Spiritual Direction & Formation

Shane Ash

Meditations

  • Contemplative Consciousness as Resistance

    Likely the most influential book I have read in my lifetime is The Prophetic Imagination by Walter Brueggemann. In his book, Brueggemann examines the practices of Moses and Jeremiah, while warning us of a “royal consciousness” that seeks to dominate our culture—a mindset designed to keep us busy, anxious, fearful, and disconnected.

    Royal consciousness thrives on control, authority, and power. It insists that well-being, wealth, and security come only from order and predictability, attainable through absolute loyalty to its regime of geniuses and experts. This mindset positions itself as the only power capable of solving your troubles and concerns. Meanwhile it numbs society with endless distractions,  pandering fear-stories, creating constant busyness, and fuels anxiety…while selling you the solutions to your anxiety – all while insisting that some invisible boogyman is the real problem and that they will soon be dealt with, strongly. 

    If this sounds familiar, it’s because there really is nothing new under the sun – just recycled political powers, empires, pharaohs, caesars, and authoritarian wannabes of the royal consciousness. And, today it’s not just politicians, religious leaders, global corporations, and the oligarch class – the royal consciousness is a trap for everyone. It seeps down through society and into the local level of individual consciousness…convincing anyone enticed by the entitlement of personal offense, or with a wee bit of authority to line up in service to the royal consciousness. “Don’t you know, this is the way things get done!”

    Occasionally, we awaken from the numbing serum of the royal consciousness. We realize its promises of safety, well-being, and fulfillment have failed…having never been made in good faith anyway. And we begin to wonder, is there another way? 

    And that single pondering question is the beginning…a work of imagination that serves as an act of resistance to the royal consciousness. Imagination is one thing that royal consciousness can’t control…but boy, does it ever try! This is why every authoritarian regime is frightened by the artist, the questioner, the protester, and the poets – those who dare to imagine something outside of the vision being cast by the royal consciousness.  

    Brueggemann is rightly recognized for his call to pastors and leaders to engage in the courageous work of public advocacy (and…do we ever need it today!). Yet, I am also learning to understand his call as one that is equally personal—a inner work that unfolds within every person just as much as it does in public life. In this sense, contemplative science and the contemplative spiritual traditions echo a similar truth: that deep inner awareness is foundational to meaningful outer action. 

    Intentional forming one’s imagination – what can also be called the contemplative consciousness – offers us an alternative; a spacious, grounded way of seeing and being in the world. Instead of reacting out of fear, control, or survival…contemplative awareness invites you to slow down, breathe deeply, discern, and trust the reality of something more life-giving than the royal consciousness.

    Where royal consciousness numbs, contemplation awakens. Instead of clinging to old systems and broken scripts, contemplative consciousness gives us the courage to imagine a better way — a way of being shaped by love, mercy, gratitude, and deep connection.

    And just as Brueggemann reminds us, that change starts with an act of imagination. Before we can build a better world, we must be able to imagine one. And before we can form a deeper inner life, we must learn to quiet the noise of the royal consciousness.

    Choosing to nurture a contemplative consciousness doesn’t mean ignoring reality or pretending everything is ok. Instead, it means learning to embrace a clearer, more free, and more courageous way of seeing and engaging the world—one that refuses to accept anxiety, fear, and control as the only options.

    So, let’s resist the airy claims of royal consciousness by deeply forming a contemplative consciousness—the inner strength to imagine, hope, be fully present, and love more deeply and boldly than we ever thought possible. And as it starts within you…it can flow into the every aspect of the world. 

  • Outrage and Ashes

    We live in a day where social media, political discourse, and even religious communities tend to reward those who take strong, usually loud, and unwavering positions of certainty. This certainty is often expressed through outrage against a perceived enemy. How dare they!

    In such a time, admitting fault, confessing our biases, changing our minds, not knowing, or even pausing to listen and consider another perspective is often seen as weakness. But what if humility—the ability to say, ‘I don’t know’ or ‘I was wrong’—is one of the most important spiritual practices available to us today? In a culture where certainty is idolized, perhaps what we need most are the reminders of our human limits—acknowledging that we are not as self-sufficient or infallible as we like to believe. And today, of all days, offers us that reminder.

