Allowing the Work to Be Done
These days, loving action looks like scribbling phrases and images on receipts and colored index cards. It looks like wearing pink earplugs while mining old journals, writing in multiple notebooks, and studying the flow chart on my bulletin board. It looks like dancing to upbeat songs to shift my energy to writing mode. When I’m desperate, it looks like packing a bag of soft clothes and a cooler of groceries, kissing my encouraging husband goodbye, driving an hour to a rented cabin in Estes Park, sitting in a chair at a table, picking up a pen, and writing.
I’m in the process of writing a book for my three teenage children. It began years ago as a tiny interior seed and transformed into something pulling me to action. I fought it in the past and made myself mentally and physically sick. I realized that loving my children includes cultivating their spiritual intelligence. The book is a way to nurture this part of them.
By writing family stories, I hope to empower them to make their own decisions about organized religion and spiritual practices. I hope to weave in teachings about the perennial tradition and the common vision of all the world’s religions. I wish to convey how we mature spiritually through inner experiences of love and suffering, as Fr. Richard says. I hope to show what healthy religion and spiritual practices look like and how to recognize if they are engendering Love. And, out of respect for their Generation Z sensitivities, I’m attempting to write this without using the word God.
I have difficulties writing, however. For the last twenty years, I’ve written only legal documents void of wonder and creativity. Plus, I often struggle with fears of being misunderstood, criticized, humiliated, and disconnected.
My writing mentor introduced me to the practice of writing Inner Wise Self love notes. Essentially, I—as my small/ego self—write a note to the Loving Mystery that dwells within me. I ask Her questions and share my anxieties, gratitude, and whatever else is bubbling. Then, in response, Loving Mystery writes a love note to me.
When I first began this practice, I felt like Mechthild of Magdeburg writing to Lady Love. What scandal! These days, the love notes I receive look something like this:
Precious One,
You do not need to have the courage. Trust in me, and I will make your heart strong. You do not need to have the energy. Rest in me, and I will give it to you. You do not need to have the words. Open yourself to me, and I will give them to you. Allow me to work through you.
In this writing process, I’m learning and relearning, daily, how to surrender to Love. It’s hard to tell if writing is a loving action for my children, for me, or for Love. Maybe, like the Trinity, it’s a dance between all three.
I’m not delusional. My children are loving and supportive, but they may never read the book. And if they do, they may misunderstand me and disconnect in some way. Yet, I hear Love when I write, and I trust it.
If you see me writing at a desk littered with sticky notes, a half-nibbled bar of 85% dark chocolate, and a “Proud Procrastinator” mug of cold tea, you may think nothing is amiss. But if you look closer, past the pile of dirty laundry, you’ll see I’m doing something loving, and Love is doing something to me.
Sara Kathryn Hill lives in teenager land with her husband and super-dog, Honey. In 2024, she participated in the Living School’s new Essentials of Engaged Contemplation course. She is an attorney who advocates for disabled veterans and their families.
The Center for Action and Contemplation’s mission is to introduce Christian contemplative wisdom and practices that support transformation and inspire loving action. In this issue of the Mendicant, we are honored to share with you articles from five members of CAC’s community about what loving action looks like in their lives. Download a PDF of this issue.