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July 10, 20242

Finding Home and Belonging: Within Ourselves and with God

Have you ever met with your spiritual director or therapist and they say something that makes you feel raw? Their words surface hidden emotions and confront your post-worthy life with reality. You are human. I am human too; not all good and not all bad. Like most of us, I hide the most vulnerable parts of me from others, and it often turns out that I hide them from myself. It isn’t until someone hits one of those precious nerves that I remember an invitation to embrace all of who I am. Even the parts I don’t want the world to see.

Recently, the concept of home has been my exposed nerve. As someone who outwardly embraces the life of a pilgrim, several conversations with the wise women in my life have exposed a longing for home. Even as I write, the rawness of this desire creeps up my throat and into my eyes. This is where God is hanging with me in this season of life.

In a conversation with my therapist, she exposed a deeper truth. Home is not a physical place, and it is not another person. It is me. Yup, nerve hit dead center. We were done as I soaked in ALL the feels. When that was over, I tucked it all away where it belonged.

A few days later, I was reading my amazing writing coach, Janyre Tromp’s new novel, Darkness Calls the Tiger, which is a compelling story that takes place during WWII in Burma. Most of the reviews mentioned themes surrounding forgiveness and light in dark places, but then this quote hit me smack dab in the face. “He was so settled now. It was as if he carried home around with him.” Do you ever silently cuss in your head or consider throwing a book across the room? Regardless of my initial reaction, God had captured my full attention.

When I took the Spiritual Exercises of Ignatius, home was a central theme. My transformation took me to a deep sense that God is my home. While that is true, only I can be home to myself. This body is the only body that will carry me through life on earth. The wonder of this is that God resides in my body, just as I abide in God. I have found a home in God, but to truly encounter home, I must also be at home with myself. 

If you have read any of my previous blogs or attended my trainings, you know I love Polyvagal Theory. I recently completed a dissertation on Polyvagal Theory integrated with Ignatian Spirituality. The primary thesis looks at the way these two practices help us develop sustainable intimacy with God. (To learn more you can go here: https://conversatio.org/safe-and-loving-connection-with-god/ ) One of the core themes of my study focuses on God’s presence in our bodies with strategies to connect with God through regulating our nervous system. The place of regulation is called ventral vagal or as Deb Dana refers to it, “home.” In this state, we are open to connecting with ourselves, with God, and with others. Imagine a moment with a person, animal, or in nature that brought a sense of connection, love, or peace. That is what we call a ventral experience or a homecoming, and it is a place of encounter with the Divine whether or not we notice it. 

Our union with God is the integration of all our parts, embracing all of who God is to us, while simultaneously embracing all of who we are. While I am not there yet, and the pilgrim in me says there is always more, what I have tasted so far is wondrous. Therapy, spiritual direction, the Spiritual Exercises, and the wisdom of others have helped me on my journey. Perhaps that has been a part of your movement to embrace a sense of home in yourself and a sense of home with God. As this truth takes hold, we find that when a nerve gets hit and the emotions rise, we can invite our vulnerable parts into a place of radical hospitality. This means we can boldly visit our messy hidden places and meet them with compassion and love. 

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December 9, 20230

Hope and Freedom: Initial Thoughts on Luther Smith Jr.’s New Book Hope Is Here

            This month I started reading Hope Is Here by Luther Smith, who is a Howard Thurman scholar and an individual who has played an important role in the justice movement in Atlanta and other places. Sometimes I go into a book thinking I will fly through it because it is so good. This book is not that. This is a book for savoring, the way you let a perfect piece of chocolate melt on your tongue or the way you soak in the sun’s rays on a crisp fall day. Right now, I am savoring the way Smith relates hope to the Great Cloud of witnesses versus the “tyranny of the familiar.”

            Referring to Hebrews 11:39-40, he says, “We look to the (great cloud of) witnesses as icons in our resourceful past, and the witnesses look to us as promise bearers for a fulfilled future.”[1] They are urging us toward greater hope, faith, and love. Hope is not just about something we desire in the future, it is about the way we live right now. It is an act of faith that lets go of predictable outcomes in favor of freedom. 

