“He brought me out into a spacious place;
he rescued me because he delighted in me” (Psalm 18:19).
Back in 2015, I began the practice of listening for a word of the year. I say “listening,” because I think of this as a spiritual practice; a way to participate with God as I continually move toward wholeness.
And as we entered into 2021, and finished a year off like none I could have imagined–I sensed the invitation that God was offering me: spacious.
“Aundi,” the Spirit whispered. “Allow yourself space; be spacious. You don’t have to figure everything out in this exact moment; let there be space in your soul.”
And reader, this makes sense as I consider this COVID era. Many folks are trying just to survive. And while there’s nothing wrong with surviving (sometimes it’s all we can do) it certainly leaves little room for creating a spaciousness in our body + souls.
With this in mind, I’ve done what I can to approach my own life with curiosity and compassion to see where I can experience more room to exhale. Maybe you won’t be surprised to hear that between homeschooling, writing, podcasts, counseling, and book launching there hasn’t been a whole lot of breathing room.
As I meditated on the invitation I felt toward spaciousness, I realized it was time to limit my time on the internet and social media. It won’t be forever, but I’ve come to see that each of us have a rhythm that allows us to truly love our neighbor as ourselves. For me, this always includes creating more space and solitude so I can more deeply care for both myself and others.
But even as I write this, I’m remembering that for so many (all of us in some ways?) 2020 was a year. I mean, a year. Between a global pandemic, valid issues of racial justice, the political polarization of our country, profound abuse being uncovered in various faith settings, and the ongoing collective trauma that is being experienced in different layers and waves–it’s a lot.
The phrase I’ve been repeating since April of 2020 is this: it feels hard because it is hard.
And there is no shame in this story. Zero. It’s actually appropriate to–at minimum–recognize that intense and overwhelming experiences require a lot of emotional, physical, and spiritual energy. Noticing this means we’re paying attention; and we’re human. Noticing this also means we have a chance to pay compassionate attention to the old or new wounds that we or others have sustained.
Alternately, if you find yourself thriving in this season–that’s beautiful. Bless you as you find your way. May you too have a rhythm that allows you to love your neighbor as yourself.
For our little family, this year has contained much joy and much sorrow. We are profoundly grateful to have many resources to navigate this last year, but still, I don’t think any person could fully prepare for what we’ve been walking through. But even here, in the midst of such a time, life finds a way to continue. We find ways to connect, and laugh, and live. Even here.
So first, I’d like to share a bit of joy: this last year I had the distinct privilege of launching my first book, Try Softer into the world. I’m not sure how else to describe the response to Try Softer other than to say surreal. As of last count over 30,000 books have been sold. But really, the number itself isn’t the part that gets me. It’s the people who tell me their lives have been changed and enriched. It’s the folks who tell me they’ve never read a book that reminds them they are deeply Beloved by the God of the universe and helps them see there are profound and beautiful tools to help us heal. It’s the folks who say that for the first time in a long time, they feel hope for the journey.
And then the sorrow: like so many others around our country who’ve lost folks this last year, our family grieved the loss of three family members. Additionally, we, too, have navigated the ordinary and not so ordinary griefs that come alongside a pandemic, 2020, and the complexity of continuing to tend to our own mental health + stories.
I don’t have any bows to tie onto any of hardship of this season. Honestly, I wouldn’t dream of trying to gloss over the pain so many are carrying. But I’ll say this: I pray we each find moments + spaces that allow our bodies to settle + exhale. I pray we come to experience and know that we are extraordinarily loved (even and especially here).
A Prayer for Spaciousness:
O God, would you give us the spaciousness to unfurl into the people you have created us to be. May we find that we can exhale long and deep into the reality of our Belovedness. May we open up in the presence of the One who holds + knows all things. May the Imago Dei inside each and every one of us come alive in light of your goodness. May we have the resources + support to continue in our becoming. Would you remind us, that in the midst of our becoming—you love us and walk beside us? Would you remind us that in the darkest shadow and the deepest valley you are there? Would you help us to know that in the glints of light that come in the morning—you too, are there?
Peace be with you.