    Today is Ash Wednesday. Perhaps you have received ashes on your forehead, or you will see someone walking about who has—a sign of repentance and humility. Upon receiving those ashes, you likely heard the words:

    “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”

    It is a reminder that no matter how much we think we know, how accomplished we believe we are, or how firmly we stand in our opinions, we are still only dust—fragile, temporary, finite, and unfinished. From dust you came…and to dust you will return!

    This long-standing practice of receiving ashes in the Christian tradition invites us into a kind of spiritual tabula rasa—becoming a blank slate. The ashes mark both an ending and a beginning. They signify the necessary work of letting go, burning away the illusion of our self-sufficiency and self-rightness, and making space for transformation—something new that has yet to be revealed.

    It is in our willingness to be rewritten—to let go of the scripts we’ve inherited or imagined for ourselves, the grudges we’ve nurtured, and our incessant need to be right…that we open ourselves to a new and deeper lives.

    Think on this…throughout the Gospels, Jesus models a way of being that is comfortable in unknowing. He challenges religious leaders not by offering more rigid answers but by inviting them to release their old ways of thinking.

    Consider his interaction with Nicodemus (John 3). This respected teacher comes to Jesus at night, assuming he understands the ways of God. Yet Jesus tells him, “You must be born again.” In other words: You need a blank slate. You need to start over in your way of understanding. Your current framework isn’t strong enough to bear the full realities of life.

    And then there’s Jesus, who humbled himself to the point of death (Philippians 2:5-8), taking on the form of a servant, pouring himself out, fully tasting the dust of humanity. He shows us that real power is not found in certainty but in surrender to the uncontrollable and unknown—death itself.

    On this Ash Wednesday, I invite you to reflect not just on your mortality, but on the humility of being unfinished and not knowing. I invite you to become a blank slate—ready for whatever is set before you.

    In a world addicted to being right, humility might be the most powerful witness we can offer. And maybe the path to deeper spirituality isn’t about accumulating more answers, but having the courage to let the fires burn, the ashes settle, and begin again.

  • The Practice of Deep Friendship

    This year, I find myself drawn to the practice of deep friendship—not merely as a subject of research and writing, but as a way of being. Though uncommon in our era, there are spiritual and cultural traditions that speak of a kind of friendship that transcends our modern understanding—a kind of intimacy we might call deep friendship—an intentional practice of knowing and being known.

    I believe all healthy relationships require practice—intentional and mutual actions of personal agency. And without mutual practice, what is friendship? Without the repeated, conscious choice to engage one another, to listen, to be vulnerable, and to remain present, what is left? Surely something less than deep friendship. Likely something merely transactional. 

    I lean into the notion of practice for three reasons. First, it is a theological understanding of personhood—an applied theology, if you will. I understand God-self existing as relationship. My relationalism informs how I see all persons and nature itself, though that conversation is for another time. For now, it will suffice to say that, to me, friendship is not merely a nice gift or happenstance in life…but a spiritual practice, a sacred way of participating in the relational fabric of existence—the Ground-of-All-Being.

    Second, I think friendship exists within us. It is not merely something we engage in externally; it is something we cultivate inwardly. We experience friendship. Friendship is something actively nurtured, developed, and lived within us. Therefore, it requires our inner awareness and kindling. And it requires us to bring our whole selves to the table—not just our curated, performative selves, but our real, uncertain, sometimes fearful selves.

    Fran Ferder, in Words Made Flesh, writes:

    Letting people get to know us means more than letting them in on the facts about our life. It means letting them know the background fears that haunt our quiet moments, the heavy loneliness that sometimes lurks behind our smile, the passions that both excite and scare us. Self-disclosure means just what it says: disclosing the self. All parts of us. It means uncovering what we most want to hide and telling what we most want to keep secret about ourselves to those who would be our friends.