            To be free is to be unattached to anything but the grace and love of God. It is the freedom to live from your core essence, a mirror image of God only you can bear. This unhindered way of living is wrapped up in hope. Smith states, “… hope inspires us to imagine creatively, perceive reality anew, persevere in despair, risk with opportunities, and trust beyond our control. Hope exists with the purpose of expanding our awareness and hearts to experience God’s abiding love through all creation—including ourselves.”[2] With this type of hope we are invited to live in a way that keeps the saints on the edge of their seats. It is not mundane or predictable, but it is unique to each person’s reality.

            In my work with individuals who have experienced trauma or abuse in Church settings, hope is a loaded word. But it is hope that invites my clients and directees to continue their healing journey. It is hope that washes away expected outcomes, and nurtures curiosity and wonder about themselves and the world around them. The healing journey is not about living life like everyone else, but it is about living in a way only you can. It starts in the core of your being, which holds the purest sense of the Imago Dei woven into your DNA, and it seeps its way through your entire soul. As Howard Thurman once said in a commencement address to Spelman graduates, “You are the only you that has ever lived: your idiom is the only idiom of its kind in all of existence and if you cannot hear the sound of the genuine in you, you will all your life spend your days on the ends of strings that somebody else pulls…” [3] Those strings are what Smith refers to as the “tyranny of the familiar.” 

Smith acknowledges the freedom that accompanies hope can be scary because we lose a sense of control, whereas the “tyranny of the familiar” brings a sense that we have power over the outcomes of our lives. I recall having my whole life planned out in my twenties, and I can also remember God’s invitation to surrender all at that time. My answer to God was no because I was afraid, I would not get to do the things I wanted to in life. In fact, all of my human efforts to get those things failed, and the path of letting go of familiar outcomes was a painful journey. However, hope remained through all the difficult seasons and what I have today is so much better than anything I could have ever predicted. What I have has nothing to do with life circumstances or material possessions, but it is completely rooted in active hope, love, and the amazing humans (both present and past) who anchor me in beloved community. My story is uniquely mine, and my hope is that I am faithful to my chapter in the book of the Great Cloud of Witness. It is a life-long process, and we are invited to join hope every day of our life.  May hope find you today and draw you into the beloved community of saints that surrounds us all. 

Luther Smith talks about the correlation between hope, beloved community, and justice in Hope Is Here. I’ll be relishing each chapter during Advent and you are invited to join me and tell me what you think! Blessings in this Advent Season and Merry Christmas.

[1] Luther E. Smith Jr., Hope Is Here: Spiritual Practices for Pursuing Justice and Beloved Community (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2023), 33.

[2] Ibid., 6.

[3] Howard Thurman, The Sound of The Genuine: Baccalaureate Ceremony (Emory Archives audio/transcription: Spellman College, May 4, 1980), retrieved from https://thurman.pitts.emory.edu/items/show/838.

Blog
October 9, 20232

A Return to Our Humanity: Trained to Kill and Born to Love

Written by Tracy Busse

          Today I read an article about the loss of lives in Israel and Palestine and since then the following quote continues to tear at my heart. Israeli Defense Minister said, “We are fighting human animals and we will act accordingly.” What he is saying is that the Palestinians they are fighting are sub-human and therefore their approach to war will reflect that. In a lecture I attended with Bessel van der Kolk, he shared how humans in World War I had to be trained to kill. Oftentimes, cousins were fighting cousins and other relatives. At the beginning of the war, soldiers would reach the frontline and just stare at one another. To change this response, military trainers used rhetoric and other tactics to dehumanize the opposition, and it worked. Someone effectively trained them to kill, and the impact of this was devastating.

            Whether we are talking about war, racism, gender violence, terrorism, colonialism, etc. what we must know is that our nervous system is wired for connection, not destruction. Stephen Porges has backed this up by saying the way mammal’s vagus nerve and sympathetic system operate together is an evolution that debunks survival of the fittest but says those who come together and stand up for one another will be the ones who thrive in life. Destruction and dehumanization of human life are the very things that rob us of our humanity and destroy our future. It is inhumane to say another human is sub-human or, in the words of the Israeli defense minister, “human animals.”

