A Failure of Formulas

I’ve been trying to learn lately to let rhythms come like breathing and to be ok with small changes and unexpected moments. Like sitting on the beach and letting the tide roll in a little at a time, Letting the water wash over your feet and allowing the chill of the ocean to shake you back to life.

I may not like rigid schedules and stiff structures, but I do like formulas. I like to know that if I put 350 grams of water over 22 grams of grounds, I’ll get exactly enough to fill my favorite hand thrown mug without it spilling over.  What took time and practice was appreciating the fact that I could do that two days in a row and produce two completely different flavors. But I learned. I learned to appreciate the fact that the barometric pressure in the air or the heat of the burrs in my grinder affected the taste and feel of my morning cup. I learned to appreciate it as a gift that I could experience all the nuances within that one coffee just by nature of the earth turning about the sun and us walking around on it.

Maybe that seems silly to some of you, and I’ll admit, it’s a little simplistic, but coming out of this season devoid of routines and habits has me repeating the same lesson, praying this time it takes hold somewhere deeper.

I’ve been reaching for formulas to keep my spirit alive and to keep the Spirit alive within me. I get up an hour early every day, my dog and I stretching the sleep away in unison. She eats her breakfast while I brush my teeth and then we drag our tired bodies to the couch and she goes back to sleep while I read scripture, journal, and pray.

It should be basic math, but the algebra falls apart as I stare at the same line of scripture I’ve already read three times, begging my brain to untangle it’s secrets and hoping for an experience of the Presence. Still I keep at it, hoping discipline begets connection, knowing full well that God is near even if I can’t feel him.

The thing is, I’ve felt him frequently these last few weeks, but He has never been subject to my formulas. Last week I took a day off and went to the lake. I repeated my same formula, but I did it on a rocky shore under a tree and I took my copy of Valley of Vision. I read my designated passage, then realizing I’d forgotten to bring a pen to write down my reflections, closed my bible while frustration tugged at the edges of my mood. I stared at the blank page in my journal, unable to write anything down and too stubborn to type any of it out. But as I cracked open my neglected copy of pilgrim’s prayers, there was a moment of change. I read the written prayers of someone else and that deep connection I’d been longing for breathed over me, settling like soft mist and reaching across my limbs, enveloping me in the presence of the Spirit. There was nothing for me to do, no response required, just an invitation to sit and rest.

Another time I felt Him again as I drifted off to sleep. It was a day darkened with worry about future decisions, finances, relationships, life. All day I was caught in a maelstrom of thought forgetting entirely to turn to Him. I was on the edge of dreaming when I felt him whisper comforting truth to my distracted soul, despite my failure to seek Him.

Sometimes he comes during deeply spiritual moments when all our thoughts are bent on Him, and other times he comes in the midst of the mundane, like today when I met him across our small kitchen table as I sat down to eat an apple with the wind and the rain pounding outside. The one constant in experiencing Him is that there isn’t one, save His own will for us to do so and the staggering mercy of that thought itself.

As the world begins moving back towards routines and busyness, I find myself digging in to this lesson of watching for Him in whatever form he decides to come. Formulas are helpful for dragging our eyes away from ourselves and training them upward, but I’ve learned to look for him even more closely when they falter, knowing how he delights to show up in the midst of our failures