A version of this post appeared first on The Vining Center blog.

“Shame is not something we ‘fix’ in the privacy of our mental processes; evil would love for us to believe that to be so. We combat it within the context of conversation, prayer, and other communal, embodied actions.”

~ Curt Thompson, MD, The Soul of Shame

What comes to mind when you think of trauma? The death of a friendship, the loss of a home, a diagnosis that forever changes the course of your life? Not all trauma comes in the shape of a major, life-altering event. Some trauma is cumulative, like growing up in a home where you are neither seen nor heard, where loved ones mock or dismiss the things most precious to your heart and soul as unworthy of their time or attention.

Regardless of its source, trauma inevitably leads to shame and isolation. Shame tells us that we are fundamentally wrong and damaged at our core, with little hope for redemption. Shame is about who we are, not what we do. The natural course of shame is isolating ourselves from our true selves, others, and God. Like Adam and Eve, we hide behind our fig leaves of competency and success, hoping no one will notice that we are dying a slow, miserable death inside. We prop ourselves up with outward trappings, hoping no one will look beneath the surface at the deeper truth—the desire each of us has to be truly known.

Intuitively, we know that shame quenches our gifts and any sense of vocational vision and creativity we might possess, so periodically, we peek out from behind our fig leaves of self-sufficiency, only to draw back into hiding at the slightest provocation or hint of rejection.

Is there a better way? How do we end the cycle of trauma, shame, and isolation?

According to Psychiatrist Curt Thompson, we combat shame through honest conversation, prayer, and communal, embodied actions. My experiences bear this out. I first entered into this type of community among a group of unorthodox Christian artists. They created a safe space for me to share my story and embraced me despite my rather unconventional life experiences at the time.

Several years later, while sorting through additional layers of trauma, I began my initial training as a spiritual director. I found myself in a group of believers from multiple denominations, but what we all had in common was that we had suffered deeply. We went around the room and shared our “shame narratives,” holding space for each other’s pain. We were neither put off nor repulsed by each other’s pain; instead, we were drawn together through our humanity, stories of suffering and injustice, and a shared hope for a different future. Later, we shared a meal and drank wine late into the night.

Over the years, I have learned the importance of creating communities of safety and healing where others can share their shame and uncover their true selves in the safety for which they long. As a spiritual director, I seek to establish this environment for each of my directees, whether one-on-one or in a group.

I believe there is no other way.

The post Shame appeared first on Mary J. Yerkes.

With my autoimmune disease in remission for more than five years, it shook me to the core when it reemerged in full force this January. After two courses of high-dose prednisone therapy and a new medication with severe and potentially lethal side effects, I found myself uncertain as to my next steps.

The Question

Where do I go from here? What is God’s will for me, professionally and personally, in this season of diminished capacity?

As Christians, we’re taught to seek answers in God’s Word. But my situation, like most, was complex, and there were no simple, black-and-white answers. A Scripture band-aid wouldn’t fix what ailed me. I needed a Surgeon who could not only diagnose but also fix the problem, stitch me back up, and put me back on the path toward wholeness.

Who could I call on to sit with me and help me listen for the heart and will of God in my circumstances? After reaching out to a few friends to discuss the matter and still feeling a need for clarity, I contacted my spiritual director and asked to schedule a discernment session.

The Discernment Process

My spiritual director, like most, offers help in discerning God’s will. What he doesn’t do is give me advice, provide pastoral care, or tell me what I should do. He is trained to listen deeply—to God, to the directee (me), and to what is happening inside of him.

On March 26, he, his wife, and I met to discuss the shifts I had been feeling and to seek direction in prayer regarding what God might want to say to me. The process, which I’m sure will be new to my evangelical friends, is rooted in Ignatian Spirituality and includes noticing the internal movement of the Holy Spirit within our hearts and souls.