    Most specifically, self-disclosure means revealing our current reactions and feelings to those with whom we are relating. Without this information, others can only know our facade. A facade is not a building block for friendship.

    Exactly! And I suspect moving beyond facade-friendship is more challenging than we think. The human instinct to hide is deeply embedded in our human nature, our nervous system, and in our habitual practices. It requires great intention and practice to recognize our own hiding. 

    There was a season in my life when I was struggling deeply—caught between personal disappointments and vocational uncertainty. One day, I was sitting with a friend who sensed that I wasn’t doing well. After a time of typical small talk, they simply said, “Tell me the real story. I want to hear your real experience.” That was all. No fixing, no advice, just an invitation to be heard, held, and seen.

    I hesitated. My instinct was to smooth things over, to present the “I’m fine” version of myself. But something about their presence—the realness, the lack of agenda—allowed me to be honest. I admitted some of my doubt, my insecurity, my fear. They listened, nodded, and at one point said, “Yeah, I get that.” That was it. 

    That one conversation didn’t solve my problems, but it shifted something in me. It reminded me that deep friendship at its best is about witnessing. It’s about being willing to be with one another in the raw, unfiltered truths of life and say, “I see you. You are not carrying this alone.”

    Why practice friendship in this way? Because the foundation of all human desire is a secure sense of self. As Walter Brueggemann puts it, “The human person is… talked out of self, robbed of power, courage, energy, and freedom for selfhood.” (112, HCTP).  And, I believe we are listened back into ourselves. And this is the third reason we need to practice deep friendship…as a life-long discovery of our own self. 

    What many of us consider our ‘self’ is often far less than true selfhood. Our feeble attempt to know ourselves is often marked by mere cultural identity markers—what we have, what we do, what we have accomplished, what others say and think about us. This kind of external self is not grounded in true essence or being; it is externally defined, shaped by doing, measured by achievement and activity, and will always leave oneself perpetually seeking external validation.

    So, what do we do?

    We practice friendship. We practice friendship as a counter-formational act of knowing and being known, as a space where we refuse to be merely what our facades attempt to say we are. Deep friendship becomes a place of our true humanization, a space where we are seen and known beyond our roles, beyond our productivity, beyond our histories or projected futures. In the risk of deep knowing—allowing ourselves to be truly seen—we find the rewards of true companionship: courage, energy, and freedom for selfhood.

    Yes, friendship, when practiced with intention, becomes not only a source of comfort but a path to transformation. It is a practice of presence. A practice of patience. A practice of love that insists on truth. A practice of refusing to let one another be reduced to the shallow scripts of culture or the exhaustion of pretending. A practice of seeing and promoting the good in the other. It is a place where we can, perhaps for the first time, encounter our truest selves in the reflection of another’s unwavering gaze.

    If we are to reclaim a kind of deeper self, one not bound by expectations but rooted in essence, then we must insist upon friendship as a practice. And not just any friendship, but the kind of mutual befriending that invites us beyond mere familiarity or interests and into the sacred work of deep, inner self-revealing.

  • The Rest of the Story…

    I remember gripping the door handle of my grandpa’s farm truck with joyous fear as he sped across the wheat field to make it home in time to listen to Paul Harvey on the radio. That distinctive voice and storytelling was a staple at the lunch table in my early years. And those closing words, filled with anticipation and wonder, would hook the listener… “And now, for the rest of the story.”

    But the rest of the story was only told after another Buick commercial. And yes, my grandfather also owned a Buick…

    That memory and those words came to mind today as I was pondering another set of words I came across in my reading. In his book, Sabbath as Resistance, Walter Brueggemann writes, “I have come to think that the fourth commandment on sabbath is the most difficult and most urgent of the commandments in our society, because it summons us to intent and conduct that defies the most elemental requirements of a commodity-propelled society that specializes in control and entertainment, bread and circuses … along with anxiety and violence” (xiv).

