Encouraging a Stranger

Tonight, I’m at the park with my kids getting some fresh air before bedtime and enjoying the last light of the day.

My daughter is happily building a “nest” with her new friend of five minutes ago, and my son (a new walker) is proudly toddling around.  I’m following behind him, as parents do, when I notice a young guy sitting on the cinderblock half-wall surrounding the back side of the play area.

He looks incredibly sad. Literally like he is carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Immediately I feel Holy Spirit whisper, encourage him.

 I question, “with what?” and then listen.

These words drop into my heart: God always comes through.

Hmm, doesn’t seem that important. Maybe this is just me feeling bad for him.

But I can’t let it go. The nudging to go encourage him is growing stronger.

I hum and ho for a bit. I follow my son around the play equipment and talk to another dad.

I can’t let it go.

The words become clearer: God loves you. He is going to come through for you.

Okay. I’ve gotta go tell him.

Wait. He’s getting up. He’s going to push his daughter in the swing. He’s smiling now.

He’s fine.

But still, I can’t let it go.

In my gut the nudging becomes stronger. Encourage him.

My son gets the conversation going. He toddles up to the man’s daughter and they baby-talk to each other. I ask what her name is and how old she is. She’s a beautiful little girl.

Then, I do it.

“Hey, when I first saw you sitting over there I felt like God wanted me to tell you something. I felt like he wanted you to know that he loves you. And that he’s gonna come through for you.”

Phew. I did it.

I watch his response. His lower lip starts to quiver and then he starts to cry. He turns away, clearly moved by this small bit of encouragement.

He turns back after what seems like forever with tears streaming down his face and I offer to pray for him. He says yes and I pray for him right there by the swings as twilight settles in.

“Thank you,” he says to me.

And then, “Can I hug you?”

Of course we can. We hug. This stranger and me, who is now strangely a friend.

The kids play a little longer and then it’s time to head home. He’s sitting on the bench and smiles as we walk by. I say, “Good-bye” and whisper another prayer for him in my heart.

We walk home and I notice the lightness of my spirit. I hear God say, well done, and I think to myself, this is what following Jesus is all about. 

The Equality Narrative

Lately I’ve been reflecting on the idea of equality.  

Equality is getting a lot of attention in the media these days: Equal rights, equal pay, equal opportunity, equal share of housework, and so on.

I remember when I first started thinking about equality, specifically equality in marriage. It was a few years ago and I had just read Sheryl Sandberg’s book Lean In. She had a chapter titled “Make Your Partner a True Partner” where she talks about the unequal share of housework and childcare that is still the norm for most families despite the fact that both parents work full time. I remember resonating with the frustrations she expressed. It seems the conversation around equality in marriage has gained even more attention since she wrote her book.

The concept of equality sounds like a good one to me. I nod my head and say “amen” in agreement to those who tout its benefits.

But then I notice something. When I think about life through the lens of all things being equal, I get cranky and turn into a stingy, frugal accountant. I start tallying up things like how many nights Ben has been out, and how many nights I have been in and when I see my jar near empty and his half full, I get resentful.

My heart sours toward the man I love most and replaces love and self-sacrifice with a focus on my personal need fulfillment above all else. Instead of harmony between my husband and children, I have created division and strife. All because of my desire for equal.

Then, in the midst of my negative spiral, God speaks truth:

Lay down your life.

The words of Paul from Philippians 2 are brought front and center in my soul:

“Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, he humbled himself…”

I get on my knees and ask God for forgiveness. I ask him to make me like Christ. I ask him to chisel away at the rough edges of my soul that are so quick to incorporate another story, another set of values, into His story, and His values to which I have pledged my allegiance.

---

I have to come to the conclusion that the Equality Narrative the world preaches which sounds so good and right and enticing is simply not synonymous with the Gospel Narrative.

The Equality Narrative says, “We are equal and I’m going to get what I deserve.”

The Gospel Narrative is, “Yes, you’re equal.”

 “Now, lay down your life.”

On my knees my mind is renewed again, and I’m no longer concerned about tallying things up. Instead, I’m thinking about my little family as a partnership that is making life happen TOGETHER.

It’s not about Ben’s time and my time; Ben’s work and my work; his responsibilities and my responsibilities. No.

We’re in this together. His work is my work. My work is his work. Our home is our home and all the little necessities that make it run peacefully are shared, together. Not equally. But, together.