1. It starts with the prayer of indifference, which requires a release of my preferred outcome, attachments, and ramifications into God’s care and receiving his greatest desire—his will—for my life. Rooted in Ignatian Spirituality, “Ignatian indifference is the capacity to let go of what doesn’t help me to love God or love others while staying engaged with what does,” according to IgnatianSpirituality.com. This biblical precept is also seen in The Lord’s Prayer when we pray, “Let thine not mine will be done on earth as it is in heaven.”
2. We then prayed and asked for God’s wisdom in accordance with James 1:5-8.
3. Finally, we concluded with a prayer of quiet trust, similar to what we see In Psalm 131.

Noticing without Judging

Once we laid a foundation in prayer, we moved on to the practical side, answering questions and “noticing without judging.” The questions my spiritual director and his wife asked are below:

1. What circumstances bear on your decision?
2. What general biblical truths affect your decision?
3. What advice have you received so far?
4. What in my faith tradition is relevant?

These simple questions, asked with an attentive heart and listening ear, invite more profound understanding and insight. Discussing them within the context of our small community and inviting my spiritual director and his wife to share any impressions they had were gold.

Answers or More Questions?

I had hoped for utter clarity and discernment coming into the session. While I left with some specific steps, like moving toward semi-retirement at the end of the year, I also heard God extend several “invitations” to me:

• Could I release my need for control and learn to “flow” in this season, confident in the Spirit’s leading?
• Was I willing to become more of who God created me to be, knowing I wouldn’t fit in the same way I had before and that I might find myself ministering in new ways and through new channels?
• Would I open my heart to receive more of the love of God and his sufficiency?

In closing, they prayed this Ash Wednesday blessing by Jan Richardson over me, appropriately titled “Beloved”:

Beloved
If you would enter
into the wilderness,
do not begin
without a blessing.

Do not leave

without hearing

who you are:

Beloved,

named by the One

who has traveled this path

before you.

Do not go

without letting it echo

in your ears,

and if you find

it is hard

to let it into your heart,

do not despair.

That is what

this journey is for.

I cannot promise

this blessing will free you

from danger,

from fear,

from hunger

or thirst,

from the scorching

of sun

or the fall

of the night.

But I can tell you

that on this path

there will be help.

I can tell you

that on this way

there will be rest.

I can tell you

that you will know

the strange graces

that come to our aid

only on a road

such as this,

that fly to meet us

bearing comfort

and strength,

that come alongside us

for no other cause

than to lean themselves

toward our ear

and with their

curious insistence

whisper our name:

Beloved.

Beloved.

Beloved.

Did this post stir something within you? Perhaps a desire for greater discernment around an issue? As a trained spiritual director with advanced training, I would be happy to help guide you through a similar discernment process.

Use my contact form to get in touch.

The post The Way of Discernment (Discernment Series: Part 2) appeared first on Mary J. Yerkes.

As I shared in my last post, I feel I am standing at the threshold of a new season with all its complex feelings and emotions as I venture into the unknown. During yesterday’s virtual post-graduate spiritual direction class retreat, one of the leaders shared this lovely poem, which spoke to my experience. I thought I’d share it with you before continuing my series on discernment.

A threshold is not a simple boundary;

it is a frontier that divides two different territories, rhythms and atmospheres.

Indeed, it is a lovely testimony to the fullness and integrity of an experience

or a stage of life that it intensifies towards the end into a real frontier

that cannot be crossed without the heart being passionately engaged and woken up.

At this threshold a great complexity of emotion comes alive:

confusion, fear, excitement, sadness, hope.

This is one reason why such vital crossings were always clothed in ritual.

It is wise in your own life to be able to recognize and acknowledge the key thresholds:

to take your time, to feel all the varieties of presence that accrue there,

to listen inwards with complete attention  until you hear the inner voice calling you forward.

The time has come to cross.

To acknowledge and cross a new threshold is always a challenge.

It demands courage and also a sense of trust in whatever is emerging.

