keeping ritual

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I start my day with a cup of coffee. The smell gently wakes me up before I take a sip. Whether I am headed to work or making the most of a slow Saturday morning, it’s a part of my daily ritual.

There’s predictable aspects of life (like a morning cup of coffee) that I find endearing. Our rituals, as simple as they may be, hold a richness that we see in the wear and tear of our favorite mug or the plethora of decorations we store all year long to deck the halls.

We rely on the faithfulness of Christmas each year, the fragrance of a fresh brew, or the dependability of daily Mass, to maintain equilibrium in our life.

Lately, I’ve been wrestling with the unsettling feeling of losing such consistency. My Grandma and Grandpa passed away within nine months of each other. I never thought that I would be without my grandparents at the age of 27. This past year has involved grieving the loss of my fondest rituals which revolved around their presence.

This sense of loss is coupled with a deep longing for newness. The Holy Spirit continues to stir up my desire for a fresh perspective. He keeps prompting me to sustain faith in times of waiting, to take risks without letting fear hold me back, and to believe in the promises that he has written on my heart.

What does that look like? A holy discontent.

Wrestling with God in the daily feat to be faithful to my prayer time, strive to grow in virtue, and listen to the voice of the Holy Spirit. Every day is a challenge, because the world is against the covenant that the Lord has proclaimed over each of us. We heard it in yesterday’s first reading:

“You will be my people, and I will be your God.” Ezekiel 36:28

He’s committed to loving you forever. What a ritual. To be covered in his faithfulness day in and day out. He’s in it for the long haul, aching and groaning as you long for more, grieving with you as you grapple with loss, and speaking to you as you seek truth and discernment in various circumstances of your life.

In fact, Jesus wants to be the rhythm of your life. The pep in your step, if you will. The fragrance that draws you out of bed in the morning, and a restorative refuge for your soul as your head hits your pillow.

In my admitted restlessness to feel satisfied by life’s rhythm sometimes, I pray the simple prayer, “Speak to me.”

It’s a call of the heart to the one whose voice soothes my trepidation.

Sometimes his voice shakes and quakes to wake me from my spiritual slumber, while other times, it’s a soft whisper or a gentle peace that flows over me. Every time, I am utterly speechless that God would speak to me. He does, every time. Not always in the ways that I want or how I expect it, but he responds to the call of his beloved.

This more than anything, is what we long for – to hear from the greatest lover of our soul. Oh the incomparable joy of hearing his voice! The awe and wonder of feeling seen and known by the Creator of heaven and earth. There’s nothing like it.

Go ahead, take the risk and try it. Make it a ritual even. And just listen.

One comment

  1. Janean · August 25

    Love this!!!

    Sent from my iPhone

    >

    Like

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