Most of us spend so much time thinking about where we have been or where we are supposed to be going that we have a hard time recognizing where we actually are.
BARBARA BROWN TAYLOR

The trail was listed as 2 miles. But it felt much longer.

It’s been a few years now since we walked this trail. In one of the last remaining virgin forests in North Carolina—the Joyce Kilmer Memorial Forest—the view was grand.

But the terrain was touchy. You had to go slow. Not only because of the incline, but because of tree roots and rocks and stumps.

You had to pay attention to where each foot landed.

You had to notice.

You had to stay grounded.

It’s a spiritual discipline to stay grounded. To remember how to walk on the earth as we live in the Spirit.

To remember that where our feet are now is also where our heart needs to be. In this moment is where I AM resides.

Sometimes we do not know what we know until it comes to us through the soles of our feet, the embrace of a tender lover, or the kindness of a stranger.

Touching the truth with our minds alone is not enough.

We are made to touch it with our bodies.

Back home, the walk is easier. I leave my shoes unlaced in the closet. I walk barefoot outside, stepping quickly over the hot pavement to cool my toes in the grass. Ever watchful for thorny weeds or ant resorts, I still enjoy the sensation of nothing under my feet but earth.

It’s when feet are uncovered they’re most aware of the ground.

To go barefoot is to live raw.
To notice each step.
To track the refined nuances of pain and pleasure.

To watch for prints of love around you to match its stride and pace your journey to its walking speed, slow enough to pay attention but fast enough to keep moving.

So I walk.

With shoes off. On holy ground. Here and now.

When we stepped off the mountain trail after the supposed two miles had ended, our feet were tired.

But our souls were grounded.

* * *

revised from the archives

What holy ground have you stepped on lately? Share your thoughts in the comments.

The Practice of Walking on Earth is #4 of 12 spiritual disciplines from Barbara Brown Taylor’s wonderful book, An Altar in the World.

Read more here about each discipline.

1. The practice of waking up to God
   (Vision)
2. The practice of paying attention
   (Reverence)
3. The practice of wearing skin
   (Incarnation)
4. The practice of walking on the earth
   (Groundedness)
5. The practice of getting lost
   (Wilderness)
6. The practice of encountering others
   (Community)
7. The practice of living with purpose
   (Vocation)
8. The practice of saying no
   (Sabbath)
9. The practice of carrying water
   (Physical labor)
10. The practice of feeling pain
    (Breakthrough)
11. The practice of being present to God
    (Prayer)
12. The practice of pronouncing blessings
    (Benediction)

It’s because we fall down.

That’s why we say it:

Lord, have mercy!

It’s the most frequent prayer in the Bible.

And it’s what we need the most—the Lord’s mercy. We need it because sometimes it’s dark and we trip on things and we scrape our hearts.

So we cry out, “Lord, have mercy!”

And the miracle is: God does. God always has mercy on us.

Maybe we see it immediately. Maybe it takes more time. Maybe we still haven’t seen its fullness.

But as sure as we fall, just as sure as gravity always catches us—it never fails—Jesus never fails either. He picks us back up.

When God promises mercy, God gives it. God is more faithful than we are.

Find comfort in God’s mercy.

Share your thoughts in the comments.

Related:

• Book review of The Mercy Prayer

revised from the archives

Nobody has total faith.

What do you do with your doubts? What did Jesus do when he saw doubt in others?

Our doubts can come when:

• We’re faced with a difficult decision and we’re not getting a clear answer from God.
• Or when we are in a season of suffering and we don’t feel God’s “comfort that only He can give.”
• Or when the doctrine we used to believe just doesn’t make sense anymore.

How does Jesus handle our doubts?

Read the rest here: When in Doubt, Focus on Jesus

* * *

I’m writing today at Do Not Depart. Will you join me there?

Jesus said, “Follow me.”

Not a book. Not a doctrine. Not a religion.
Him.

Yes, obey his words. He said that, too.

But what do the words tell us? To follow him. He is The Word.

Don’t confuse the focus. What happens when we do?

• We tie ourselves down to rules he didn’t make.
• We give away our freedoms.
• We bind each other unnecessarily.

We wrongly hurt the people already in the kingdom. We make it harder for new people to desire or to be able to enter in. We roadblock the Spirit in paths he’s ready to work in us.

We sin. Because instead of aiming directly at loving God and loving others, we aim slightly off-target.

Does that mean we lose grace? No, because grace is not dependent upon us. But it does mean we distort the true message of the beauty of grace.

Grace is Jesus.

Follow Jesus. He’s the way.

Jesus spoke to them, saying,
“I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.”
John 8:12

* * *

revised for the archives

She only asked a simple question: “How’s Jenna?”

But that was all it took. I’d been teetering on the edge all weekend. The tears finally spilled over.

We had been waiting on choir practice to begin. Jenna’s friend was just making conversation, knowing Jenna was headed back to Auburn soon. She couldn’t have known it was that exact hour. Nor that I’d answer her crying.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” she said over and over, as I tried to get words out that it was fine.