            We were not born with the belief that individuals with a different skin color, gender, or nationality different from our own are worth less than us. Our families, our nations, the media, and a variety of institutions trained us that other humans could be less human than us. This truth grieves me at the core. Long before the current war in Israel broke out laws to dehumanize all Palestinians existed in Israel. This does not excuse the dehumanization that we clearly see today by the Hamas who kill civilians versus military targets, and yet Israel’s response is also hitting civilians without remorse. How do we respond to this cycle of violence?

            Desmond Tutu writes in God has a Dream, that “a person is a person because they recognize others as persons.” He goes on to say, “All over this magnificent world God calls us to extend his kingdom of shalom- peace and wholeness- of justice, of goodness, of compassion, of caring, of sharing, of laughter, of joy, and of reconciliation.” Across the nations, we are people who hurt because someone else did not recognize us as a person equal to them. We all lose when this occurs and we dehumanize ourselves when we deem one group of people more important than another. 

The situation in the Middle East is very complex and I will not speak to that adequately in this space, but my heart breaks because I have been guilty of thinking other humans are more important than I am and I more important than others. Maybe all of us have been guilty of this in one way or the other. I do not know. But if I live from that belief, I am ripped away from my humanity and I turn my back on God’s love. It is my call as a follower of Christ to reclaim my humanity and expose the love in my heart for all people, no matter who they are, what they believe, or where they come from. This does not mean I will intentionally put myself in the path of abusive people. That is the opposite of love for either of us. What it means is that I will see everyone’s humanity and act accordingly from the place of love, the core of my humanity. My ears ring with Christ’s words, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” Forgive me.

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August 7, 20235

Stillness and the Nervous System

Written by Tracy Busse

The past few months have been a flurry of travel, visiting family, friends, and beautiful places. Each trip has held many treasures with people I love, but held within each trip was a strand of loneliness. How could one feel lonely when surrounded by so many people I love?

Somewhere in the midst of this, my spiritual director helped me identify a need for stillness. Verses like “Be still and know that I am God,” and “God leads me beside still waters,” meandered through my head. What was God saying? Frustration filled me because I had been so faithful to a variety of spiritual practices. In fact, I could rattle a whole list off to one of my spiritual mentors, who gently encouraged me to explore the possibility my old rhythms were not serving me anymore.

So, I stilled my body and invited my God to be near. Warmth spread through my body and an image of being held by a mothering God filled my head.  Peace took the place of anxious hurry. Ever curious, I wanted to know what was happening with my nervous system, so I turned to Polyvagal Theory and explored how they identified stillness. Essentially, it is defined as shutting down, while keeping the social engagement system engaged. The social engagement system is just what it sounds like. It engages with God, self, and others from a place of safety and connection.

Think about that friend, partner, or even a pet that you can sit in total silence with and never say a word but feel completely connected to. When we do this, we show our body how to stay connected without having to be active. This regulates us towards safety and connection. Ignatius of Loyola invites us to begin every prayer session with a moment of silence. In this time of quiet, we are to notice how God looks at us. But this practice is not only about how God looks at us, it can engage any of our other senses. For me, it was how God held me. I have known others to imagine God singing over them, dancing with them, or just resting next to them. The question to ask yourself before each prayer session is, how is God with me now?

One thing I love about this Ignatian practice is its brevity. Ignatius says, “I still myself for the length of an ‘Our Father,’ and notice how my creator looks at me.” And the language of Polyvagal Theory tells us to shut down for a moment while we allow ourselves to engage another in the stillness. God is the other being we point to in this practice.

Because school always started in August for me, this month has felt like the month of fresh starts. Ironically, I have more time alone this month than I have had in six months, but the loneliness has abated as I lean into a simplified practice of stillness. Spirituality is not about a list of to do’s to maintain our spiritual health, but it is about our relationship with God who desires to be with us, and who want to intimately accompany us every day of our life.