    Brueggemann’s words point directly to a core issue in our culture today—a culture that glorifies exhaustion, promotes overwork, and views constant productivity as the highest virtue. Rest is a dirty word in environments of production. Rest is a terrible thing in economies dependent on constant consumption. And if you listen carefully to the noise of the airwaves, or maybe even in your own mind, you will hear the sounds of celebration for those who model exhaustion.

    Some can’t even ponder past that last sentence. Their immediate protest is, “Don’t you know that nothing gets done without hard work?” or “While you’re resting, I’m going to get rich.” Of course, when the driving value of the day is how much you have, the result is a measuring stick of your own value (and others’) based on how much you seek to have. We wear busyness as a badge of honor, exhaustion as a sign of how much we care, and running on empty as public proof of our dedication. Perhaps the question should be: dedication to what?

    The cultural demand to produce more never ceases, for in our present lives even a moment of rest is often quickly filled with entertainment designed not to restore but to fill someone else’s coffer—someone who gains from our attention, subscriptions, and views. It seems that consumption is nearly inescapable, and we too are rushing across our lives… just to get to more commercials designed to tell us how to live our lives. And, just as Brueggemann rightly claims, the final results of anxiety and violence—whether personal, relational, or systemic—flourishes in a society that cannot pause long enough to see its own rushed unraveling.

    What can we do? We can rest. And the kind of rest we need will only come about through great intention. We must intentionally rest.

    Many of us cannot simply step away from work for long stretches of time, but we can integrate rhythms of rest into our lives. Of course, this requires great intention. It means making time for deep rest, for practices that nourish rather than numb. It means setting boundaries around our attention and availability, even when life insists we remain accessible. It means silencing the culture of constant noise and slowing down in a world obsessed with instant everything.

    For those in caregiving roles—pastors, mental health providers, healthcare professionals, educators—I believe the call to intentional rest is especially crucial. Compassion fatigue, burnout, and moral injury are the natural consequences of a life lived without rhythms of restoration. We cannot pour from an empty cup. If we are to sustain lives of meaningful service, we must cultivate habits of intentional rest.

    Today, I invite you to see rest as a spiritual discipline that reorients us toward trust, safety, and belonging—an awareness that our inherent worth is not tied to our work, that the world will keep turning without our constant striving, and that there is something deeper and more meaningful than the endless pursuit of more.

    And now…let us put rest into our story. May you rest. And in doing so, reclaim the joy and fullness of your life.

  • Grace and Destruction

    Within the past couple of weeks, I have witnessed two radically contrasting stories unfold before me—one marked by the destructive spirit of self-righteousness, and the other by the generative spirit of humility. The first story is a cautionary tale, the second a quiet testimony to the healing nature of love. And as I have reflected on these situations, it has formed in me a deeper awareness about the kind of presence I want to bring into my own relationships and community.

    It’s not the first time in my life that I have witnessed how a spirit of self-justification and anger can unravel a life’s reputation, making relationships brittle and breaking the kind of trust that takes years to build. I have often been left to wonder what motivates this kind of inevitably destructive behavior. Perhaps the root is best identified by Daniel Kahneman, a psychologist best known for his work on the psychology of judgment and decision-making. Kahneman found that the human brain is actually wired for cognitive biases, particularly the tendency toward self-justification. When confronted with personal failure or criticism, the brain (some call this the ego defense mechanism) scrambles to defend itself, often through anger, deflection, or blame. This psychological reflex, though natural, can have devastating consequences for a person, and for those around them. If this mechanism is left unchecked or lacks maturity, it almost always leads to isolation, alienation, and ultimately, the erosion of meaningful relationships. 

    In the spiritual traditions, the dangers of an unchecked ego are commonly highlighted. The Buddhist concept of ‘dukkha’—often translated as suffering or dissatisfaction—teaches that clinging to our own self-image leads directly to suffering. Similarly, Christian scripture warns that “pride goes before destruction, a haughty spirit before a fall” (Proverbs 16:18). Perhaps you have seen this happen in real life —as someone reacts to an offense, anger consumes them…it then leads to relational alienation and either deep inner regret or relationship-destructing rage.