This becomes essential when a threshold opens suddenly in front of you,
one for which you had no preparation.

This could be illness, suffering or loss.

Because we are so engaged with the world,

we usually forget how fragile life can be and how vulnerable we always are.

It takes only a couple of seconds for a life to change irreversibly.

Suddenly you stand on completely strange ground
and a new course of life has to be embraced.

Especially at such times we desperately need blessing and protection.

You look back at the life you have lived up to a few hours before,

and it suddenly seems so far away.

Think for a moment how, across the world, someone’s life has just changed –

irrevocably, permanently, and not necessarily for the better –

and everything that was once so steady, so reliable, must now find a new way of unfolding.

Though we know one another’s names and recognize one another’s faces,

we never know what destiny shapes each life.

The script of individual destiny is secret;

it is hidden behind and beneath the sequence of happenings

that is continually unfolding for us.

Each life is a mystery that is never finally available to the mind’s light or questions.

That we are here is a huge affirmation; somehow life needed us and wanted us to be.

To sense and trust this primeval acceptance can open a vast spring of trust within the heart.

It can free us into a natural courage that casts out fear and opens up our lives

to become voyages of discovery, creativity, and compassion.

No threshold need be a threat, but rather an invitation and a promise.

Whatever comes, the great sacrament of life will remain faithful to us,

blessing us always with visible signs of invisible grace.

We merely need to trust

~ John O’Donohue, “Benedictus” (“To Bless The Space Between Us” in the U.S.)

The post Thresholds by John O’Donohue appeared first on Mary J. Yerkes.

Welcome to the first of a series of posts on the discernment process. I hope you’ll join me for the rest of the series. In future posts, I will dive more deeply into the discernment process. Drop me a line and let me know what questions you might have or issues you’d like to see me tackle.

Discernment, determining God’s activity and direction in a specific situation or season of life, is a topic of interest among most Christians, especially leaders who seek God’s will for their lives and leadership.

But what does that look like practically?

Here’s how it played out in my life this past week. See if it resonates with you.

Discernment and Context

First, let me provide a little context. Last week marked my second medication failure for an autoimmune disease I’ve lived with most of my adult life. With such debilitating disease symptoms as pain, a lack of coordination, and debilitating fatigue for the last few months, I’ve found it challenging to work and carry on with the activities of daily living. With a new medication ordered, my doctor put me on a high-dose cortisone taper. I have terrible problems with side effects when I’m on cortisone, making the temporary treatment almost as bad as the disease.

As a recovering Type A personality, I love to jump headlong into most things I tackle. In fact, when I worked in the corporate world, one of my supervisors said, “Mary Yerkes gets more done than the United States Army by 7 am!” It was tongue-in-cheek but, honestly, not that far off. (Kidding!)

Reviewing my calendar for the following week, I realized I was in trouble. Extremely sick from the prednisone, I’ve struggled to put in a few hours of work a day. Compounding issues were the class I teach at church on Monday night, a Wednesday night meeting for Freedom Weekend volunteers, an all-day spiritual direction retreat on Friday through my ongoing training through Sustainable Faith, and an all-day conference on Saturday at my home church.

The Wisdom of the Body

I knew it would be a miracle Monday morning if I could make it to class that evening. Should I go, or should I not go? After asking God if this was how I was to invest my limited energy this week given my weakened physical state and talking to my co-leader to see if she could take over Monday night, I concluded it was not good stewardship nor a wise decision given the context.

The discernment process was pretty straightforward on this one.

As the week progressed, I experienced more and more side effects from the prednisone, growing sicker by the day. Wednesday arrived, and struggling with a throbbing headache, foggy thinking, and nausea, I asked myself if participating in Freedom Weekend was even on the table at this point given my physical limitations.

Guilt and Confusion

Coming from a Charismatic/Pentecostal background, sound bites from years past and other churches left me feeling momentarily guilty and confused.

