🌌 Cosmic Dance: Moving toward.

Is contemplative parenting an oxymoron?

Can I share a secret? I’ve often felt I don’t fit the “contemplative” mold. I’m more extroverted than introverted. My life is loud and messy, not quiet and serene. I feel spurred to action and often roll my eyes at navel-gazing.

Yet, as I lean into this fuller way of listening to my life and quieting my soul to listen to God, I’m beginning to realize that we are all contemplatives. (Or at least we could be.) The stereotype of the detached mystic does us a disservice. Those of us in the thick of noisy, chaotic lives (hello, parents and involved caregivers) perhaps need stillness the most.

I’ve embarked on a new journey: pursuing dual certification in contemplative spiritual formation and spiritual direction. As I look at my bookshelves and flip through my journals, I see that this stirring in my soul has existed for a while.

But I’ll be honest: I’ve often been perplexed by how frequently Jesus withdrew to pray. I used to think it was a privilege He had as a single man with no kids. But now I wonder if it’s actually… the most relevant to us as parents. To show up and be fully awake to the people and places around us, to have the strength to keep showing up in our lives, we have to find ways to be still.

Time after time, Jesus moved toward God so that he could move toward others.

¹³ …He withdrew by boat privately to a solitary place. Hearing of this, the crowds followed Him on foot from the towns. ¹⁴ When Jesus landed and saw a large crowd, He had compassion on them and healed their sick.

Matthew 14:13

We aren’t healing the sick, but little feet often wait for us when we retreat. We take temperatures and run baths, balance drop-offs, and manage soccer schedules.

From morning to evening (and sometimes during the night), with God’s help, we release the noise of our mind so that we may hear God, and in this, we keep moving toward.

Back and forth we go.

We keep showing up.

We dance.

Under the Target Quilt

I’m learning just how loud my mind is.

SELF! ME! MY FEELINGS! MY WORRIES! MY FRUSTRATIONS!

It takes a whole lot of practice to quiet the mind.

There’s nothing inherently wrong about self-reflection. The problem is when it becomes self-rumination.

Last Saturday, I was exhausted. I cried myself to sleep, grappling with an unexpected miniature existential crisis: Was moving my kids to this town wrong? To this neighborhood? Did I mishear God? Am I a fool? Have I ruined everything?

It’s like my favorite poem by Wendell Berry — I was worried about my kids and what would become of them. I needed to lie down where the wood drake rests. I don’t know about you, but that’s not really an option in my neighborhood. Instead, I ugly-cried in bed under my Target quilt.

Nothing particularly catastrophic had happened—but I’d spun a million tiny stories, running through them in my head until they bound up my heart.

Holy Listening

This week, my seminary cohort spent time with a passage from Thomas Merton’s “Seeds of Contemplation.”

We practiced a form of Lectio Divina, repeating the reading three times, allowing space for reflection in between.

The first time, it felt like word salad—honestly, I wasn’t hungry for it.

I was ready to disconnect from reality, maybe binge Only Murders in The Building or scroll Threads to catch up on the latest Swiftie drama.

But I showed up. And I listened.

The second time, certain phrases started to stand out:

Play… is what He takes most seriously...

If we could let go of our obsession with the meaning of it all…

Mysterious, cosmic dance...

We are invited to forget ourselves on purpose…

The third time through, I began to hear the invitation beneath the words.

What Stands Out to You?

Here’s the excerpt from Thomas Merton. I encourage you to read it a few times, slowly, and see what phrase or word draws your attention.

Then, we’ll enter into a time of breath prayer and guided reflection. Like every week, you’ll find a playlist, lock screen, and benediction, too.