    On the other hand, I witnessed in the past week a powerful story of a quiet, transformative, generative spirit of humility and joy. I saw someone embrace deep vulnerability, choosing the health of a relationship over their own need to be right or in charge. They chose gratitude over resentment, humility over anger. And furthermore…their humility did not diminish them—it actually enlarged them. Not only was the story inspiring to witness, but the one choosing to live in humility reports feeling more alive, more their true-self, and more relationally connected. By choosing to carefully respond with humility and grace rather than react, to participate rather than demand, they fostered an relational environment where loving action was able to flourish and increased their own sense of self-agency.

    The spiritual traditions know this reality. In the Benedictine practices, humility is not weakness but a posture of openness—an acknowledgment that we do not hold all the answers and that growth and maturity is found by listening, learning, and loving. Jesus himself embodied this when he washed the feet of his disciples, showing that real authority and power is rooted in service, not dominance and demands.

    Yup…it remains evident in life that when we choose a spirit of humility, we make space for others, and in doing so, we find something far richer in ourselves than what the ego’s defense mechanisms could ever provide: genuine, life-giving belonging and connection. And when it comes to understanding why some still choose the destructive path, I often think of the poet Rainer Maria Rilke’s words: “Perhaps everything terrible is in its deepest being something helpless that wants help.”

    Witnessing these contrasting stories has reinforced for me a fundamental reality: everyday we are shaping our own relational-experience, either by reinforcing relational walls or by building relational bridges. Ego builds walls —humility builds bridges. Anger isolates — love unites. The choice is ever before us, moment by moment.

    I was reminded again today of the simple but powerful invitation from St. Francis of Assisi: “Where there is hatred, let me sow love; where there is injury, pardon; where there is doubt, faith.” So today, in whatever circumstance you find around you, I invite you to lean into the pathways of humility and love, trusting that the quality of relationship we nurture with others will become the foundation for something good tomorrow in our relationships, and in us.

  • Shane, love!

    Love. That’s my motto for life…just one word: love. It’s a one-word sentence that can be read as an invitation, a required action, or a naming of what is ultimately real. This scene that I captured this past summer inspires me toward love…to live my life gliding across waters—serene on the surface, while sustained by unseen action beneath the surface.

    Shane, love! I am sure that on some days…I need the reminder to act in loving ways…to respond to others before all of my survival instincts make a mess of things…to engage in more self-forgetting (or is it really remembering!) and focus on building others up. In those moments, love is the other-loving practice I am committed to. On other days, I must remember to choose the quiet, persistent practice of love, even when my inner waters are choppy and disrupted…this is an practice of self-love.

    Shane, Love! There are many days I need to remind myself that I live in a larger reality than the one presented to us by the marketers and politicos of our day. Love is the ultimate reality, the energy that holds all things together. Love is the unescapable and ever-present Reality of my existence. Without Love, I don’t exist. I am because Love is. I need reminded because I am still learning to trust that Love, like the water, holds me within its larger reality—vast, unthreatened, and ever-present.

    Shane, love! And then there are the invitations of love…fondness and affection. There are moments when I need to be reminded, Shane, this is love! And such love is two-fold…allowing my own heart to be tender and open to receiving affection when offered, and offering affection with vulnerability and grace, creating moments where connection can flourish.

    Yes, this is my life motto: Shane, love!

  • A Meaning-full Year

    Viktor Frankl famously identified creative work, love, and courageous action as the ingredients that create meaning and fulfillment in life. Those are the three buckets I’ve sought to fill up over the past year, and they are how I will organize my reflections in this post. Pondering and writing these words over the past couple of days has been a contemplative practice for me—a kind of examen that acknowledges significant happenings of the past year while naming the hopes and desires still at work within me.

    This is a longer post, intended primarily for my own accountability, though I hope it might also serve as an invitation for anyone who comes across it. So, if you have the courage to read through it all, bless you! And if you find any shared interests along the way, let’s connect.