Practice: Find a safe place where you can be still without interruption. Gently place the worries or to-do’s of the day aside and invite God to be with you in the stillness. Notice how God is with you (How God looks at you, touches you, speaks to you etc.). It might be helpful to find a safe and loving image of God that resonates with you before entering the practice. If images of God do not feel safe, try this practice using the image of a loved one who feels safe to be with in the stillness. This practice is meant to be brief (one minute is plenty of time to connect with God and to regulate the nervous system). Enjoy and let me know how it goes.

Blog
March 29, 20230

My Little Gethsemane by Lisa Marie Byrd

Since October 28, 2022, when my flight landed at Washington Reagan National Airport in DC, I have experienced several bizarre firsts. It was the first time I would live without at least one of my children in the house since I started having them. I miss them all terribly and wonder why we ever let them grow up and move away. The first time I rented out a room in a house, which was quite an adjustment because I own a whole house in Georgia. 

It was the first time I had been without a car to get to and from work. I had the bright idea that I would take the bus/train service like so many others in the area.  Experience new things in a new city. And I did. For a month. Then I realized, after witnessing far more “firsts” than I have time to relay here, that public transportation life was not for me. So, I bought a car—not my first. 

There was the first time I heard that there was a shooter outside my job. Someone trying desperately to outrun the shooter had flown around the corner and crashed his vehicle into two of the cars belonging to our employees. As our staff looked out to see what caused the commotion, they saw a man out front shooting toward the out-of-control vehicle. Either the man’s angel was in full effect that day or the offender was using blanks because no one was actually hit by a bullet. Thankfully. I wasn’t there that morning. I was picking up my new car. I felt God had blessed me with favor by sparing me that terrifying experience. 

Nope. 

Less than two weeks later was the first time I heard gunshots outside of my job… well, outside of television actually. Because I had no frame of reference for the sound, I stood up to look out the window, expecting to see items falling from a truck. Maybe. And because I guess I was due for a twofer, it was also the first time I saw people shooting real guns. In broad daylight. Right outside the window of my job. 

I started looking for a new job that very night. The fact that I had been there less than six weeks meant absolutely nothing to me. I was afraid for my life (first time). I became anxious about going to and leaving work (first time). Each time I got to DC from where I lived in Virginia, the fear rose. I was hyper-vigilant and extremely tense. Constantly on guard for the next bad thing to happen. However, I didn’t have any peace about taking a different job. I felt I was supposed to be there on one hand, and like I needed to be Speedy Gonzales out of there on the other. Deep below the surface of my frightening circumstances, there was a gentle, constant reassuring of the Holy Spirit that I was where I should be.  

Then one of our clients died onsite. And it was the first time I touched a dead body outside of a family member at a funeral. I checked for a pulse preparing to do CPR and felt a stiff, hardened dead person instead. Now God and I had to have a talk. 

Of all the things that ran through my head while waiting for the police to arrive, next the detective, finally the coroner, then checking on and processing with my staff to make sure they were ok enough given the situation, my top thought was “I still have a house in Georgia.” And a very close second, “I’m going home.” 

All I wanted to do was dive under the covers for the night. However, a wise friend suggested I workout first to relieve the stress of the day. As I took the first few steps on my walk that evening, the magnitude and pressure of the day lifted, my body relaxed, and I cried for the first time that day. And prayed: What is this nightmare of a place you’ve called me to, Lord? Maybe I heard wrong. I’m hoping I heard wrong. God, I need to know with complete clarity what your will is for me here. 

And with no hesitation, I clearly heard, “You are there to be the light.” 

WHAT?!?! That was definitely not the answer I was looking for. I’m not sure what I expected to hear, if anything, but it was nowhere remotely close to that! I suddenly felt a deeper connection to Jesus in the garden of Gethsemane. The night before he was crucified, our Lord asked God to deliver him from the horrific beating and suffocating death he was about to face. Jesus basically prayed, “I still have a house in heaven.” And “I want to go home.” 

