of what is, God beckons us. Stay here for as long (or as little) as you’d like/are able.
Take a few more deep breaths — and move on with your day.
Taking even 5 minutes to stop, and notice reminds our bodies and souls that there is time. There is time to pause, to breathe, to notice. We may not have the amount of time we want for prayer or silence, but even a few minutes can offer rest.
Alongside you in your work and in your rest and in your deep breathing,
Holly
Links & Spiritual Direction Notes
I loved this from Shauna Niequist last week, and read it a second time early this morning to remind myself that it takes time to feel comfortable with change.
I’ve had several new subscribers in recent weeks, so if you’re new, welcome! Here are a few posts you might want to check out, if you want to get to know me a little better:
I have space to see a few more people in my spiritual direction practice, if you know someone (or are someone!) who is interested, follow this link.
This is inspired in part by an Annie Dillard quote: One of the things I know about writing is this: spend it all, shoot it, play it, lose it, all, right away, every time. Do not hoard what seems good for a later place in the book or for another book; give it, give it all, give it now. The impulse to save something good for a better place later is the signal to spend it now. Something more will arise for later, something better.
The Contemplative Pastor, 1989, Eugene Peterson
I first heard of this particular way of breathing from Charlotte Donolon who read about it in Breath: The New Science of a Lost Art by James Nestor
I highly recommend the book of poems Psalm Redux by Carla A. Grosch-Miller
Congrats on 2 years, friend🎉!