Back at the end of October, I started a weekly series on spiritual disciplines. After these many weeks, I am going to bring this series to an end for the time being and shift to a different theme for these weekly more practically-minded posts. If you missed any of the spiritual disciplines series, you can find all of the posts under Tools and Resources.

Have you ever felt guilty or discouraged because your spiritual life didn't fit the mold of what you perceived to be the "perfect Christian life"? Maybe you felt you could pray more freely while hiking in the woods than in an early-morning corner of your house. Maybe your heart is stirred and convicted when you hear a dramatic reading of Scripture but not when you sit down to study it with a commentary and concordance. Maybe you've desired more embodied worship, or more traditional worship, or more silence but found yourself in a church tradition that did not value these things. 

Many of us have a mental picture of what we perceive as “best” kind of Christian spirituality, what a relationship pursued with the Lord is supposed to look like. While we should be focusing on the fruit of such a life-the fruit of the Spirit, love of God and neighbor, humility, etc.-I find it easy to give way to a particular lifestyle expression. We can easily become self-assured when we measure up to this image, dissatisfied and disillusioned trying to live up to it, or guilty that we aren't pursing it. 

But what if a personal relationship with the Lord looks different from person to person? What if we each have a way we tend to be able to commune with Him better, worship Him more freely, and so forth? 

Here we are in a new year—2017. I heralded it in with Scott by my side, standing in the back of a room filled with my parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins. One of the little ones hadn’t made it to midnight, and she was dead-to-the-world asleep on a blanket on the floor.

The time marker of the New Year sparks reflection—joy and thankfulness over the blessings of the past twelve months and tears over losses and disappointments.

This is also the time of year when people make resolutions—these goals of how to improve ourselves over the next year. The resolve with which we tackle the fulfillment of these resolutions, though, can be reflected in the comical levels of dusty exercise equipment for sale on the curb or unused gym memberships come early spring. We have the best of intentions, but our resolutions are often too abstract or far reaching to carry through to completion.

But what if instead of setting a far off goal, we instead looked at values and patterns we wanted to encourage and prioritize now, today, tomorrow, the next day? What if we focused on what is already at hand, and allow those small decisions to take us somewhere?

We have now entered the lull between Christmas and New Year’s. I have always enjoyed this time, as the activity of Christmas has mostly ceased but my daily schedule hasn’t yet returned to the normal routine. I can rest and spend time with family and friends.

This is also typically a time of reflection, as the year draws to a close. We remember all that’s passed during the twelve months, and we look forward to all that’s to come in the next twelve.

There is an ancient practice with invites this sort of prayerful reflection into our daily lives. The practice of examen uses a set of opposing questions to guide reflection on the positive and negative of each day.

You can’t escape them—the rhythmic ring of their bells reaches your ears from the time you open your car in the parking lot. Then you must decide as you near the large doors if you will ignore them by busying yourself with your phone or smile and make eye contact. I don’t even know if I have any change. Will they expect me to put something in their large red money cauldron if I say hello? I doubt I’m alone in my general discomfort at running the Salvation Army gauntlet in and out of every store during this time of the year.

They aren’t the only ones asking for charitable donations. The majority of non-profits and ministries I know of ask for their supporters to consider a year-end donation, which means we are facing an onslaught of requests for our financial giving as we draw closer to December 31.

There is nothing wrong with this. Many people are moved to generosity by the joy of the season, and Ebenezer Scrooge has taught us that part of the Christmas spirit is thinking of others less fortunate. We fill boxes for Operation Christmas Child for children in far reaches of the world. We volunteer at a local soup kitchen or purchase gifts for Angel Tree. World Vision offers a wide catalogue of gifts, which can be gifted in someone’s name to a family or individual in need.

Does the Sabbath seem like a surprising spiritual discipline to be talking about this week? We’re down to a week and a half before Christmas, and it’s crunch time. There are last minute purchases to make and gifts to be wrapped. It’s the time of year for school productions and office parties which demand our participation or attendance. Churches put on special events, requiring practices and memorizing. We have a stack of Christmas cards to write to people we never otherwise communicate with. Some of us are preparing for travel and scrambling to finish work and personal projects before we leave home for the holidays. It’s a festive time of year and we want to enjoy it—but in the busyness, sometimes it’s about more than we can take. Sound familiar?

What if you would choose to refuse stress? To simplify? To rest? What if you could create space to be quiet, to be with your family, to reflect on Christ’s coming?

There is a strong human impulse to do. It keeps us moving, working, producing. Our lives fill up quickly with obligations and responsibilities, of which there seems to be no end. If we wait to stop once our to-do list is empty, we never will.

This is part of the beauty of Sabbath keeping—it builds rest into our schedules. We stop not because we’re finished but simply because it’s time to stop.

I sometimes joke that I have the spiritual gift of feeding people, and it’s true that more times than not, entering our home will result in some sort of edibles placed before you. It’s the way Scott and I are wired—to have people into our home and, of course, to feed them.

But is hospitality for everyone? Or just for those of us who find it enjoyable or part of our calling?

Some fall into the trap of thinking they can’t be hospitable because their home isn’t big or clean enough, or they aren’t a good enough cook. Others become crippled by a combination of perfectionism, pride, and comparison, concerned about not measuring up to the standards of others.

Hospitality, though, is about much more than good food and a nice house, in spite of its typical portrayal. Hospitality is not about what is provided as much as how it is provided. Hospitality is all about welcome. It’s about extending open arms to other people and inviting them into a safe and warm space. Hospitality is about expressing the welcoming love of Christ to others—both friends and strangers. So, the most lavish banquet in the best decorated of homes could express little of the biblical sense of hospitality based on the attitude of the host, but simple bread and water could incarnate the welcome of Christ himself.