Then in the ultimate display of unfathomable love for us, he said, “Nevertheless, I will do your will, not my own.” (Luke 22:42)

While I am as far from that level of sacrifice as the ocean floor is from the moon, farther actually, I accepted my assignment and from that walk to this day have felt an indescribable peace about staying at this job for however long God determines. The constant anxiety around the windows at work is gone. The stress related to walking to and from my car has dissipated. I have relaxed and started focusing on the mission. I pray more. Listen more. And look for opportunities to glow. 

Obedience to God can be very hard. It can be scary, the opposite of logical, exhausting, taxing, lonely, and nerve-wracking. And I am learning, amid all, to trust His plan. I have lived through enough challenges to know that as I remain faithful the Lord provides, does the impossible, brings glory to himself, and actualizes His purpose in my life and those I’m supposed to impact in the world. 

Still, in all honesty, I am hoping to get this season completed as soon as possible. Until then, I am humbled and honored to be called light by THE light of the world. 

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March 13, 20230

Mutuality in Love

Reposted from Companioning Center blog https://www.companioningcenter.org/blog/mutuality-in-love

Written By Tracy Busse

Spring comes early in Georgia. On this balmy morning, an orchestra of birds finding their way to one another greeted me. With windows flung open, stale winter air ushered out, I waved at the new life budding around me, inviting it to enter. The revival of life both calmed and energized me to join the fullness of creation around me. My body was relaxed and open to receive what God’s creation had to offer.

In all realms of safe connection, mutuality exists. One responds to another, and the other acts in reply to their gesture. We see this dance in friendship among lovers, caregivers, and children. These graced responses occur randomly throughout our world when one honors another by acting in a way that acknowledges, “my humanity is caught up and inextricably bound up in yours.” In South Africa, this is called Ubuntu, which “gives people resilience, enabling them to survive and emerge despite all efforts to dehumanize them.” ¹ Our nervous system is wired to seek out safety and connection with one another—even God.

There are many faces we attribute to the nature of God. They range from loving father and friend to distant judge or scrupulous task master. Childhood encounters with parents, grandparents, spiritual leaders, and mentors influence our image of God. For many people, God is scary and cruel, and their only concept of God’s love is based on a continuum of right action, which will hopefully reward them with a good and eternal life. This is not a safe connection, nor does it represent what we mean by mutuality.

Mutuality sees the value of another as if they were looking at an expansive treasure. It gazes into your eyes and whispers, “Right now you are the focus of my attention. I see you; I hear you, and I desire to know you.” Imagine what it would be like to hear this from someone you trust and love. Linger with this imagined encounter and pay attention to what it feels like in your body. You may notice warmth and comfort but also might feel a bit vulnerable. When a safe person comes near, our body will naturally relax, but is that what happens to you when God comes near? Your answer to this question is an indicator of many things, including your perceived image of God. You may know in your head that God is love, but this creator of the universe might not “feel” loving.

Our nervous system works tirelessly to tell us when we are safe and when there is danger. This is often referred to as neuroception. “Neuroception is the process through which the nervous system evaluates risk without requiring awareness.” ² When perceived risk is present, our body will either move into a state of fight or flight, or it may simply choose to check out and shut down. In fight or flight, our body is tense, anxious, hyper-aware, and on edge. But in a state of shutdown, it is possible to feel nothing at all. Thankfully we have a third state that is triggered when we feel safe and connected to the environment and/or people around us.

These three states of presence can influence our perception of God in that moment. In a state of fight or flight, God may feel angry and judgmental. When we shut down, God is silent and distant, but in a state of safety and connection, God is love. When we learn how our nervous system operates, the part of us that “knows” God is love but does not feel it can learn compassion for the body that is operating from a state of protection. In those states, I hope God will be curious about our anxiety and hospitable to our anger. When we shut down, I hope God is gentle and present even if I cannot connect.

This morning I found myself in this third state as I soaked in the varied melodies of each bird. During a session with my spiritual director, I told him I wanted to engage in the Ignatian practice of noticing God in all things. While processing this, we agreed listening to the birds would trigger an awareness of God’s presence with me. Now when the birds sing, I smile and say hello to God. More songs emerge, and I relax as God’s melodies wash over me. In response, I imagine gazing into the eyes of my beloved and waiting to see how God responds. I cannot predict the response because God is other, but when we interact from a place of safety and connection, mutual regard and love develop.