“It’s just spiritual warfare,” one voice said. “Don’t give in.”

“The enemy is just trying to distract you,” another voice said.

As I continued trying to discern the situation and to choose well, I filtered the choice through my calling as I understood it in this current season. Even good things need to give way to the best. I can’t do it all, particularly in this season.

Filter through Calling

Do I conserve and invest my energy in my spiritual direction training retreat on Friday or be only half present to conserve energy for Saturday’s Freedom Weekend, which would require a significant investment of energy from me—energy I didn’t have.

Filtering the decision through my calling in this season, brought significant clarity to the situation. Add to that the still small voice of God that reminded me rest is also a holy calling—one that Jesus engaged in regularly, by the way—and my decision was clear. Sometimes, rest is the most profound spiritual thing you can do.

I’ve heard people say, “I’m going to burn out for Jesus.” I’m sorry, but I think that’s ridiculous and counterproductive to the gospel.

Jesus did not “burn out,” for anyone. Instead, he spent his mornings in prayer and solitude, discerning, I believe, the Father’s heart and will for the day and season ahead. Jesus, along with his disciples, also went away to a quiet place to rest regularly.

Rest is biblical and necessary for effective ministry.

I let the church know I could not serve on Saturday.

Recalling the Past

How has God worked in your life in the past?

As I considered how God has spoken to me and moved through me in the past, I recognized a long pattern where I was pulled into a “hidden” season through physical limitations. During these times out of the limelight, God birthed new ministries in and through me, redirected my path, and set me apart for an extended time of listening.

My professional writing and publication career blossomed after my initial diagnosis of this autoimmune disease, which kept me from working full-time. My call to spiritual direction came as publishing doors temporarily closed (They have since reopened.).

I could go on.

Now, I am on the threshold of a new season—a season of limitations and honing in on what is mine to do in this season.

What about you? Where are you in the discernment process?

The post Discernment—Reading the Signposts (Discernment Series: Part 1) appeared first on Mary J. Yerkes.

Inspired by Habakkuk 3:17-19 by Brenna Nail

 As families gather to fellowship,

I feel a wound in my heart.

I may be surrounded by people,

but my soul seeks a perfect love and peace.

Even if this year

has brought new pains,

Even if the holidays

are a reminder

of a dream I have yet to celebrate,

Even if I have been wounded,

by loss, by heartbreak, by challenges…

I thank you, Father.

For when I am lonely,

I am never truly alone.

In my season of isolation

I will close my eyes,

to see the Shepherd by my side,

walking with me

through it all.

He welcomes me with His presence

in reminders everyday –

a soft sunrise overlooks

November frost

that clings to the grasses,

the mailbox, the lamppost.

And rustling leaves in a chilled breeze

which dance in whimsy to the ground

gathering, chattering in fellowship.

For these moments, I am thankful, Lord.

The post A Prayer on Thanksgiving appeared first on Mary J. Yerkes.

Throughout our lives, we all experience emotional wounding and trauma. We live in a fallen world, and no one escapes life without suffering, pain and, in many cases, some form of trauma. Unfortunately, many church leaders I’ve worked with over the years struggle to acknowledge and effectively minister to the emotional distress and deep brokenness in the lives of those they serve.

Jeremiah offers words that speak to this failing, “They have healed the brokenness of My people superficially, Saying, ‘Peace, peace,’ But there is no peace (Jeremiah 6:14 NASB).

Jesus was intimately acquainted with grief, expressed his emotions openly, and welcomed those with broken and messy lives. In my experience, the church can do better welcoming the broken and wounded in our midst by creating space for the healthy expression of emotions with an eye toward healing and redemption.