Write here...

Reflections on Restraint

Earlier this year I wrote about restraint and God has continued to unpack the fullness of its meaning for me. One of the lessons I am learning about my personal practice of restraint came by changing the way I eat.

At the start of 2016, I did something I have never done in my entire life: I went on a diet. Well, more like a “food challenge” called the Whole 30. For an entire month I did not eat grains, sugar, dairy, legumes, eggs (in my case), and certain additives and oils.

While I was on the Whole 30, God said to me:

“It is no mistake you are starting this year with this diet. You are learning restraint in the natural. I also want you to learn it in the spirit.”

Having never tackled a food challenge before, I had doubts whether I would make it through. Anyone who knows me know that toast is a staple of my breakfast ritual, so giving it up for an entire month was a big deal. But I did. (With much gratitude to a Facebook group that kept me accountable). And it felt great. And I felt great.

But then the Whole 30 was over and I could eat all the forbidden foods again. And that is when I really started learning about restraint.

The week after I reintroduced dairy, I went to a party where cheese was being served and could hardly keep myself from the table. I bought myself several lattes that same week, and I savored my Greek yogurt in the morning.

A few weeks later, I was at a dinner where bread was served. I went back for seconds, thirds, even fourths.

I’ve had more moments of snacking to oblivion on things like M&M’s and chocolate chips and other forms of cheap sugar than ever. I rarely bought candy before the Whole 30, let alone eat it all in one sitting.

I was experiencing a complete lack of restraint after getting off Whole 30 and assimilating forbidden foods back into my diet.

It was discouraging for several reasons but perhaps the moist poignant and meaningful to what God wanted to show me was the feeling that by doing the Whole 30 I had actually reversed course on all the progress I had made in changing my eating habits before I started.

You see, I hadn’t jumped into the Whole 30 cold turkey. I had spent 2015 experimenting with paleo recipes and reducing the amount of sugar and simple carbs that were part of my eating habits. I had already made a lot of progress.

My nightly dinners were almost always low carb, I was baking way less, and when I did I was using honey or maple syrup for sweeteners.

I asked God about this craziness:

“What’s the deal with me? What happened to all my progress?”

Here is what I heard him say:

“Your expectations were wrong. You wanted 30 days and then answers, but that is not how I am accomplishing my ways in you. I accomplish my ways in you through a gradual process of transformation.  

Remember that restraint is connected to tension. The artistic tension of a beautifully balanced composition, or a ballerina holding her graceful pose in a way that seems effortless.

Learning to maintain beautiful tension takes time. You long for the quick fix but I am working step-by-step, moment-by-moment. That is how I am changing you. That is what I want to teach you about restraint.”

What he said reminded me of a principle for change I read in a book a while ago called The Compound Effect, which can be summarized with this simple equation:

Small, Smart Choices + Consistency + Time = Radical Difference

I asked myself today:

Am I grateful I did the Whole 30? Yes.

Would I do it again? I’m not so sure.

I think the more appropriate rule for my eating habits is: Everything, in moderation.  

And the same holds true for my personal transformation: Changing, in moderation.

Final thoughts from the Word (emphasis mine):

“But we all, with unveiled face, beholding as in a mirror the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from glory to glory…” – 2 Corinthians 3:18

“So then, my beloved, just as you have always obeyed, not as in my presence only, but now much more in my absence, work out your salvation with fear and trembling; for it is God who is at work in you, both to will and to work for His good pleasure.” – Philippians 2:1

*Disclaimer: this is not meant to be a dig on the Whole 30 program, but rather a personal reflection on one thing God taught me through it. I generally agree with several of the principles of Whole 30 and know it has been a transformational experience for many.

Passion Week

Today marks the beginning of Passion Week: the seven days from Jesus’ entry to Jerusalem to his death and resurrection.

These are arguably the highest and holiest days for the Christian faith and yet for many years I didn’t do anything drastically different to reflect on the utter glory of all that went down during those 7 days in Jerusalem. I wasn’t raised with the tradition of observing Lent – that’s a Catholic thing. And other than singing “Hosanna in the highest” and waving a palm frond as a kid, I never really did much for Passion Week. Sometimes, in an attempt to throw off the formalities of old religion, I think we end up losing the meaningful rituals that remind us of who we really are.