While these moments of soaking are lovely and one of the sweetest parts of my day, there has been another benefit that reminds me God is near. When I am in a state of fight, flight, or shut down, birds trigger my nervous system to connect with God. You have probably experienced something similar when an old song comes on, or a smell triggers a pleasant memory from the past. These triggers are anchors and steadfast reminders of sweet moments of connection. I have learned through my bird friends that we can develop simple resources that connect us to God’s presence regardless of our state. To do this, explore with God, your spiritual director, or a friend simple ways you connect with God’s presence. You can also notice the image of God in a loved one saying, “Right now you are the focus of my attention. I see you; I hear you, and I desire to know you.” Just as we spent time imagining this with a loved one, imagine this with an image of God that is safe and welcoming. The more we engage in these practices, the more we relish intimacy with the Divine to the point that our relationship with God becomes as natural to engage as any other significant relationship in our life.

Tracy invites you to notice the gaze of love in her course, Trauma Informed Spirituality: Integrating Polyvagal Theory & Ignatian Spirituality for Soul Companions, on Mondays from March 27th-May 1st. This in-depth course includes an experiential component, teaching, discussion, and strategies to use when walking alongside others. Learn more and register here.

Notes:

¹ Desmond Tutu, God has a Dream: A Vision of Hope for our Time (New York, NY: Doubleday Books), 26.
² Stephe Porges, The Pocket Guide to The Polyvagal Theory: The Transformative Power of Feeling Safe (New York, NY: W. W. Norton and Company), 19.

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February 11, 20232

Thick Places: A Place of Encounter and Love

“Thin places” are thick places. Celtic tradition regards sacred spaces as “thin” because they are in essence the place where heaven and earth kiss one another. But if you have ever been to a place that has the feel of a thin place, you also know the weight spaces like these carry. The atmosphere of a thin place is thick with the presence of God. 

As I write this, the college I graduated from, Asbury University, is experiencing a revival. This was not a planned conference or a manufactured experience, but an ordinary chapel that has become something extraordinary for the students and the community involved. Witnesses are describing the atmosphere in Hughes Chapel as thick. When I heard that word I was transported back to my twenties, during an all-night prayer vigil I joined in the same chapel.

 It was late and as I prayed the air became swimmingly thick. As if molasses had joined forces with the oxygen we breathe, each inhalation became rich and sweet. A weight pressed around my body as if I was held by the Divine. I recall having an internal vision of all the saints that preceded me in that place and the many saints that would come to that place in the future. What I saw in their posture and presence was love. Not dogma or right ways of being, but authentic expressions of connection to self, God, and others. 

This vision continues to be a memory of consolation, and a reminder of God’s goodness across generations. We do our best spiritual work when we are actively falling in love with the creator, who is always falling in love with us. A love like this spills into the universe, touching individuals near and far. The reach of this embrace cannot be measured, it is a thin place unleashing the weight of glory into the air we breathe. It is holy just as you are holy. 

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December 19, 20200

Do You Hear What I Hear? An Advent Letter to My Family of Faith

Dear Sisters and Brothers,

I see you. I want to hear you and I want to know your heart. Not just hear, but listen. We are a church divided. We are a Nation at odds and we are a world fighting for life. We are the Church. We belong to one another. We were created by love and for love. The darkness can cause our vision to falter, but it will never prevent the light from coming. 

Do You See What I See?

I see pastors wondering how to lead a scattered flock. I see an angry flock wondering where their shepherd has gone. I see people trying to glue together shattered glass, to recoup a past that is gone. I see angry people trying to be heard.

I see “a star dancing in the night.” I see hope when I look for the light. I see God’s beloved remembering who they are. I see joy in the smallest things. I see a world that is learning how to wait. I see a multitude of gifts in the myriad of faces around me. 

Do You Hear What I Hear?

I hear weary parents doing their best. I hear the cries of lonely hearts. I hear predictions of the future riddled with fear. I hear hopelessness from the ones that fought the good fight and believe they lost. I hear the sobs of grieving souls.