Here are a few things leaders should know when ministering to emotionally wounded people:

• Recognize that Jesus expressed emotions, as did the Apostle Paul (Psalms) and other godly men and women in Scripture and throughout church history. The healthy expression of emotions is biblical.
• Accept that expressing emotions in the right environment, with the right people, at the right time, is healthy and a necessary component of healing. In some cases, an individual may need the help of a professional counselor, and we should not hesitate to make a referral.
• Understand that beneath most emotions, there is a profound need, a heart’s cry, for what only God can give.
• Embrace the truth that strong emotions left unexpressed come out in other ways —often in physical disorders.
• Be willing to enter into another’s pain and pray for emotional healing. Learn to weep with those who weep.

We become healing agents as we create safe spaces in our Christian communities for broken individuals to share their stories without judgment. Just as we pray for the physical healing of broken bodies, we must learn to pray for emotional healing of the soul.

For more on this topic, I invite you to read my article, “Inviting God In: Opening the Door to the Messy and Miraculous Process of Inner Healing Prayer.”

The post For Church Leaders: How to Support Emotionally Wounded People (Everyone) appeared first on Mary J. Yerkes.

For those unfamiliar with the writings of Curt Thompson, M.D, he is a Christian psychiatrist that writes at the intersection of faith, neuroscience, and interpersonal neurobiology. What follows are what I consider some of the key points made in the book and a few person musings. I am particularly interested in the role interpersonal neurobiology plays in Christian community and formation. I highly recommend The Soul of Desire to those longing for a deeper understanding of formational community. (Published by Intervarsity Press, 2021.)

“Good literature,” Dr. Curt Thompson writes, “like all meaningful art, helps us access the beauty of what it means to dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of our lives.” These words, written by Makoto Fujimura in the foreword, offer a foretaste of the feast prepared for us in The Soul of Desire: Discovering the Neuroscience of Longing, Beauty, and Community by Curt Thompson, MD. He concludes, “This book is a work of art to behold, to gaze upon, to commune with.”

Indeed.

The intersection of neuroscience, interpersonal neurobiology, and spiritual formation has long been a source of personal interest and curiosity to me. However, until now, I lacked the words and framework to make sense of it all. In The Soul of Desire, Thompson is a trustworthy guide, helping us understand the place of desire, beauty, and community in our lives as individuals and in the broader kingdom of God.

What follows are some of the concepts introduced in the book so that readers might consider their application in spiritually formative relationships and community.

Desire, Beauty, and Community

Born into the Roman Catholic Church and after spending the last 40-plus years in various Bible-believing churches, ranging from black Pentecostal to Anglican churches to non-denominational churches — I can say to the best of my remembrance that I have never heard a sermon on the positive role desire plays in our spiritual formation. Conversely, I have heard numerous sermons on the “dangers of desire,” often referring to sexual lust and sin.

Drawing on the writings of James K.A. Smith, Thompson points out that “Desire does not exist merely as some independent phenomenon to which we respond; it is also something that, like any good gardener knows, must be pruned. It must be shaped and will be shaped by whatever practices, habits, or (in Smith’s language) liturgies we develop—liturgies we practice whether we know it or not.”

Thompson’s focus on desire was not explorational of a theology of desire; instead, he focused on its interpersonal neurobiological features. In the book, we see this play out in stories drawn from Thompson’s therapeutic work with individuals and what he calls “confessional communities.”

Confessional communities, led by therapists, consist of gatherings of 6-8 people where individuals are “seen, soothed, safe, and secure” while they explore their desires, trauma, and grief. Group members play a part in creating beauty from their pain and unmet desires. Patients get to share their stories and be a part of each other’s healing.

“We do not deny or minimize our trauma, grief, or our shame,” writes Thompson. “Rather, by gazing at it—by listening to each other’s stories in all of their interpersonal neurobiological weight in the light of resurrection and the presence of the Holy Trinity—we make way for beauty to be imagined and created.”

He observes, “We need others to bear witness to our deepest longings, our greatest joys, our most painful shame, and all the rest in order to have any sense at all of ourselves.”

