A few months ago, I wrote four words on a little chalkboard by my morning quiet place. I begin most days in this spot — in a comfortable chair that looks onto our yard, cradling a mug of something warm, and joined by my dog, Henry.
Some seasons have found me practicing lectio divina here. Others have included journaling, Scripture meditation, or praying the Examen. Most recently, though, the time in my morning quiet place involves less "do-ing" and more "be-ing." A few words on my chalkboard reflect this inner shift:
Slow marks a departure from the fast pace I've long understood as the only way to wholeheartedly follow God.
Simple contrasts with the complicated, sophisticated, or even sometimes-tricky methods that, for so long, I believed God expected me to master.
Steady differs from the fits and starts that result from spiritual highs or intense emotion — experiences I thought were vital to keeping devotion alive.
Savor points toward a shift from believing the seemingly-small provisions in each day don't merit my attention.
These words name a new way of abiding in Christ, reminding me of how I'm being invited to follow him in every area of my life — including in my work.
Though it's hard to believe, this fall begins my fifteenth year teaching English full-time at a nearby community college. In addition to guiding my own students, I've also spent the last two years as a learner, studying Christian spiritual formation with a cohort of students from around the world. This experience has been transformative on many levels.
One area of change has involved identifying expectations that have long energized the way I've moved through life. Invisible to me, those expectations have been a perpetual undercurrent, telling me that following Christ requires employing complicated strategies, moving at high speeds, embracing each opportunity to push myself, and being satisfied only with the most remarkable outcomes.
This meant that engaging in Christian disciplines like prayer, Scripture-reading, and community required sophisticated, difficult-to-implement methods — methods that can't help but accelerate my growth and lead to extraordinary results.
My work life will follow suit: I should rely on only the most intellectually rigorous strategies that require arduous effort — for me and for my students. I'll know these strategies are effective when they have expedited my students' ability and willingness to do exceptional work.
Of course, such expectations — complex, instantaneous, pressurized, spectacular — are baked into our culture. The theme for my institution's annual in-service, for example, is "Acknowledge, Adapt, and Accelerate." Perhaps this is why I've been so unaware of how these expectations affected me, even oblivious to their very presence.
By contrast, our spiritual formation journeys flourish at a much different pace. Prayer, for example, may look like a simple conversation with God. Spiritual growth can be slow — not accelerated or swift progress, but the kind that won't be discerned with moment-by-moment measurement. And my steady engagement is all that's needed. Instead of mustering up heroic effort, I need only take one doable step at a time.
Anne's very own morning quiet place.
This slow, simple, steady way of abiding moves me towards savoring. Rather than pushing and striving for the extraordinary — and in the process becoming numb to my life — I can watch for each gift and provision as it comes, notice it, and celebrate it.
Opting out of summer teaching makes it easier to carry these intentions into the holiday months. Yet these words also inform the way I follow Christ into the work of the academic year.
But what does that look like during the day-to-day routines of teaching? Here are a few examples:
Slow.
Sometimes in the midst of planning a class session or presentation, I realize I'm clenching my jaw, or my breathing has become rapid or shallow (thank you, yoga, for helping me develop this awareness!). In those moments, I can take a few deep breaths, which not only decelerates my inhales and exhales but also helps my body and mind relax. This is what slow may look like.
Simple.
Taking this pause can help me recognize the thoughts which have led me to feel pressured or harried: "Your ideas here are not good enough, Anne. They need to be more sophisticated, more complicated, more exceptional." When I discern this kind of thinking – voiced by my particularly uninhibited inner critic – I can remind myself that no one is making such demands of me. I can get curious about my internal narrative: what story am I telling myself about productivity or "success"? This is what simple may look like.
Steady.
Occasionally, the pause leads me to realize my inner critic has been drumming her fingers as she mutters, "Hurry up already, Anne! You have so much to do today . . . surely you can accomplish more than just that! You'd better move faster!" When I recognize these impatient words racing through my mind, I can remember that consistent, incremental progress – doing the next thing – can also be good progress. I can consider the question: "What is mine to do today?" This is what steady may look like.
Savor.
Moving at this slower, simpler, steadier pace can open my eyes to whatever gifts may be part of the day. If I'm eating lunch while working at my computer, I can pause, notice the meal's appetizing smell and good flavor, and express gratitude. When I pass a student or colleague on campus, I can notice – and more genuinely return – a smile. While working with students during a class, I can pay closer attention to – and then celebrate – the ways they show enthusiasm about the subject, extend kindness to others, or demonstrate new understanding. In short, I can actually enjoy the day's experiences. This is what savor might look like.
I'm still practicing this new way of engaging with my work. And I certainly have lots of room for growth: After all, I've rehearsed the old expectations for quite some time — decades, really .
But in the moments when I recognize old expectations fueling anxious feelings, I can pause, remember, and practice these new ways of moving through life. When I do, I'm often moved to profound gratitude: This slower, simpler, steadier way allows me to savor each day's experiences. It is a way to stay with Christ through each day. More importantly, it awakens me to how Christ stays with me, too.
Top photo by Natalie Collins on StockSnap
Middle photo by Anne Pharr