Recently, I have had a growing desire to revive liturgical practices of my Christian faith in a way that honors God and brings me into a meaningful encounter with him.

Ann Voskamp has been a valuable resource for me in this quest. A few years ago, I picked up her Advent devotional The Greatest Gift. I read it now every year and plan to start the tradition of a Jesse Tree for my family as a way of observing Advent together.

For Lent, I am working through her Lent to Repent 40-day plan, which has facilitated a meaningful daily encounter with the Bible and prayer leading up to Easter.

On Friday I'm hosting a Good Friday Shabbat dinner at my home. I will serve lamb with bread and wine and remember Jesus' body broken and blood shed.

And this week, I’m planning to spend time reading the accounts in all the Gospels of the events of Passion Week. I want to spend time understanding what Jesus did and said the week prior to his crucifixion. I imagine for someone who knows he is going to die there is significant meaning and intensity to his words and his actions.

Here’s a thought I’ve been pondering already thanks to what was shared at church today. The term “Triumphal Entry” is a little misleading. It conjures up images of a victorious, kingly looking Jesus making his was into the city, perhaps a bit like the parade scene in the movie Aladdin.

But Jesus rode into Jerusalem on a donkey. And not even a full-grown donkey. He rode in on a colt that had never been ridden before, according to Luke 19:30. I was at the zoo with my kids this past Thursday and there was a little donkey in the petting zoo. Imagining a full-grown man riding on one of those things is quite hilarious and that’s probably how Jesus looked.

As I reflect on this image of my servant King riding a baby Donkey into Jerusalem, I am overcome with his humility. What a humble king I serve! And yet in many ways it is his humility that makes his power and authority so utterly Divine, so pure, so set apart from any other prophet that had come before him.

Out of my heart bursts this prayer:

Jesus.

Selah.

What a man you are. How much I still have to learn from you.

Let me read the accounts of your Passion Week with new eyes to see what you were really up to.

Let me leave behind my traditional interpretations of the accounts of your death and resurrection so you can speak to me new and fresh from your gospels.

Jesus.

Humble King.

Thank you for picking up your Passion for me. 

Nighttime Prayers and Repetition

I pray for my kids. 

Some of my sweetest times with Maddie are praying for her at bedtime. 

They go something like this: "Loving Heavenly Father, bless my sweet Madeleine. May she sense the comforting presence of Holy Spirit in her room. May her guardian angels watch over her as she rests, protecting her from harm. And may your loving eyes look down on her from above. Give her peaceful sleep and sweet dreams. In Jesus name, amen." 

The last line in that prayer is something that was prayed over me by my parents when I was young.

One night, I heard Ben pray for her. A phrase stood out to me, "help her make good choices," and I hear it every time he prays for her. 

Jesus talked about prayer, and on one occasion he referenced the meaningless repetition of the gentiles, supposing they would be heard for their many words (Matthew 6:7). 

I imagine this meaningless repetition to look something like a rain dance, or what the prophets of Baal sounded like when they tried to call down fire from heaven. The account in 1 Kings 18 says, "they prayed to Baal from morning until noon, shouting "Baal, answer us!"" 

That is one kind of repetition. And with that kind of repetition, clearly, the Father is not pleased. 

But there is another kind of repetition. A soothing repetition. A holy repetition. A repetition that is rich with meaning and intention and compassion. I love that I can remember the exact words my parents prayed over me. There is a richness to liturgy that I think many modern Christ-followers miss out on (myself included). 

As Maddie grows, she is changing and I realized my prayers over her needed to change too.

I asked God to show me specific passages of scripture to pray over her. Here's where He took me:

Philippians 4:4-8

Psalm 18:35

Psalm 119:32

Galatians 5:13

I was especially captivated by Psalm 18:35 which says, "Your gentleness makes me great." Wow. What a beautiful concept. I've started praying that one over myself, too. 

Out of those passages, I wrote some new prayers that I have been rotating into our nightly routine. Here is how they sound:

"May her heart grow in love for those things that are true, honorable, right, pure, lovely, excellent and worthy of praise. May her love for these things bring her great joy, and cause her to have a reputation of kindness." 

"May her gentle spirit be what makes her great."

"May you enlarge her heart so that she would embrace and run in the way of your life-giving words."