Art: Facilitating the Creation of Beauty in the Presence of Trauma and Grief

Thompson’s use of art to facilitate the creation of beauty in the presence of trauma and grief in his patients’ lives was a welcome surprise. In the book, He describes asking his patients to look at, really look at, art as part of their healing process. In the introduction, he tells of asking one patient to look at a painting every day for six weeks as a therapeutic tool for healing.

“Our imaginations can be more fully drawn to the implication of what it means to find beauty in trauma if we spend time gazing upon artistic expressions that speak not only to our agony but also the beauty that emerges from it,” says Thompson. “For this reason, we encourage people to use art to heighten their ability to notice beauty in places and moments that before would have escaped them.”

Dwelling

The chapter titled “Dwell” resonated deeply with me. What does it mean to dwell? What does it mean to dwell in the house of the Lord? What does it mean to dwell in community? Thompson explores these questions, citing Scriptures and various examples.

However, this description stayed with me: “For us to flourish relationally, we need those who are initiating, leading, and attuning to others in the system,” Thompson says. He later adds, “Dwelling requires us to be in the presence of others substantially long enough that we can be seen by them and felt by them, and they by us.”

He concludes, “In this way, the body of Christ no longer remains an abstract theological motif, nor is it simply a metaphor for those whom we attend church with or who are a part of our small group bible study. It becomes something, interpersonally and neurobiologically, in which we dwell and that dwells within us, providing ballast, confidence, and joy even in the most challenging parts of our story.”

The Soul of Desire is both a gift and an invitation—to dwell in the house of the Lord all of the days of our lives, to gaze on the beauty of the Lord, and to do so within the context of a transformational community.

How would you describe the role of desire in spiritual formation?

How can you cultivate deepening intimacy in your relationships and spiritual community through being present to and sitting with others’ pain and trauma?

The post The Soul of Desire: Discovering the Neuroscience of Longing, Beauty, and Community appeared first on Mary J. Yerkes.

by Brenna Nail

Lord, my mind is tired
as it wanders through every task the day calls for,
yet I am unable to slow my stream of restless thoughts.

Lord, my body aches
as it performs its duty to take me
from one place to another,
working endlessly to carry out each responsibility
without ceasing.

Lord, my soul seeks
for a peace not of this Earth,
yet it is never satisfied.

The quick pace of life fills me with anxiety.
It is difficult to be still
and appreciate Your works.
Difficult, but not impossible.

Help me rest in Your peace,
to imitate how You, Almighty God,
rested after Creation,
to notice the little blessings
that litter each moment,
to seek You when I am weary—
body, mind, and spirit.

Brenna Nail is a Jesus follower and a 21-year-old Liberty University student majoring in English and Creative Writing and minoring in Apologetics and Christian Counseling. She is also a wife and stay-at-home mother. 

The post A Prayer For Rest appeared first on Mary J. Yerkes.

“The work of the mature person is to carry grief in one hand and gratitude in the other and to be stretched large by them. How much sorrow can I hold? That’s how much gratitude I can give. If I carry only grief, I’ll bend toward cynicism and despair. If I have only gratitude, I’ll become saccharine and won’t develop much compassion for other people’s suffering. Grief keeps the heart fluid and soft, which helps make compassion possible.”  ~Francis Ward Weller, Psychotherapist, Author, Activist

In December 2018, my husband told me he wanted a divorce and asked me to leave the marital home. Within two hours, I had packed a few bags and my dogs and headed to my friend’s, who graciously invited me to stay in her basement apartment. To be fair, we had struggled in our marriage for decades, and as is common in most cases, we both contributed to the toxicity that had developed between us. As I see it, my faith in Christ and how it played out in my daily life, coupled with my physical limitations and medical expenses, grated against my husband, and from my perspective, were key determinants in the death of our marriage.