I hear “a song with a voice as big as the sea.” I hear parent’s adoration of their children. I hear laughter in the company of friends. I hear the voices of the abused and broken standing tall. I hear an invitation to dance with the Divine. 

Do You Know What I Know?

I know that I do not know a lot. I do not know how the pandemic will end. I do not know how to stir up hope in the hopeless, and I do not know how to give peace to the anxious. I know we are tired. I know we engage the Advent season longing for a weary world to rejoice.

I know this Advent we wait for Christ to come in a big way. I know that God comes in ways we cannot predict. I know his life is teeming within all of us, waiting to be revealed. I know he came to give us life and to invite us into life in his Kingdom.

Listen To What I Say…

I listen because I want to know you. I listen because I want to hear your story. I listen because I want to see your heart. 

I listen because Abba knows me and calls me daughter. I listen because the Holy Spirit always listens to me. I listen because Jesus has captured my heart.

Dear brothers and sisters,

 Will you join me in listening to one another? What do you hear, see, or know that brings you hope as you wait? We are a family united by Christ and in Him we are one.  

With all my love and grace,

 Your sister

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November 13, 20200

Love Anchors: Encounters with God in Daily Life

In July, I went on a thirty-day retreat to take the spiritual exercises developed by Ignatius of Loyola in the 16th Century. It was one of those life-changing experiences I wish I could capture into words, but the precise words elude me. I told one of the first people I talked to after the retreat, “It’s true Jesus really loves you.” She smiled at me, understanding I had experienced God’s love anew. 

But how do I tell you Jesus loves you in a way that doesn’t prompt a children’s song to play in your head? There are not words magnificent enough to do so. Imagine swimming in a lovely lagoon, only to be transported to a crystal blue sea filled with treasures beyond comprehension. And still loves reach is even grander than this. My perception of God’s love changed because of 30 days of intimate encounters with his presence. Each day I would walk with the Risen Lord through the gospels, I would listen to the wisdom of my Jesuit Director, and I basked in the love of the Trinity. It was intense and life-changing. 

One thing I want to share with you is that I feel certain God wants to encounter all of us with his love. All the time! I don’t think this has to happen in a 30-day retreat. In fact, I think we can invite these encounters into our everyday lives. Think about a young child and the way they move about the world in a state of wonder. Every butterfly, flower, rock, and cloud are a treasure. Could it be that God speaks his presence to us through the natural world around us? Through each other? Perhaps it is unorthodox to say so, but I believe he does. The one who created all things is lovingly present in all things. 

Now in saying that I do not believe that God causes evil. After working with trauma survivors for almost twenty years, I cannot believe that God causes the atrocities I have borne witness to. What I see repeatedly is God’s love and compassion for every person I encounter. I see unimaginable strength and courage that allows people to keep living. I live in wonder at the resilience of humanity in the face of wickedness. Hundreds of brave and beloved faces enter my mind to remind me evil does not have the last word. 
Receiving love and beginning to see one’s value are a catalyst for healing. People rarely heal in isolation. Sometimes God’s love is too hard to receive from the church or the Bible, because of harm and abuse experienced from misuse of those sources. Sometimes love comes from another human that really sees the person in front of them. Love listens well and is always waiting to be received. Love does not condemn, it offers hospitality and hope. I experience love in presence and through holy encounters. 

When I was on retreat, I spent the first few days sitting in God’s love. Since I am a visual person, I asked God for an image of his love. The image of a rushing waterfall poured over my head. I could feel the excitement of the pounding water and a giddy sense of being alive. The oxygen was cool, and it mingled with the sweet mist engulfing me. His love was everywhere. Now when I imagine a waterfall, I readily enter a fragrant encounter with God’s affection for me.

Throughout my retreat, I experienced God’s love in many forms. I saw him in rainbows, deer, and flowers, mountains, deserts, and trees. Each of the four elements beckoned me to the mystery of his presence among us. These images and memories have become anchors. When I am feeling low or anxious, I can go to one of my love anchors, and encounter the loving God that always delights to be with me. Just as the Holy One delights to be with you! How do you encounter love? 

