Writings of a Beholder 🌿 5.10.24
Paying Attention to Grounding Metaphors
Seasons of change and transition usually have a way of knocking me off balance.
In my own life, I’ve noticed that they tend to be the most formative yet challenging seasons. In seasons of change, I often feel like I’m clumsily wandering around a dark room, groping aimlessly for the light switch, arms and hands flailing, legs shaking. Most likely a cuss word or two is dropped in frustration, fists closed tightly in self-preservation, and questions are whispered aloud that aren’t met with black-and-white answers.
What I long for desperately in these seasons is some semblance of clarity and direction, but what I’m usually met with is some sort of invitation to press in, draw closer, and trust that even in the murky, swaying waters of change I’m held and kept safe by the One Who never leaves me to wander these unchartered waters alone.
While the invitation should be a comfort, if I’m being brutally honest, most of the time it isn’t. At least, not in the moment that it’s extended — not right away. It usually takes me more than a good minute to catch my breath, listen to the words being spoken to me quietly in love, to wrap my head around the fact that life isn’t linear, and dark, murky rooms are sometimes where God chooses to grow us the most.
I’m in the middle of a huge season of change right now as my husband and I prepare to welcome our first baby in just 11 short weeks (maybe less, maybe more, we shall see!). While there’s been so much beauty and joy woven throughout this season, there have also been moments of great overwhelm, uncertainty, fear, and even loneliness. I’m brimming with thankfulness while at the same time holding the reality that my life — life as my husband and I know it — will never again be the same. There’s goodness and grief in that, and both deserve to be named — both deserve a place at our table.
So instead of groping for a light switch, I’ve been trying to practice living open-handedly in the midst of this major transition. Rather than being knocked off balance and staying that way, I’ve been trying to discern what sort of rhythms and practices might help to put my soul at rest in the Lord.
In Emily P. Freeman’s new book, How to Walk Into a Room: The Art of Knowing When to Stay and When to Walk Away, she shares an imaginative practice of hers that has helped keep her grounded in seasons where answers to questions don’t come so clearly and everything that once felt normal and known feels like it’s slowly being flipped upside down. It includes taking notice of certain imagery or pictures that keep coming to mind or popping up in your life, exploring what God may be saying through it, what invitations may be stirring, and using that image to ground you.
Emily calls this searching for ‘grounding metaphors’, and puts it this way,
“I was drawn to stories and imagery and started to notice how pictures would stick in my imagination more meaningfully than words in the form of what I now call “grounding metaphors”. These were ideas or pictures that seemed to show up over and over in different contexts, so much so that I couldn’t ignore them. I believe this was a kindness from God, a way to accompany me during a time when words were difficult, offering me a language to explore my life and questions without requiring so many words.”
I resonate deeply with this practice because I’m a very visual person and God often speaks to me most clearly through pictures, images, and my own imagination. As I read her words, I realized that there has been an image popping up over and over again in this season of change.
It’s the image of a river.
Over and over again lately as I enter into the practice of listening prayer, I see an image of myself sitting next to a quiet, peaceful river. Jesus is usually there and He always sits next to me as I relax into His presence and let my soul find its rest — as I let my soul be filled again. We don’t speak, not usually, but there’s this deep knowing that runs between us. A knowing that doesn’t require words — a knowing that permeates a supernatural kind of peace.
Water in the form of a river is my grounding metaphor in this season of my life. It symbolizes the constant invitation from Jesus that I hear extended to me as recorded in Matthew 11:28-30.
“Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me — watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.” (MSG)
As I sit by that river with Jesus, I’m saying yes to His invitation of refreshment and rest. I’m declaring that even though I have no idea what to expect from motherhood, no certainties to cling to, I always and consistently have a place to just be and breathe with Him, there, in that part of my soul where a river flows wide and deep, full of the presence, love, and unending grace of God.
In fact, the more I reflect on the image of a river, I notice that it has consistently been a place of peace for me. Bodies of water in general always seem to soothe my tired soul and have been thin places where the veil between heaven and earth feels wondrously thin. I think of Portland, Maine’s beautiful, raw coastal waters that I never stop feeling homesick for until I finally return. Then there was the wide, deep river that ran right through the heart of Inverness, Scotland that I was immediately drawn to and felt the need to walk up and down multiple times the few days that we spent there. And of course, there’s the lake in Michigan where my grandparents live that each time I sit in front of I feel like a kid again in the best, most magical way.
I may not have definite answers for what the future of this season will look or feel like, but I can ground myself in the promise of this image — this grounding metaphor — of a river, of quiet waters, and allow it to be a place of safety and respite for me in the face of everything else that’s changing and will continue to. I can let that river, that presence, quiet my fears with love and replace my weariness and overwhelm with stillness and rest.
There’s a beautiful trail about 20 minutes from our home that my husband and I like to walk when the weather’s nice enough. Along that trail runs a river, steady and quiet. It’s always been one of my favorite places to go when I sense that my soul needs a good dose of tranquility. I’ve thought of that river often throughout this season and now I know why. It physically and externally represents an inner longing and invitation.
A longing to be grounded in the midst of change; an invitation to rest in the presence of my own uncertainty.
Selah, and thanks be to God.
With you on the journey,
Celia
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Life Lately
A Breath Prayer for Your Weekend
Inhale: Teach me to live.
Exhale: Freely and lightly with You, Lord.
(adapted from Matthew 11:28-30 MSG)
*If you’d like to learn more about the practice of breath prayer, download this complete digital guide to practicing breath prayer.
Resources & Good Things to Pick Up
My Lectio Divina bookmarks are officially back in stock on my Etsy shop! If you’d like to grab one, you can do so here: The Beholding Co.
My mom is an ovarian cancer survivor who decided to create an encouraging planner for those walking through their cancer journey. It would also be a life-giving tool for caregivers and loved ones walking beside their cancer warrior. The ‘For Such a Time as This’ planner is officially available for purchase now here: Quiet Hope Co.
My Etsy shop, The Beholding Co., offers contemplative resources to help you slow down, seek still moments, and behold God’s presence with you in the everyday. Purchase some breath prayer cards, a Lectio Divina bookmark, and more.
Grab a copy of my Bible study, You Are Beloved: a 21-day study on how to root your identity in the love of God, over on Amazon. If you’d like a free 3-day sample of the study, reply to this email and I’ll send it right over!
My friend and licensed spiritual director, Kari Bartkus, offers an 8-week journaling program for those who want to process their grief and trauma with God within the safety of blank journal pages. I’ve completed the program myself and can say confidently that it was incredibly impactful and healing: Journal Gently
An Invitation to Pause & Reflect
A regular practice of reflection helps us recognize what’s going on beneath the surface of our souls so we can name it in the Lord’s presence. Because as we learn to name what we feel, what we need, and what we long for, we’re also learning to discern the Spirit’s sweet, gentle voice within our hearts and lives.
Take a few moments today or this weekend to journal or contemplate with the Holy Spirit the following question(s) or prompt(s):
Can you name any grounding metaphors — pictures, images, or ideas — that are consistently popping up in your mind and life? Take a few moments to name them and then ask Jesus if there are any invitations that need to be explored through them.