Despite the problems and pain of a dysfunctional marriage, I was unprepared for the unrelenting grief I experienced. I remember driving with my friend to North Carolina just days after my husband asked me to leave. The grief was all-consuming, so much so that it made driving nearly impossible. I wisely asked my friend to take the wheel.

A conflux of emotions created an inner dissonance I struggled to resolve. On the one hand, I felt relief that I was moving into a healthy environment and community of people where I could be myself. On the other, I felt indescribable grief at the dissolution of a 40-year marriage. With the support of friends and a professional counselor, I navigated the complex emotions—feeling them, naming them, and listening to what they had to teach me about the state of my soul.

“The work of the mature person is to carry grief in one hand and gratitude in the other and to be stretched large by them. How much sorrow can I hold? That’s how much gratitude I can give.”

New Beginnings

Fast forward six months later, and after many conversations, prayer, and input from a counselor, my friend and I decided to become roommates. We moved to a 10-acre hobby farm in North Carolina with a strong network of friends nearby. Two-Sparrows Farm, as we now call it, is home to ten rough collies, a mix of service dogs and show dogs primarily, three miniature donkeys, one of whom is blind, and about 20 chickens that free range in the barnyard and supply us with dozens of farm-fresh eggs.

My health began to improve dramatically. Abnormal markers in my blood began to level out and moved into normal ranges — something I had not experienced for decades. Walking back and forth to the barn (1/2 mile each way) multiple times a day strengthened my legs, and I no longer experienced numerous falls due to a neurological issue. Not only was I experiencing new life, but I was also thriving beyond my wildest dreams.

Still, I grieved the loss of my husband and my marriage. I mourned what could have been but never was.

“The work of the mature person is to carry grief in one hand and gratitude in the other and to be stretched large by them. How much sorrow can I hold? That’s how much gratitude I can give.”

New Life and Hope

Now, three years down the road, a new pattern of life has emerged, woven together with threads of grief and gratitude. While most women my age were planning for retirement, I was trying to revive two businesses on life support to earn a living wage—all while managing a neurological disease and chronic illness.

I love the rhythm of farm life — wake up, feed the donkeys, care for the dogs, let out the chickens to free range. Then dinner with a friend and more farm chores—feed the donkeys, care for the dogs, put up the chickens for the night. Repeat. I savor the late summer shadows over the pastures, the song of a chicken laying an egg, and the mesmerizing call of coyotes just outside our property. The rush of the wind in the trees or the rain on the roof soothes and comforts me. I feel free.

I also feel angry. Fearful. Lonely. Normal emotional responses to a traumatic situation. I have learned to give myself grace.

During the early stages of my healing journey, I avoided Christian platitudes —”God uses all things for good (Romans 8:28)” or “My God will supply your every need (Phil. 4:19)” — and the people who spouted them. It’s not that I didn’t believe these Scriptures. What I needed at the time was someone who would see my sense of hurt and betrayal, put their arms around my shoulder, and say, “Let’s walk through this together.”

Thankfully, my new community, and others from my past and present, were able to embody the love of Christ, allowing me to experience healthy grieving while walking with me through the process. They understood the complexity of my emotions and held space for me to grieve in all its messiness.

Today, I have many dear friends who walk with me, who would drop everything to be with me in a moment of crisis. Some of these people are in the church. Most of them are not, which I’m sure many will find curious. I am the most blessed of women, and like most people, I have suffered pain and loss. Welcome to the human condition.

In the midst of it all, I have learned to express my grief and gratitude. I have also learned to name my emotions and take them to the feet of God in prayer, where my pain and perspective are transformed in the light of God’s countenance and where I, too, am transformed.

Today, I grieve. And today, I am grateful.

“The work of the mature person is to carry grief in one hand and gratitude in the other and to be stretched large by them. How much sorrow can I hold? That’s how much gratitude I can give.

What would it look like for you to embrace your circumstances, allowing grief and gratitude to walk hand-in-hand? What emotions do you feel about your loss or losses? How can you move toward gratitude?