"May she choose a position of yieldedness to you and to us, rather than being boastful or challenging."

My hope is that as these prayers are repeated over her at night, they become seed in her soul, sprouting to bring forth the richness of which they speak. 

And may it be the same of all my holy repetitions.

Experiencing Goodness

Every year, I feel like God gives me single-word themes for what is to come. For 2016, I received two words. The first was restraint. The second word was goodness.

Goodness.

It’s a word I don’t use much in my everyday language, but it is everywhere in scripture.

I especially like this passage:

“I will fill the soul of the priests with abundance, and my people will be satisfied with my goodness,” declares the Lord. – Jeremiah 31:14

Jeremiah must have been especially relieved to talk about God’s goodness after so much doom and gloom. The Bible records that he was nearly killed by the people (in chapter 26) for all the judgment words he delivered. There is a reason he is called the weeping prophet.

Here is what I heard God say to me about goodness:

 I want to teach your heart a way of living that absolutely expects the best.

 The negative, foreboding thoughts will be conquered [this year] by first-hand experiences with my goodness.

 The taste of all the good I have done and will be constant – like granules of sugar on your lips. And as you experience this, your mind will be renewed.

 You will expect the best.

 You will have peace about your health and the health of your family.

 And you will be able to encourage others from a genuine place of first-hand experience.

Almost immediately after hearing these things, I started experiencing goodness in many ways.

We found a dresser for our office on Craigslist and negotiated a price of $200. When we picked it up, the people gave it to us for free. Perfect strangers. They said they googled us, and discovered that we were believers and wanted to bless us.

Goodness.

I have been going to physical therapy for about 6 months and have spent a significant amount of money to do so. We don’t have insurance (we use medical bill sharing) so I assumed the costs weren’t covered. To my surprise and delight, I received $1,470 in reimbursements for every penny I had paid out of pocket. This was an especially significant “goodness moment,” because I have a really hard time spending money on myself  - even for legitimate needs like PT. It was almost like God was saying: “you take care of you, and I’ll take care of you.”

Goodness.

I left the house at 6:50 am a few weeks ago and experienced the most stunning sunrise on my drive to San Francisco.

Goodness.

I had an 8:30 am meeting in the East Bay and was really dreading the commute. I expected stop and go traffic the entire drive. Google Maps routed me to Crow Canyon Road, and instead of bumper cars I got 13 + miles of rolling green hills and flocks of sheep. Sheep!

Bonus: I was 10 minutes early for my meeting.

Goodness.

There have been many other moments, and I have recorded most of them in my gratitude journal. It’s a notebook where I have a running list of things, people, experiences, and moments I am thankful for. I was inspired to start one after reading 1000 Gifts by Ann Voskamp.

Recording God’s goodness has made me wonder if, perhaps, part of what he wants me to learn is how to look for His goodness and acknowledge it when I see it.

Perhaps what will conquer my negative, foreboding thoughts is simply taking a moment to recognize goodness when I experience it.

Perhaps the act alone of being grateful – of giving thanks – is what His goodness is all about.

Romans 1 has this to say about thankfulness:

For even though they knew God, they did not honor Him as God or give thanks, but they became futile in their speculations, and their foolish heart was darkened. Professing to be wise, they became fools, and exchanged the glory of the incorruptible God for an image in the form of corruptible man…

If not giving thanks is the beginning of the downward spiral, then perhaps giving thanks is the first step on the ladder out of darkness and into light, life, and goodness. 

Empathy without Ownership

I had an experience this past week of feeling overwhelmed with the wrongness of the world while scrolling through my newsfeed on social media.

This happens to me more often that I’d like to admit.

I love the way social media creates a stronger sense of connectedness to friends, family, and acquaintances near and far. But I don’t love the bombardment of information overload that social media encourages.

Anne Morrow Lindbergh wrote about this feeling way back in 1955 in her book Gift From the Sea:

"Modern communication loads us with more problems than the human frame can carry. It is good, I think, for our hearts, our minds, our imaginations to be stretched; but body, nerve, endurance and life-span are not as elastic. My life cannot implement in action the demands of all the people to whom my heart responds."

 A typical scroll through my Facebook feed on any given day will surface news stories about injustices overseas (and in my own neighborhood), friends of friends who are battling terminal illness, and tragic stories of loss and harm.