    Work

    Eighteen months ago, I decided to focus my spiritual care experience into a purpose that I thought could benefit others in a positive way. I am extremely lucky to have supporters who share my vision and see the potential and great need to integrate spiritual care into social environments, particularly with the goal of inspiriting caregivers, educators, and healthcare workers. For, our present social context is marked by an increasing unease, discontent, and burnout and it appears these challenges may be best addressed through spiritual care—an intrinsic empowerment of personal agency. Why do we sense the need to care for caregivers? Because the personal and vicarious suffering inherent in caregiving work makes the work unsustainable without an active way of caring for one’s spirit. 

    And so, Restwork was born—a well-being program for healthcare and caregiving professionals. Restwork is more than a break from work; it is an opportunity for people to learn to live into their best selves. Grounded in the evidence of contemplative and virtue science, Restwork invites participants to rediscover the personal wholeness often lost in the demands of professional caregiving. Through guided retreats followed by sustained relational care, we teach practices of rest, mindful presence, awareness, and compassionate self-leadership, empowering caregivers to live courageously, love deeply, and work purposefully.

    The creative and entrepreneurial work required to bring Restwork to life has been both rewarding and challenging. And as I reflect upon it, what a gift it has been to me, and I believe, to others. While we are not yet certain how things will unfold in the years ahead, along with supporters who have joined this mission, we are committed to nurturing the seeds we have planted.

    Alongside Restwork, I also have continued to expand my work in spiritual direction. Spiritual direction is a mode of care for those seeking a deeper awareness of their inner life. Also often called spiritual companionship or spiritual accompaniment, spiritual direction is a rapidly growing field that many are discovering helpful amid the current cultural failures of both faith formation and the often shortsightedness of mental health. The inherently holistic, person-centered, trauma informed, and narrative-based ethos of spiritual direction wonderfully matches what the research has evidenced as the effective methods of care for much of the angst, resistances, and disruptions of our day. Spiritual direction is not counseling, therapy, or mentorship; yet, spiritual direction can be a pathway to flourishing and wellbeing. 

    To enhance my practice, I completed a year-long post-doctorate certificate in spiritual direction—a rewarding and refreshing experience! I currently accompany a dozen or so regular directees and I am open to adding more. (If you’re curious about spiritual direction, links on this site provide more information.) I remain humbled by the courage and vulnerability of those I accompany, and each session adds new and rich meaning to my own life. 

    What do I want for work in the year ahead? What desire is at work in me? I want Restwork to become a flourishing community of healing and wholeness. I envision both a program and a place for rest, renewal practices, and ongoing relational support. I also want to walk alongside others in spiritual direction who are sincere in their seeking…people who sense something is presently askew within the common postures and practices of our day. And I desire an increase in my own spiritual awareness through nurturing interconnection with all things and people. And last, I sense a pull to somehow begin to engage in the work of teaching and education. Perhaps a teaching opportunity, a training program, or a creative way of integrating spiritual care in an educational environment….I reckon the year ahead will reveal where these desires lead!

    Love

    Frederick Buechner’s words have echoed in my heart this year: “Listen to your life. See it for the fathomless mystery that it is. In the boredom and pain of it no less than in the excitement and gladness: touch, taste, smell your way to the holy and hidden heart of it because in the last analysis all moments are key moments, and life itself is grace.”

    As I listen to my life, I hear how this year has been a season of progress for our family. Samuel, now a college sophomore, is discovering how to live with both grit and gratitude among his many opportunities. Addison, nearing the end of her senior year, is diligently preparing herself for a new era of decisions with applied wisdom and insight; and Anah, our youngest, lives everyday with a joyful curiosity. Watching each of them dream, develop, and rest in their belovedness is an amazing thing. Their joys, struggles, successes, and failures remind me daily that life is exactly what you will make of it. Everything is given…gifts waiting for you to open and enjoy. Everything will have exactly the meaning you give it. 

    Ashley and I celebrated our 25th wedding anniversary this past year—a testimony of our willingness to seek the good of the other. I suspect we both feel that the changes and challenges we’ve embraced in our years together are more than we thought we originally signed up for; yet we continue to flow with the current of commitment, and grow in our ability to communicate, celebrate, and encourage one another toward being our best selves. It is good, and it seems that better is inevitable.