The post A Story of Divorce, Grief, and Gratitude appeared first on Mary J. Yerkes.

Friends, I’m pleased to introduce you to an emerging writer (who also happens to be my niece) Brenna Nail. Here, she shares her first experience with Lectio Divina, a form of Sacred Reading. Discover how God met her during her prayerful reading of Scripture.

by Brenna Nail

As a 21-year-old wife and mother, the term Lectio Divina, Latin for divine reading, was foreign to me until a week ago: even though I grew up studying the Bible and attending church. I started to do some digging for this piece. Derived from the Latin term “spiritual reading,” Lectio Divina is a method of quiet contemplation and prayer while reading the Bible. This practice has four fundamental principles: lectio (read), meditation (reflect), oratio (respond), and contemplation (rest).

Starting with lectio, choose a small portion of Scripture: a few verses or a short passage. Then, reflect on how the verses can apply to your life through the next step, meditatio. After that, oratio invites you to converse with God through prayer: asking Christ to work within you. Pray while still continuing to slowly and methodically read through your chosen verses. The last step, contemplatio, encourages you to quiet your mind, silence the busy thoughts that overtake your day-to-day life, and actively listen to God and rest in Him.

It can be difficult to notice what God is speaking to us in our busy routines. Lectio Divina positions us to hear God’s still, small voice and focus on prayer guided by Scripture. By going to a quiet space and opening your heart and mind through prayer, it is easier to focus on your relationship with Christ while reading His Word.

When practicing Lectio Divina, it is vital to utilize discernment when listening for God’s voice and consistently weigh your thoughts against Scripture and God’s character. I try to remember that my feelings are sometimes separate from God’s will, and Satan occasionally uses emotions to cloud my judgment. When God speaks to us, He will never contradict the Bible’s teachings since that is His perfect written love letter to his children.

As you ask for guidance and discernment while going through the passage you have chosen, remain open to what He is trying to tell you. Also, ask God to open your heart to receive His message. Pray that He will apply His Word to your day-to-day life. Along with prayer, have a quiet, reflective time where you focus on your chosen verses. The goal is to connect with Jesus, and one of the best ways to do that is by reading His Word.

For example, I might go into my room during my daughter’s nap so I am free of any distractions. Then I choose the verses Matthew 6:31-34 (NASB)

“Do not worry then, saying, ‘What are we to eat?’ or ‘What are we to drink?’ or ‘What are we to wear for clothing?’ For the Gentiles eagerly seek all these things; for your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. But seek first His kingdom and His righteousness, and all these things will be provided to you. “So do not worry about tomorrow; for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.”

I try my best to focus on the verses I am reading and read through them as often as I feel necessary. I grasp the meaning and realize I am filled with worry. I worry about my husband’s search for a job, my daughter’s health, and my diagnosis. I realize that I am just like the Gentiles in verse 32: worrying about earthly problems that an all-powerful God can take care of. We all worry at times, and I am sure many can relate to my struggle. The last verse sticks out to me the most, so I continue to read through it and begin to pray. Every prayer looks different, but I pray that the peace of God would wash over me, that He would release me from the burden of worry and help me to rely on Him fully. I pray that God would help strengthen my faith in Him and seek Him first in everything I do, whether raising my daughter to know Christ or modeling the love of Jesus to my husband and the people I come in contact with throughout my week. Then, I try my best to quiet my mind and sit in the presence of the Lord.

You may not hear literal words. I didn’t, but that’s ok. You have God’s Word right in front of you. You may just have a feeling of peace wash over you; that is one way God communicates with us. He can be a  still, small voice (1 Kings 19:11-13). All we have to do is open our hearts and quiet our thoughts to hear Him.

Brenna Nail is a Jesus follower and a 21-year-old Liberty University student majoring in English and Creative Writing and minoring in Apologetics and Christian Counseling. She is also a wife and stay-at-home mother. 

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