And really—it was fine. I was actually quite happy that Jenna was ready for a new semester. And even happy for Jeff and me—empty nest has its perks, after all.

The tears gave the impression I was nothing but sad. But they were misleading.

The tears were only spillover from temporary circumstances.
At the core, all was well.  

     Fears and sadness and insecurities are ever-changing. 
     Peace in Jesus is permanent. 

We often conclude the “real” us is most clearly revealed in our weakest moments. And the rest is pretend. If we’re not constantly up front about our broken spots, we’re hiding behind a mask. If we’re not sharing our darkest secrets with someone, they don’t really know us.

But I say no.

Because as new creations in Christ, those dark places DON’T show our truest selves. The scars may continue to coexist with us for a time—and new ones may even surface—but they’re only leftovers from our false self, from living in a fallen world, from time on the trail.   

     Our real selves have been healed.
     Our bodies and emotions just haven’t caught up yet.

The real us, the true us, is the home where Jesus lives. It’s the one who can cry on the outside while smiling on the inside. It’s the one so free in Christ we can hardly grasp it. Sometimes it takes more courage and authenticity to try putting that into words than it does the ugly things.

As Sunday morning passed along, the tears dried up, and I made it through our worship songs without crying. Even when our team gathered round to pray for other students going back to college, I was tearless.

I’m not saying my weepy moments are over. I do and will miss having Jenna around the house.

But I wouldn’t change the situation even if I could. I want her to experience new things on her own and grow up.

That’s part of my growing up, too.

Into the real me, the authentic me, the me who is discovering more and more who I truly am in Christ.

* * *

Do you sometimes confuse who the “real” you is?

I’m not a risk-taker by nature.

I was the girl who rode my bicycle in the center of the bike path. I was content playing Barbies in the bedroom with my neighborhood friends. I stayed (basically) within the boundaries my parents set for me.

So when I read words like this from Jesus, they sound unsafe to me:

He said, “That’s what I mean: Risk your life and get more than you ever dreamed of. Play it safe and end up holding the bag.”
Luke 19:26 (The Message)

Why would I do what’s unsafe?

Because things aren’t as they seem.

To be self-sufficient, to live to please others, to follow the rules “just in case”—those things are NOT safe.

They lead . . .

• to scarcity, not abundance
• to hypocrisy, not authenticity
• to death, not life.

They’re not just risky—they’re suicidal.

Because they’re not of faith. They’re not of Jesus. They’re of self.

And self isn’t safe.
Self can’t save.
Only Jesus can.

So once again I resolve to give it up. Risk it all. Put all my eggs in one basket. It’s Christ or bust.

The truth is, it’s the safest thing I can do.

And there is salvation in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given among men by which we must be saved.
Acts 4:12

* * *

Are you comfortable taking risks? What’s a risk you’re about to take next? 

revised for the archives

Mark (not his real name) is still a teenager, I think.

If he were cleaned up a little (okay, a lot), I could picture him sitting at the round table outside at Sonic on a Saturday night with my own teenage daughter and friends, eating chili cheese tots and slurping down a strawberry fruit slush.

Instead, I see him sitting on a stump in Tent City under the overpass playing with a stray mutt. Or at the library to borrow the internet.

Or at Manna House where he’s just as likely to be helping as being one of the helped.

Oh, God, the places you show up!

In homeless teenage boys I don’t expect to find you. Except that I do.

After everyone’s been served one hot meal, we package up extra to-go styrofoam containers with barbecue and cole slaw for Mark.

He gets extras because we know what he’ll do with them: he’ll carry them back on foot to the homeless camp to share with those he takes care of and who take care of him.

I couldn’t have known, Jesus.  

And I don’t know what to do with you there—except to acknowledge I see you and to give you glory for showing up in the most unexpected places and to love you more because of it.

Wherever you want to show up, and in whoever you want to slip into, may I honor you there as holy.

May I keep eyes open to you not only in pastors and Christians authors, in worship leaders and charity CEOS, but also in vagabonds and the disturbed, in the hungry and the least of these.

To see you more is to love you more.
To love you more is to love others more.

On Wednesday night a thunderstorm pops up at Manna House so Mark asks Jeff for a ride. Not back to his tent. But to the library where his friend will be hungry for a meal.

Jeff tells me the story later nonchalantly, but I know better. The cab of his truck became holy ground that night because Jesus was incarnated in two more humans—in my well-groomed (albeit sweaty by then) Christian husband and in our teenaged friend Mark working out his mission in a crazy world.

O, Lord. I see you.

Please grace me to see you more.

* * *

In my year of One Word 2013: Jesus, I never know where he’s going to show up next.

Where have you seen Jesus this past week?

Popular religion focuses so hard on spiritual success that most of us do not know the first thing about the spiritual fruits of failure.