    Yes, I see the bucket labeled “love” in my life is overflowing—with marriage, family, friends, and the people I meet through Restwork and in spiritual direction. I live in an abundance of love, and I’d like to even think, an overflow of love. I believe it is the overflow, not a scarcity, that fosters a ongoing curiosity in me about the kind of deep friendship spoken of in the Celtic tradition. An anam cara friendship was recognized as an honorable social construct saturated with an affection that awakens new ways of feeling and perceiving oneself (John O’Donohue). This kind of friendship is highly intentional, while marked with an intimacy of knowing and vulnerability. Sometimes initially unsettling and perhaps even awkward, this unique connection is known to gradually change one’s depth of self-awareness and transform one’s sense of being in the world. I hold my desire to experience anam cara lightly and with curiosity, while committed to showing up with openness and intention in all my current relationships. I think anam cara is a possible experience for some in life—perhaps for those with great intention and mutual desire to experience Love beyond our transactional habits. I reckon the years ahead will reveal where desire leads! 

    Courageous Action

    This year wasn’t without challenges or opportunities to witness courageous action. My mom’s heart surgery and Ashley’s dad’s accident reminded me of life’s fragility and uncertainty. And, in those moments, I witnessed profound courage—not only from those directly impacted but also from the family and friends who rallied around them. These experiences underlined for me and are still revealing the power of meaning in the face of suffering. How we interpret life’s happenings have a direct impact on how we experience our lives. Not everything is good, but there is goodness amid everything.

    In this moment, as I reflect on the past year and give attention to my active desires, I am filled up to the brim with gratitude. No, even more…I am overflowing with gratitude. The accomplishments, milestones, relationships, and experiences of these twelve months have shaped me in ways I could not have anticipated. So, while the future remains unknown, I step into it with hope and intention. For, as Frankl reminds me, meaning is not something I passively receive; it is what I actively create.

    To everyone who has been part of this past year—thank you. Here’s to another year of work, love, and making meaning together.

  • Advent Love: A Healing Wholeness

    As we enter the final days of Advent, we are invited to reflect on love—the foundation of human flourishing. For those who celebrate, Advent prepares us to recognize God’s arrival as a baby—a profound and shocking reminder that love is not abstract but something deeply relational, formative, and not afraid or separated from the everyday realities of this world.

    Today, I want to point us toward the everyday and practical. Both science and wisdom traditions affirm that love is vital to our well-being. Deep relationships—marked by connection, safety, and vulnerability—are not luxuries for the lucky but necessities for a flourishing life. In my work as a spiritual director, I get to witness how relationships grounded in love can offer growth, healing, and restoration. And further, I have come to believe that Love, as we interact within it, transforms every part of us.

    Many studies reveal that people with deep friendships live longer, recover more quickly from illness, and experience lower levels of stress and depression. In other words, love strengthens our immune systems, improves heart health, and even rewires our brains for greater resilience and empathy. Far from being simply an emotion, Love moves us toward wholeness.

    In a world where loneliness is now described as an epidemic and where the stupidity of violence and war machines continue to be celebrated, Advent reminds us that love calls us to live differently. Love is a counter-way to the cycles of violence and estrangement, inviting us to seek connection and wholeness instead. It calls us out of isolation and into the fragility of relationship, where Love comes alive—whether in the warmth of a close friendship, the kindness of a community, or the shared vulnerability of a deep conversation. These are not incidental or quaint ideas for humanity; they are its core.

    As this final week of Advent unfolds, how might we open ourselves to and engage with love? What does love call us to resist? What intentional relationships might draw us closer to the love that is always inviting us, forming and sustaining us?

    This Christmas, may we welcome love and allow it to shape us, heal us, and make us whole.

  • Advent Joy: FOR ME!?

    This third week of Advent invites us to the practice and experience of joy. As we examine joy, we can draw insights from both the spiritual wisdom traditions and the advancing field of gratitude science.

