the magical, mystical art of holding space

Earlier this year, I had the privilege of beginning a journey through the Center for Courage and Renewal with many other young-ish United Methodists from around the country. I can’t explain what a gift this cohort has been, through both our retreat time together and our monthly peer learning circles. Especially since this season in my life has seen an unprecedented amount of change and transition. From large church associate pastor to medium church senior pastor now to small church associate pastor. From mother of one to bereaved parent to mother of two children this side of heaven. From wife of a doctoral student to, well, still a student but now ABD (all but dissertation)!

And through it all, I’ve come to know the magical, mystical art of holding space. At first glance, it seems like a contradiction in terms. After all, space is like nothing and how can you grip nothingness in your two hands?

But my experience with Courage and Renewal practices has taught me that space is like a wide-brimmed cup. If you are fortunate, others will hold the space open for you so you can pour yourself into it, so you can see yourself truly again, so you can once again know how God is gently holding you when it feels like you are lost in the great wide open of here.

And I should have know this. I am a believer in body wisdom – that our bodies can and do teach us the deeper realities of life – so I really should have understood more about holding space. After all, my mothering body has already shown me the wonder of holding space as new life comes into being within.

Holding space recognizes that redemption and transformation and real, honest to goodness growth, can’t be forced. As you embrace the art of it all, you know that the greatest gift you can give, to yourself or to someone else, is to simply hold the space open wide, without judgment, without diminishing their truth, without rushing to conclusions or easy answers.

In this season of my life, there are still a lot of questions and it’s easy to doubt myself. But I also know that if I practice the magical, mystical art of holding space, of resting with the tension, of leaning into the uncertainty, God will unfailingly show up in the space, too.

God’s heart holds space for us. It reminds me of that scripture – “Don’t be troubled. Trust in God. Trust also in me. My Father’s house has room to spare. If that weren’t the case, would I have told you that I’m going to prepare a place for you?” (John 14:1-2 CEB).

I don’t have to be afraid when I feel lost or when I feel a sense of nothing yawning vast around. I don’t have to be tempted to hustle for approval or conform to the expectations around me. God has room to spare, God has space for me and for you and for everyone. Space for breathing and becoming and being. Glory be! 

The Up Side of Down

Is there an up side of down? I was returning to Krum from a clergy meeting and listening to NPR when I heard a report from an author who was making just this claim. Between the winter membership drive invitations, Megan McArdle made various points on while failure is so essential to human growth and well-being. It sounds counter-intuitive, but as I listened, I understood.

When we fail, we have the opportunity to learn from the mistakes we made. When things come easily to us, we actually may not learn as much. It’s the difference between seeing the results of our attempts as the outcome of hard work and effort or natural ability.

My husband is a saxophonist and currently teaches students from middle school to undergraduate. We have had many conversations about effort versus talent. From his perspective, he would gladly take the student willing to try and try hard rather than one who coasts on native ability. It’s a lesson that translates well beyond music. We all run out of talent at some point, whatever we are attempting, and it’s then that our effort must kick in.

Or worse, suffering and tragedy come through no doing of our own and we must be resilient. And resilience is built through failing, dusting ourselves off, and trying again. I’ve reminded myself of this lesson as I watch my son grow. It’s tempting to hover over him, to use my strength, resilience, and maturity to shield him from all harm. My hands instinctively rose to catch him whenever he was learning to walk and would stumble. While some measure of safety is important, I must allow him to try, to fail, and to learn. It’s the way that all of us become resilient individuals.

Resilience is about more than being strong. It’s the difference between the oak and the willow trees, if you’ve heard that old story. The two trees are standing on the bank of a river and the oak is bragging to the willow about how beautiful and strong it is, how its branches reach up to the sky, and its roots hold deep within the earth. The willow agrees, its branches sagging with sadness, brushing the face of the river. That night, a powerful storm comes with ripping winds. The willow’s branches are tossed by the wind, but its supple frame bends. The oak is not so lucky. With a mighty crack, the rigid oak breaks before the storm. That’s not to say that the willow is unscathed, but it survives because of its resiliency.

It can be the same way for us. Last year was an incomparably hard year for me and my family. I lost my grandfather, my baby, and my father in just a matter of months. While I was bruised and battered by the waves of loss and grief, I also recognized something profound. My spirit was like a weeble-wobble, those little toys that may sway and teeter, but don’t fall down. And eventually, by God’s grace, I began to be righted.

Especially in the loss of our baby, I recognized the healing capacity of our wounded places. My grief, and my willingness to be open about our story, gave others the permission to share their stories of pain. I heard so many stories from men and women who had finally found a safe place to share and be heard. While I don’t believe God causes the pain and brokenness we experience in our lives, I do believe God redeems it.

Christ is the exemplar of this redemptive power of God through the cross and resurrection. “He himself bore our sins in his body on the cross, so that, free from sins, we might live for righteousness; by his wounds [we] have been healed” (1 Peter 2:24). In Jesus’ woundedness for our sake, we are offered grace upon grace. God can transform our wounds, our failures, our weakness into avenues of grace for ourselves and others. May we find that grace and claim it, wherever we find ourselves in this season. 

New Year: One Word

Just after the first of the year, the words started popping up on my Facebook and Instagram. Just one word to share what my friends, colleagues, and family members were going to intentionally focus on in the coming year.

I love this idea. I’m starting this new year with a whole lot of new – new appointment, new church, new house, new routine, new role, new people – so the first sermon series I’m offering is about new year’s resolutions for Christians. It’s really good for us to set goals, but so many times our new year’s resolutions become an unfortunate avenue for our negative self-talk by trying to push ourselves into becoming the people we think we should be. I hope I’m offering something life-giving as we talk about recognizing Jesus, embracing our baptism, living the life, etc.

But I kept coming back to this one word idea. Looking for its origin, I found a couple of websites: One Word 365 and My One Word. So maybe not a completely a new idea, but another thing that is new to me. I liked how One Word 365 said it:

“Forget New Year’s Resolutions. Scrap that long list of goals you won’t remember three weeks from now anyway. Choose just one word. One word that sums up who you want to be or how you want to live. One word that you can focus on every day, all year long. It will take intentionality and commitment, but if you let it, your one word will shape not only your year, but also you. It will become the compass that directs your decisions and guides your steps. Discover the big impact one word can make.”

Honestly, I want God to be my compass, but there is power in words. So I prayed. For days. I asked God what I would need in the year ahead, how I might grow, who I might become with all the opportunities and challenges ahead. This scripture passage kept me company in the incubation:

For as the rain and the snow come down from heaven, 

and do not return there until they have watered the earth, 

making it bring forth and sprout, giving seed to the sower and bread to the eater, 

so shall my word be that goes out from my mouth; 

it shall not return to me empty, 

but it shall accomplish that which I purpose, 

and succeed in the thing for which I sent it. (Isaiah 55:10-11)

This is my word:

I will check in on how this one word guides me this year. I invite you to consider finding your own word. There aren’t any fancy rules. The word doesn’t have to mean anything to anyone but you. It can be simple, it can be another language, it can be an action, a thought, or an emotion. But spend time in prayer, find the word that God is speaking into your life, the one that will not return empty, but accomplish what God has in mind.