During one season of life, I hated a particular “dirty four letter word”: wait. I was an angsty college student, single but didn’t want to be, and desperately trying to discern the Lord’s calling on my life. To all my prayers, I continued to get the same response: wait. It came so often and in so many forms that it became a “dirty four letter word,” and when I would hear it again, I would groan. Be quiet, child, and wait—it was the resounding word, in the Scripture I was reading, in my prayers, in the counsel of those I trusted. Wait for answers. Wait for His timing. Wait for healing. Wait to understand what He’s doing.

I had a small strip of cardstock taped to my desk during this season, on which I had scrawled a short snippet of Hosea 6:3: “As surely as the sun rises, he will appear.” Because of the surety of God’s appearing, Hosea calls us to “press on to know the Lord.” We can wait for God, and we can come to know Him better in the waiting, because it is his nature to be known and not forever hidden from us.

I’m never sure whether to be comforted or terrified by the waiting we see encapsulated in the Bible—Abraham and Sarah waiting for a promised child, the Israelites waiting to be freed from slavery in Egypt, David waiting to finally become king, the prophets waiting for justice, God’s people waiting for a Messiah, the church waiting to see the fulfillment of the Kingdom. Waiting is not foreign to this journey of faith, and God is patient and moves on His own timetable, not our own.

This post is a part of an ongoing series on spiritual disciplines, which are tools that bring us into contact with the Lord so that His presence can shape our lives. Learn more here.

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It’s nearly impossible to not think about thanks-giving during this season of the year. How could you not, as we anticipate and plan for a holiday by the same name? Tomorrow, many of us will gather with family and friends around food-laden tables to celebrate Thanksgiving. Some families will set aside time during the day to reflect on the year and speak their thanks for the blessings within it.

While it’s helpful to mark seasons for thanksgiving into our year, Thanksgiving is more than a holiday, as I’m sure most of you would agree. It is appropriate all year round, in all seasons. But while we know thanksgiving and gratitude should be continuous threads weaving through our lives, how often do we think of gratitude as a spiritual discipline?

Most of us have been there—sitting down in the morning, cup of coffee in one hand, Bible in the other. We flip through thin pages until we find where we left off the day before, and we pick up with the next chapter or verse. The tiny words dance in front of our eyes, as we try to concentrate, try to pay attention to what the Lord might have for us in His Word that morning. We read the section—a few verses, a few chapters—and although we know we did something good by taking the time to read the Bible, we’re left with the question “now what?” as we end. So we sigh, not sure how to approach this passage of Scripture, not really sure what to do with it, we close the covers of our Bibles and put it away until (hopefully) the next morning.

While I hope that this is not always the case for us, friends, I know there are seasons in which we need something fresh to apply to our Bible study. It is not that the Bible is insufficient. It is that our eyes and ears need some freshening up. We need to cycle back to the simple basics.

I have said previously that there is more to spiritual disciplines than the traditional evangelical “quiet time.” This is true. But regardless of what our spiritual life may look like, we cannot escape the importance of the Bible. It must find a place in our walk with the Lord—though what that looks like may vary based on our season of life or temperament. The Bible contains the words of God for us. It reminds us who He is, what He has done, and what He is doing. It shows us his way to live, inviting us into the abundant life of following his commands. We cannot set the Bible aside or shrug off the critical importance it holds for the Christian life.

This post is a part of an ongoing series on spiritual disciplines, which are tools that bring us into contact with the Lord so that His presence can shape our lives. Learn more here.

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For hundreds of years, monks in monastic orders across the world have paused throughout the day to pray. These structured prayer times are typically called the Daily (or Divine) Office or the Liturgy of the Hours. Since the 5th-century, there have been seven set times of prayer for monastic communities (though in the 6th-century, Benedict added an 8th prayer time).

It’s easy to see how your day would become shaped around and centered on prayer if about every three hours—including the middle of the night—you stopped what you were doing to pray. It would change your focus. God could not be an afterthought.

This wasn’t a practice that was made up in the early middle ages, though. Regular times of prayer throughout the day was a Jewish practice, it would seem, since the time of the Old Testament. It was also a part of the early Christian church.

Consider any mother at home with young children—it’s impossible for them to be forgotten because they keep breaking into her world. They need fed. Diapers need changed. Conflicts need resolving. She cannot lose sight of her children—they wouldn’t let her because they continue to break into her day.

The reality of God’s presence and rule over the day was just as apparent for these Christians. He could not be avoided or crowded out. The day was structured so that He continuously broke in and interrupted their daily activities.

For the next several weeks, I’m going to be doing something new here on the blog. In addition to my usual musings, I will be adding an article once a week on a spiritual discipline. This will be a part of a new and ongoing facet of my blog, which will include some tools and resources of a more practical nature. As with all of my postings, please feel free to use and share them as you see fit.

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What comes to mind when you hear the words “spiritual discipline”?

Some of us cringe, perhaps awaiting a list of things to add to our to-do list, awaiting a long and dry conversation, awaiting the feelings of guilt that we aren’t “doing enough” in our relationship with God.

Some consider regular spiritual disciplines to be for the religious elite—those who really take their faith seriously and are particularly close to the Lord.

And some find them to be the familiar bread and butter of their life as a Christian, as these disciplines have become as regular and expected as showering and brushing their teeth in the morning.