A few weeks ago, I had a midday glass of wine with a colleague. (Um. Why not?) She's concerned about my sanity while SP is on sabbatical. At that point, I was really at wits end about all the freaking dead people. Seriously. I see them everywhere. I'm burying another one tomorrow. Not that I know him. He's just being randomly buried in Maine. Today I didn't get a call about dead people. Instead, I have a church member in hospice. Musicman joked that this is a step up and soon they'll just be calling to say that they're sick or even later that the sun is shining. I digress.
This colleague asked a tough question. She asked me about my spiritual practice. Uh. I don't have one. My prayer life is not as active as it could be. I don't sit still well. My communication with God hasn't been all that powerful -- which is odd since I'm making some big decisions. This decision affects my call and my vocational understanding but I didn't pray. I went with my gut. I feel good but there is this gnawing question: what is your spiritual practice?
This weekend, I picked up BBT's new book. I expected to hate it because her last book infuriated me. Bad boundaries lady. No wonder you crashed and burned. Me? I'm all about the boundaries so I erect them with my relationships inside and outside of church -- including my relationship with the Divine. Now, I'm trying to figure out how to move around that boundary and realizing that maybe (just maybe) I don't have to do anything to have a spiritual practice. I can just do what I already do. I can marvel at the world. I can cherish how God is working in my life. I can say thank you. And when I need it, ask for help. I'm so grateful that there are other faithful witnesses to God's grace that can open my eyes to what's already obvious.