*Check out our latest meditation vlog that will invite you to an encounter with God’s love through imagery in the 4 elements https://tracybusse.net/meditation-and-contemplation/

Blog
October 26, 20200

Your Story Matters

Your Story Matters

“From his abundance, we have all received one gracious blessing after another.  For the law was given through Moses, but God’s unfailing love and faithfulness came through Jesus Christ.  No one has ever seen God. But the unique One, who is himself God, is near to the Father’s heart. He has revealed God to us.”

John 1:16-18 NLT

You matter. John 1:1-18 tells us why. Everything was created through God from the very beginning. And through that creation, God reveals his heart. There is no part of creation he does not see. There is not a single person he does not hear. The light of the world was given to all of us, and that Light knows us. 

I wonder what your heart longs for? We all seem to be searching for the next thing that will make life better. Sometimes it feels like we are searching in vain. The things you desire may seem impossible to obtain, but the want of them consumes you. It reminds me of Thorin Oakenshield in Tolkien’s, The Hobbit. 

Wide-eyed, he frantically searches for his treasure. Nothing else matters. The Arkenstone holds value above anything and anyone. He trips over a jeweled chalice and cusses when his hand is cut on the edge of a diamond. In his frustration, he throws a handful of gold across the treasure chamber, once again scanning for his treasure. It is nowhere to be found. Darkness engulfs him amidst the glittering cavern. Light from numerous torches contagiously reflects throughout the room. Thorin Oakenshield does not see it. His obsession blinds him. 

The one thing you desire has power. It rules your thoughts, your emotions, and your actions. You muddle through the mundane and mindlessly fulfill your obligations. Yet your soul is longing for something that seems impossible to possess. Who has not felt like this at some point or the other? Especially during the pandemic! Suspicion tells me there is something important to notice about these desires. 

The Arkenstone reflected light, and its value was beyond comprehension. In the mind of Thorin, it was the treasure above all treasures. This was the jewel that would crown him King under the Mountain. In this story, I see a longing for worth and belonging. When I read John 1, my heart swells with joy. Perhaps it is because I enjoy poetic language, but I believe it is so much more. 

Jesus, the true light, or dare I say our greatest treasure, came into the world he created so we could share in this light. He brought us near to the Father’s heart and offered us the opportunity to become sons and daughters of Abba, our Lord. Created in his image and invited to share in his glory and riches, He offers us the Kingdom of Heaven. 

What glory? What riches? You may wonder, as you look at your current circumstances. The grief and uncertainty of the current season may be engulfing you. As you ponder the words of John, what may God be inviting you to consider? The invitation to be a child of God might feel exciting for some, but for some, it feels scary. We all need guides when we feel adrift, or as in Thorin’s case, a friendly hobbit. According to the Word, we are all brothers and sisters. The eternal family to which we belong is full of wisdom and compassion. They are often the ones that will be a light in the darkness. These persons could be a friend, pastor, counselor, spiritual director, or mentor. Only you know who you need. 

“You have received one gracious blessing after the other.”

John 1:16 par

God’s gifts surround us. Sometimes circumstances blind us, but as I have worked with people in the darkest places, I see light rise when they practice gratitude. You can be grateful for a roof over your head and food in your belly. You might be grateful for creation and natural beauty. It could be that someone big or small in your circle of influence produces a smile in you today. This morning I was thankful for a warm cup of coffee and the sweet silence of a waking world. These are the treasures that surround us every day, we only need to look a little closer. 

Jesus came not to condemn us through the law, but to offer his unfailing love and faithfulness.

John 1:17 par

As you draw near the light, the light will reflect through your life. You are the beloved daughter or son of the King of Kings. You belong to his Kingdom and his glory can be found in you. Every part of your life matters to God. You are his treasure and his delight. He invites each of you to engage every day with him. What does your invitation say today?

(For a guided meditation of John 1:1-18 please check out our new YouTube Channel https://youtube.com/channel/UCs09ki4BW2fFqEETisuTgwg)