And, as Lindbergh so eloquently puts it, my heart responds. I feel deeply.

In some cases, my response produces good results. I have contributed to campaigns for causes I care about, I have said prayers for acquaintances battling sickness, and I have sent notes of encouragement to friends facing hard times.

But other times, I’m overwhelmed so much with what I feel that one would think the problem is my own.

“When empathy moves me to a place of personal ownership, it is generally unhealthy and counter-productive.”

What I have noticed about myself in these situations is that when empathy moves me to a place of personal ownership, it is generally unhealthy and counter-productive.

Here’s an example: Several months ago, I read on social media of a tragic car crash that killed a former classmate. Since that time, I have had occasional flashes of getting into car accidents with my children. I can’t seem to get it out of my head.

Another example: Last week, my husband was super-stressed. His stress made me stressed, and then we both were crabby with each other and our kids.

I have found myself asking God: “How do I express empathy without owning someone else’s problem?”

My first thought is perhaps it’s not possible. The definition of empathy is “the ability to understand and share the feelings of another.” 

But then I read, “my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

And then, I had a lightbulb moment about empathy while reading the book “How to Talk so Kids Will Listen and Listen So Kids Will Talk” by Adele Faber and Elaine Mazlish.

The first principle they present is the importance of acknowledging your child’s feelings.

It sounds simple enough, but how often do I tell my daughter:

“You’re not hot. It’s cold outside. Keep your coat on.” 

“Of course you like broccoli; you ate it yesterday.”

“You’re just tired. You need a nap.”

Woah. I’m not empathizing with my kid. I’m just jumping straight to trying to solve her problem.

For me, this insight translated directly back to how I relate to difficulties I am confronted with in the lives of those I love and even in my newsfeed.

Take a moment. Feel it. Acknowledge the stress my husband is feeling, but don’t take it on as my own. Acknowledge the tragedy of the loss of life, but don’t carry the unnecessary burden of fearing it will happen to me.

I don’t have this down to a science. I’m still learning. But I do feel like I’m on my way to learning how to express empathy in a healthy way. 

Moving with the Lamb

Sometimes prayer happens without saying a word.

I had one of those moments last Sunday. The week had been stressful, and the weekend was even more stressful.

I got the kids down for bed, but I wasn’t ready. I needed a reset before starting another week.

My most common prayer discipline is journaling. Writing comes easy for me so picking up my pen and taking time to write down what I hear God saying, or what I want to say to Him is my go-to communication channel.

But on Sunday night, I had no words. No words came to mind for what I could say to God, or even hear Him say to me to allay my state.

So instead, I danced. Yep. I turned on Rita Springer’s album Created to Worship and I danced my prayers. (Side note: I’ve been a sucker for Rita Springer since I first heard her on the Winds of Worship albums. That was back in Vineyard’s glory days. Anybody else grow up listening to Vineyard worship? Man, I sure did. )

Now, I know some people who worship-dance all the time. For me, it’s not a regular thing and I’m certainly not the most graceful dancer.

But something happened as I danced my prayers: God met me.

His presence was sweet. It was soothing. And the stress of the week melted away.

I danced to Rita’s song Moving with the Lamb. I made my requests known to God in hands raised and spins and sways and kneels on the floor of my living room.

And I went to bed ready to start another week.

Reflecting on dancing my prayers, I am struck by a couple things:

First: The power of movement to release emotion.

When I was preparing to have my second child, I read the book Birth Skills. In the book, the author describes that with each contraction, adrenaline is released into your body, and if you don’t do anything to turn that adrenaline into action, it just builds up inside you and becomes stress or fear or other negative emotions that won’t help you have your baby.

You have to move.

I took this advice to heart. During even the latest stages of my labor with Declan, I had a stress ball in one hand that I would rub up and down my leg with each contraction. I channeled all my adrenaline into that small movement and it got me through.

I had a similar experience while dancing my prayers. Moving my body released the stress from the week and completely changed my emotional state.

“Divine communion is sharing my innermost thoughts and feelings with a holy God in exchange for His most intimate thoughts and feelings. ”

Second: The importance of learning new ways to pray.

I have my standby way of communing with God, but that doesn’t mean it’s the only way. And there will likely be more times where my standby just doesn’t cut it. I want to know when those moments come that I have other ways to connect with Him and experience His presence.