    Joy is often mistaken for a feeling of happiness, but as Dr. Pamela Ebstyne King, a professor at Fuller Theological Seminary, explains, joy is best understood as a virtue—a habit that can be cultivated. Unlike emotions that are summarized stories within our body, virtues are cultivated qualities of one’s being that shape how we live and relate to others. 

    Research supports this deeper understanding of joy. Dr. Barbara Fredrickson’s broaden-and-build theory reveals how joy can enhance our creativity, resilience, and social bonds. Joy isn’t merely a personal experience; it equips us to engage with the world purposefully, even in times of struggle. And, as theologian Willie James Jennings suggests, joy can be an act of resistance against despair, empowering us to contribute to a greater good.

    Gratitude is the on-ramp to joy. When defined as the conscious appreciation of life’s gifts, gratitude shifts our focus from scarcity to abundance, helping us taste and see life’s goodness. Neuroscience shows that gratitude rewires our brains, counteracting the negativity bias that keeps us fixated on predicted problems. By consciously focusing on moments of thankfulness, we amplify positive memories, reduce stress, and increase overall well-being. Simply put, the science shows that people who practice gratitude feel more grateful. Imagine that!

    But gratitude is just the beginning of things. Today, we are claiming a life of joy. And joy is a life of sustained gratitude—a life that is trained to see beauty, goodness, love, and the sacredness of all things. Joy is the energy of Great Connection.

    I have developed a practice that I use daily and often share with those whom I provide spiritual direction. I call it the “FOR ME?!” practice. Pick anything—the chair you are sitting in, the sunrise, the snow-covered landscape, the clothes you are wearing, anything—and recognize it as a gift. Look deeply into its reality—the many hands that designed and built the chair, the wonder of another sunrise, the numerous people (and their stories) whose work brought your clothes to your closet. Look attentively and deeply; you might uncover stories beyond your imagination that are directly connected to your everyday life. And then, humbly and baffled (there’s both a question and an exclamation mark), exclaim aloud, FOR ME?! You will sense something happening within you as you begin to recognize the gift hidden in everything and everyone.

    There is no shortage of gifts being given to you in this moment—your breath, your heartbeat, and, well…everything and everyone. What is missing is your conscious attention to the radical goodness and beauty of life. The socially promoted mode of scarcity has blinded us to our abundance. Yet, an intentional practice of sustained gratitude can transform us. 

    Try it…and you will see.

  • Advent Peace: Living with Intentional Action

    Peace, in the Advent way, is not a magical moment we happen upon; Advent peace is cultivated through intentional action. This kind of peace does not avoid the suffering or messiness of life but includes it, transforming it into seeds of learning or something greater. Just as God’s action in the Advent story reveals peace through the incarnation, our own actions—when rooted in love and intentionality—can shape both an inner and surrounding world where peace thrives. Image reflects Image!

    But what does intentional action look like in our daily lives? It likely begins with small, personal commitments: carving out moments for sacred silence, setting aside distractions to truly listen and be present with others, or extending kindness where grouchiness might otherwise reign. These are acts of personal agency (last week’s theme) that ripple outward, touching lives in ways we will never fully see.

    The Advent invitation to intentional action also calls us to examine the world of systems and relationships we inhabit. Are there ways we can contribute to greater harmony in our families, workplaces, or communities? The path to peace often requires great courage—naming injustices, forgiving past ignorances, or working for justice where inequities persist.

    This is where peace deepens into Shalom—a wholeness that encompasses mind, body, and spirit…and all surrounding things. It is not utopian perfection but a journey toward attunement: with Reality, ourselves, and others. Such alignment requires great intentionality (and others also exercising agency and action) to step into the uncomfortable but necessary work of deep reconciliation and restoration.

    As we light the second candle of Advent, let us reflect on this: peace is not a fleeting emotion or a distant imagined ideal. It is the evidence of a present life lived with intentional action—a life that mirrors the active love of God.

    Today, may you dare to take the next action, however small, toward the wholeness you are invited to embody and share.