God’s Faint Path

There was a time when prayer for me was mostly about effort—finding the right words, the right posture, or the right focus. But as I’ve grown in contemplative practice, I’ve discovered that the deepest prayer is often the most simple: resting quietly in God’s love. Henri Nouwen writes that prayer of the heart brings us to rest, not escape. In this rest, I am not withdrawing from the world but becoming more available to it.

The most popular post on my blog is Contemplative Practice: Prayer of the Heart. There is a broad yearning to learn how to move from the mind to the heart, where we can experience God. Wade into this practice with me. I first came across the phrase “put the mind in the heart” not by reading the Philokalia itself, but by encountering it in the writings of those who had been shaped by it.

God’s super power is compassion, loving us before we were lovable, empowering us to grow into the mind of Christ through the flow of Grace. We are the beloved, made in the image of God, growing into the Likeness, shaped by the Spirit. Living at 9,000 feet in the Rocky Mountains has given me daily reminders of God’s power in creation. I’ve seen winds so fierce they topple trees, snow so deep drifts covered the car, and wildfires burning within sight of our land.

The Learning Circle begins with two simple but searching questions: What is God saying to me? What am I going to do about it? When we notice a Kairos moment — a word, an event, or an encounter that carries the weight of God’s voice — we are invited to pause and pay attention. The first half of the circle is about observation and reflection. We slow down enough to notice what’s happening inside us and bring it into conversation with trusted companions.

One of the hardest truths to embrace is that we matter to God and have a unique role in His grand design. For years, my “Not Good Enough” posture kept me from imagining I could be useful to God. Over time, I’ve come to believe that a spark of the Divine is in each of us. We are born into unique circumstances—our family, culture, time, and place—and God looks different in each person according to that uniqueness. Our task is to discover and live out that unique expression.

When I was baptized into the Lutheran church, I wasn’t taught the theology of vocation in a way that made it clear I could live out my calling in business. I thought a true calling meant leaving the marketplace for ministry. It took years to realize God needs people in every sphere of life. Pastors spend much of their time with believers, but laypeople carry the witness of Christ into the wider world.

From Genesis to Revelation, Scripture shows us that God works through broken, imperfect people. For 50 years, my inner script of “not good enough” convinced me that I could never truly please God. I didn’t yet see that no one can please Him in their own strength—and that our flaws are not disqualifications, but openings for grace. I came to understand that most of what God is doing in the world happens through the vocations of His people.

This week we look at one of the most powerful movements in our lives,  discovering our unique calling. If you haven’t discerned it yet, don’t worry, God reveals it at just the right time. In the years after my baptism at 28, I felt a strong sense of calling—but to what, I had no idea. The message I often heard was simple: if you’re called, quit your job and go to seminary. There was no real sense of the “priesthood of all believers” in that advice. Somehow, it didn’t fit.

Anxious thoughts rob us of peace. Comparing ourselves to others robs us of joy. We often compare the outer calm of others with our own inner turmoil, unaware that their calm may be just as fragile as ours. When caught in negative thought loops, I drift from silence into striving—striving for security, approval, and worthiness. For many years, I believed I could make God smile through my own effort. But that was a lie—one that turned me into my own savior.

Being and waiting are two things our culture doesn’t value. We grow impatient at a slow drive-thru, and some mortuaries even offer “drive-up” windows to pay respects. Silence is uncomfortable for many because it leaves us alone with our thoughts, and for some, those thoughts are a noisy loop of worry and self-criticism. When I enter prayer and quiet myself, I realize how much noise—internal and external—clamors for my attention. The thousand chattering voices don’t go away on their own.