Vocation

At our weekly staff meeting, we did a guided meditation followed by a time of journaling. For my blog post this week, I want to share what I wrote, unedited and unpolished, from that brief moment of reflection:

The thing about quiet spaces is, all it takes to destroy them is a single noise—the nervous tapping of your foot, the constant beating of your heart, the scraping of chairs from the floor above, sirens, honking horns, loud laughter or shouts from outside the window. And suddenly, your concentration is broken. Instead of imagining a small candle flame flickering in front of you, sending soft shadows on the walls of your mind, the melting of the wax like the melting of your muscles into relaxation, you are distracted buy this now unquiet space. You remember the reasons your muscles needed to relax in the first place, your mind races—planning, prioritizing, worrying. The task seems so simple—focus on the flame, let it pull you in. But you are held back, constrained by lists and schedules and expectations.

In a world that seems to be getting louder every day, these quiet spaces are the key to our well being. We don’t have to ignore the noise but we need to find ways to take a step back, to sit in a darkened room, to bask in the simplicity of a candle flame. And it is in these quiet spaces that we create a space for answers, for clarity, for direction, for God.

When I came to the chapel today, my head was buzzing, clouded after a day where nothing seemed to come easily, where my world gradually narrowed until all I could see was my computer screen. But then I stepped outside, embraced by the fresh air. I ate dinner with friends, shared with each other about our lives—somewhat overwhelmed but knowing we’ll get through. And then we sat together, eyes closed, and minds relaxing, imagining that simple, calm, hopeful flame. And all of those other things melted away.