One early spring I sat at the top of the Bryn Athyn church hill, looking down and over all the dead-looking trees. The grass was starting to show patchy hints of green, but the trees still just looked greyish brown and bare. Initially this view elicited a longing for a different, greener one, but it struck me that if I could look up close at a single branch, I’d probably find the beginnings of little buds – tiny signs of life starting to sprout up everywhere as the world slowly began to warm with spring. Yet from my distant vantage point, it all appeared quite bare. I looked out over the grey grove again, this time beholding an invisible abundance of thousands of things. 

Of course it can be easier to have peace in the Lord’s providence when it blossoms into something noticeable for us, but much of life requires trust in what we can’t see. The message I received sitting on the hill wasn’t simply that one day there would be blossoms and green foliage, but that right there before my unseeing eyes were thousands of budding things; the living, breathing providence I accidentally attribute to the future. Right now, already. Even in the tangled grey branches that show me no signs of it. Even in the grey seasons that feel impossibly long or heavy. How curious that from a distance, when we think we have a clear view, we miss the living, evolving actuality of what we’re looking at. How mind bending that these quiet things aren’t merely happening here and there, but perhaps overwhelmingly everywhere. It’s a fun and easy paradigm shift with trees. 

What might it mean for there to be that much life where we mostly see grey in our own worlds? In the unknowns, the pains of the world, concern for loved ones, the whys, the messiness of healing and regenerating. I’ve found this concept particularly challenging yet essential when it comes to the repetitive practices of internal (and interrelational) work that can feel so inadequate in the big picture of where I’m trying to go. I realize and re-realize how futile my part alone would be without the Lord doing the rest. In fact, a big part of the job is giving back to the Lord what I never could hold – trusting what is already alive in His hands, even when I can’t see it. Can we believe that just as warmth and light have the world on the brink of blossom in early spring, the Lord is fostering something equally lovely and promising in our lives? Not one day, but right now. 

“No one knows how the Lord leads and teaches man inwardly, just as no one knows how the soul operates so that the eye sees, the ear hears, the tongue and mouth speak, the heart circulates the blood, the lungs breathe, the stomach digests, the liver and the pancreas distribute, the kidneys secrete, and much else. These processes do not come to man’s perception or sensation. The same is true of what the Lord does in the infinitely more numerous interior substances and forms of the mind.” Divine Providence 174

One of the boys I nanny graduated from kindergarten this past spring, and his new reading and writing skills have evolved into an interest in journaling. This week he decided to write an entry in his summer journal. He drew a picture, wrote a few sentences, and when he was finished, asked if I would underwrite (correct any spelling mistakes, etc.). I thought back to the school year when he was less inclined to sound out words all by himself, preferring to just get it all right the first time. Now his independent sounding out is second nature. I tucked his example away as a little lesson on being willing to move forward sans perfection. 

I have a long history of journaling myself, complete with my own struggles to embrace imperfection. Eventually my toil over neat handwriting and carefully erased mistakes gave way to scribbling out and scribbling away, and I discovered how vulnerable and liberating it feels to move along without perfection holding me back. In what other ways might we feel pressure for things to be ‘Right’ before moving forward? A recent conversation about it inspired a handful of examples, including: feeling a need to be more healed or regenerate before beginning a new journey; avoiding asking for help until we feel that we, or the problem, are “worthy” of it; shying away from showing up or sharing something unless we can present our best; feeling presumptuous attending church or taking holy supper when especially tangled up in our inadequacies; needing the house to be clean before buying flowers for the dining room table…the list goes on. 

Sometimes we don’t want to do it messily. But the Lord wants us to come as we are. 

I underwrote for my young friend in small letters so as not to distract from his own effort, which holds much more value than the technicalities. I cherish those sounded out words and helter-skelter fonts. They are a charming picture of both having grown, and growth to come. That is where we sit too, and I think we should aim to embrace it. I hope backwards and missing letters will be a recurring reminder of the bravery of moving along as we are. Perfection takes no bravery; avoidance for lack of perfection takes no bravery – messiness does! That’s where we’re called to seek the Lord; it’s where He already waits for us. 

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” Matthew 11:28

I’ve been thinking about gratitude lately. I often think of it as something to strive for and practice, but recently I’ve had some moments of gratitude sweep over me unexpectedly. It happens in the quieter, focused moments. A reminder to slow down, perhaps. To pay attention. In one particular moment, gratitude swept my heart off its feet a little and I was quickly aware how impossible it is for that to have come from me. It reminded me that the point of striving for gratitude in our lives isn’t just about being humble, but about actually letting the Lord into our lives and our hearts. The practice of gratitude is a calling, the feeling of gratitude is a gift.

Gratitude is so easily aimed outward – we identify things to be grateful for, and look for the Lord’s hand in our situations and good fortunes. It is good practice to attribute the good things in our outward lives to the Lord, but if we simply stop there perhaps we stumble into too external a picture of where the Lord is. After all, providence is about the good that’s allowed, that’s findable in any situation. It’s the ability to be grateful, turn to the Lord, and to live a good life regardless of whether our external situations are fortunate or not. So while I fully support being grateful for the good things in our worldly lives, I’ve lately been noticing more of how the Lord works within. I’ve been appreciating the great inward gifts that are the opportunity to see good and the push in my heart toward gratitude, which seem to come more deeply from the Lord, and sit more deeply in providence.

There are countless examples of people vehemently standing for things in the world. There are big conversations and big issues that always seem to divide into big “sides.” How often do we identify with a belief, or a side, or a justice, and think we stand for it? In a culture so susceptible to polarization and contention, it’s not hard to “stand” for something. When things get polarized and contentious, we lose the details and the nuances and the honesty within them. We forget our deeper part in them; we forget to be seeking what we’re missing. We start seeing the side itself as the right place to be, rather than our own development within those ideas. We’re welcomed and comfortable beside those who share our perspectives, and it can feel like enough to simply help tip the scale away from the “other” sides.

This past year has been one of particular personal tension for me between the comfortability of what I’ve always (and still) valued, and the need to tease out some overlooked pieces I’ve only newly had the time or care to recognize. Part of my process has involved anger and resentment in situations where I feel alone in the attention to these values. Just because I know better than to shake my fist at those who disagree with my perspectives doesn’t mean I’m immune to the hells encouraging hatred in my heart in the name of something good. And really, I can’t think of anything worse. Anger and resentment from hurt alone is one thing, but to tangle it up in something valuable – to justify it because of something good – is one of the scariest things to me.

The problems of the world can feel so loud – it starts to feel like enough to condemn them. We feel we’re doing something right by standing for or against, but are we looking inward? Can I really pat myself on the back for what I find obvious or easy; for what perhaps comes along with a dose of pride? For the things that make me feel a bit wiser than those I’m comparing to? Can I really be standing for something I value if I’m using that same value as a jumping off point for resentment toward others instead of introspection? There is a fine line between standing honestly for what’s right, and self righteousness. I think the difference is in my own struggle: if I have to work for what I aim to stand for, I’m probably on the right track. If my energy is too consumed with standing against something outside myself, am I really fighting the fight the Lord calls me to?