Divine communion is sharing my innermost thoughts and feelings with a holy God in exchange for His most intimate thoughts and feelings.

I’m grateful to be learning new ways to commune with the Divine.  

*Header photo taken at a Muse concert during confetti craziness. Concerts are another place where you'll find me dancing. 

Restraint. Selah.

Every year, I take time to listen to what Heavenly Father has to say about the year to come. I typically hear single words that become themes for the year.

These words become a beacon in my Spirit – a reminder of what He is working out in me as I encounter challenges, and an area in which I focus my attention.

In past years, I have heard words like “courage” and “generosity” and “balance” and “abundance.”

This year, I heard the word “restraint.” Hmm, not very motivating.

Here’s a little excerpt from my prayer journal as God unpacked what He meant:

“There is a restraint – a godly restraint – that I want you to understand this year at a deeper level. All things are lawful but not all things are profitable. Mature sons and daughters understand this principle and can self-regulate their life for greater profitability.”

“Restraint is having the means to do something, but choosing not to. It is taking a moment to pause and consider before you speak, or respond, or make a commitment. Godly restraint honors me because the pause gives you an opportunity to hear what I am saying.”

I am still meditating on this word and letting Holy Spirit unpack the full breadth of its meaning for 2016, but here are a few initial insights that struck me.

Restraint is a form of self-control, which is a fruit of the Spirit. When we practice restraint, it is evidence of a fruitful and abundant life.

I like how He used the phrase: “pause and consider” which is the definition commonly used for the word Selah.

According to Strong’s, Selah (or celah) has two meanings:

1.)  to lift up, exalt

2.)  a technical musical term probably showing accentuation, pause, interruption

Selah appears in two books of the Bible. The Psalms, and Habakkuk.

Psalms is a collection of songs; it is essentially the Hymnbook of the Bible.

In the Psalms, scholars believe Selah is used to indicate to the musicians that they should pause to take a breath, or let the musicians play without words.

In Habakkuk, Selah is used in chapter 3, which is recording a prayer of Habakkuk that quite possibly was also a song. The final sentence of the chapter reads: “To the choirmaster: with stringed instruments.”

The visual picture that comes to mind is a violinist playing a masterful piece of classical music. The pauses and interruptions in the score emphasize the next note. They accentuate the entire piece. They add depth and complexity and variety. They feature a masterful solo piece.

So perhaps what God is inferring with the word restraint is that He wants me to learn to let Him        

slow            me           down.

Pause.

Add emphasis.

Accentuate.

And redirect ////////////.

Interrupt.   

Hmmm. I think I’m okay with that. Selah. 

Thin Places

Listening prayer is best accomplished in thin places. 

What is a thin place? In her book “The Happy Intercessor” Beni Johnson describes it as a place where "Heaven and earth are close.” She goes on to name a few geographical locations that she considers thin places including Sedona, AZ and Ashland, OR. 

I know of a few thin places, too. My living room, early in the morning. When I’m showering. When I’m doing the dishes. When I’m putting on my makeup in the morning. 

Thin places are moments where
my soul is still enough to hear from God.

These thin places are not as fancy or fantastical as Sedona or Ashland, but they are places and moments where my soul is still enough to hear from God.

When I was single, I would get up early every morning to read my Bible and journal. It was a wonderful way to start the day. 

Now I have a husband and two children, one of whom is not yet sleeping through the night. It’s harder to get up in the morning. It’s harder to find my thin place. 

But I have noticed a pattern. I seem to have two kinds of consistent thin places. One is a time of day: Morning. The other is an activity: Menial tasks. 

These are the moments where my mind quiets and I can hear the still, small voice of the Spirit. 

The problem is, these moments can literally be 30-seconds. I’ll be doing the dishes and my daughter interrupts me for some help. I’ll be sitting at our quiet dining table and hear my son’s morning cries on the baby monitor. 

If I don’t capture what I am hearing right away, I lose it.  So I have devised a way to capture what I hear in my thin places. I keep small booklets scattered around my house, in my purse, and in my car. When I enter a thin place - even for a moment - these little booklets ensure I can write down what God is saying and return to it later. 

One of my goals for this experiment is to get better at the listening part of prayer. And listening to God is best accomplished in thin places. 

Have you noticed locations, times, or moments where you best hear from God? How do you take advantage of your thin places?