 

. . . It is hard to shake the shame of getting lost in our lives. And yet if someone asked us to pinpoint the times in our lives that changed us for the better, a lot of those times would be wilderness times.
   – Barbara Brown Taylor, An Altar in the World

We were going the wrong way. Again. (I hate going the wrong way—it’s so inefficient, yes?)

Navigating the New York City subway system was an art we hadn’t mastered. So when I decided *I* would take the navigational reins myself, I laid our directional weight completely on a NYC subway app I’d downloaded on my iPhone.

And I got frustrated.
And humbled.
And lost.

Because what I didn’t realize was that to head uptown, it’d first suggest we go a short distance on a downtown train, which could then connect us to the right line up to Manhattan.

Go backwards to go forward? It wasn’t clear.

It’s counterintuitive.

I pray differently when I’m lost.
When I see I’m vulnerable.
When I’m desperate for help. Help!

But has Jesus ever routed you, too, through the forest before he showed you the interstate? (Don’t even get me started on our journey in a New Jersey neighborhood.  Was I ever glad to see the road to the airport!)

This month’s spiritual discipline I’m *considering* is “Wilderness: The Practice of Getting Lost.”  Barbara Brown Taylor recommends it as a way to wake us from our unconsciousness, reminding us that God does some of his best work with us in the wilderness. She says that by leaving our regular paths,

You agree to become aware of each step you take, tuning all of your senses to exactly where you are and exactly what you are doing.

I’m not comfortable with the idea just yet. And I certainly won’t intentionally get lost.

But I have switched my music to shuffle and turned off my GPS a time or two and taken a few back roads that I ordinarily wouldn’t. Small physical changes to prime the pump for spiritual openings, leaving the familiar beaten paths.

Because I want to be reminded that:

• Who I’m with on the journey is more important than how I’m getting there
• If I’m to follow Jesus wherever he leads, I can’t have the trip already planned out
• Relying less on my resources leads me to depend more on his

If the journey is about loving deeper and wider—and I believe it is—I want to submit to riding backwards (or so it might seem) on an unplanned train if it will strengthen me to more closely cling to the one leading the way.

Sometimes we’re most lost when we’re most sure we know exactly where we are.

And most secure when we’re clueless about where we are, but we’re with the one who always knows.

* * *

Have you ever gotten lost? What did you learn from it?

• June 2013: The practice of walking on earth
• May 2013: The practice of physical labor
• April 2013: The practice of saying no
• March 2013: The practice of wearing skin
• February 2013: The practice of slowing down
• January 2013: The practice of waking up to God

Final update:
Lindsey was released from his broken body on Saturday, March 29, 2014.
He is now completely healed and alive in a perfect new body. Thanks to all who prayed.
– March 31 2014

Update on Lindsey’s situation on Facebook here. He continues to decline and has no movement left in his body. Please keep praying.
– March 2014

She’s not crying as she tells me over the phone.

But I am.

I’m calling to see how she is. Her news is horrible. Her son’s doctor had that very day put out a death watch—four to six months.  Her baby boy’s recent but aggressive ALS (Lou Gehrig’s disease) diagnosis may take him before his 22nd birthday this fall. [Update: ALS was later ruled out and the diagnosis eventually changed to Progressive Muscular Atrophy.]

We’ve all got to go of something. I know that. I’m even thankful for that, truthfully. Please don’t make me hang out here forever when the best lies ahead.

Jesus keep me near the cross
There a precious fountain

But still it hurts to hear about someone getting ready to go.

And I’m hearing a lot about it lately.

About people fighting death like it’s the devil himself.
Or about people initiating it likes it’s some kind of escape hatch.

But also about people accepting it.

Free to all a healing stream
Flows from Calvary’s mountain

I say to my friend, “How can I pray for you? What should I ask God for?”

Her answer catches me off guard, “That I’ll stay near the cross.”

I say I will, as soon as I stop crying, but why wait even then.

In the cross in the cross
Be my glory ever

I search “cross” in eSword and copy the list. I mark off 1 Corinthians 1:18 as I write it on a card and stamp it full of prayers and Spirit from my mailbox to hers, my heart to hers.

Till my raptured soul shall find
Rest beyond the river

Stay near the cross; stay near the power of God; stay near Jesus. Remember he stays near you. In you.

In life. And through death. And forever on the eternal side.

I pray it for my friend and her boy.
I pray it for me and mine.
And I pray it for you and yours.

Stay near the cross.

Near the cross I’ll watch and wait
Hoping, trusting ever
Till I reach the golden strand
Just beyond the river

* * *

If you want to pray for healing, too—however the Lord wills to bring it—go to the cross and lift up Lindsey and his mom Linda. May God bless you also as you sit at his feet. Thank you.

And now these three remain:
correct interpretations, biblical worship, and church hierarchy.
But the greatest of these is . . . wait a minute!

I often heard this phrase growing up: the one true church.

I thought I knew who it was: my church.

Now I know differently.

Read more here

* * *