When we feel separate or alone, a smell or a picture can bring forth the memory of what “home” might be to us. In this sense, we can always feel connected to “home” if we choose. If we have a relationship or affinity to the transcendent, to the infinite, we can move about the world seeing all things to be “home.”

We sometimes arrive at a dead end. We try to fight through it, but it often takes too much energy to remain at this dead end, this stuck place. This is a call for us to make a decision—do we keep fighting, or do we turn towards something different? Whatever our decision, we should always be moving towards things that make us larger than where we are now.

This parable from the Gospel of Luke is well known. Let’s walk into this parable using our imagination. We picture ourselves as the prodigal son, the father, and the elder son. See which resonates with you. Sorry my girl dog decided to rattle her food toy while I was recording this!

In a world of chaos, we look for certainty. We like order. But things are always changing. Because we are always evolving, we mustn’t be so fixed in our ideas that we can’t be open to the possibility that what we believe is no longer true. We might have ideas and beliefs about things based on our observations or experiences, but that’s not the entirety of the issue. Instead, we accept that many things are more nuanced, and we might never have all the answers. We can accept the uncertainty.

During a long winter of our lives, we might feel that nothing is happening. Although we feel stuck, we’re told to endure the ennui. At times, yes, as long as we’re shedding the patterns that led to craving or aversion. But sometimes our current path might be leading nowhere, too. In fixing our eyes down a straight path, we’ve become too rigid, and we might have missed a turn. This is a call for us to shake things up a little bit—try something new or learn something new. That little catalyst might awaken our spiritual senses to discern whether we’re on the right path.

This poem by Rainer Maria Rilke (translated by Joanna Macy and Anita Barrows) really spoke to me. Let’s use them as part of a meditation practice called Lectio Divina. Let the words bring peace to your day—and peace to the world.

Our emotions can easily take over in times of stress. They build and build to the point that they trump our ability to reason. Our emotions can fuel us into positive action when we learn to regulate them. Otherwise, we walk around in a continual state of fight or flight.

Ignatian Contemplation is an imaginative prayer where we engage our mind into a story in scripture. This episode guides us through the practice using visualization with the help of the Holy Spirit. We experience the Transfiguration on the mountain and let the experience speak to us in a unique way.

The practice of Lectio Divina, or “divine reading,” has been handed down through centuries in the Catholic Church. Although prayerful reading of scriptures date as early as Origen and St. Benedict, the four stages in Lectio Divina were described by Guigo II. However, he was describing the four stages of a monk’s life, NOT a specific prayer practice. It’s rare to achieve a contemplative state the first time we practice Lectio Divina. However, if the desire to get closer to God gets us to practice, perhaps God might choose us.

Streaks can be good because they keep a discipline at the top of our minds. We make the practice more important so its fruit can benefit our life. But we must be careful not to let the streak become the goal. Although the streak might keep us coming back and help us discipline ourselves, sometimes the streak takes on a life in itself. The streak becomes a means of competition rather than helping us achieve the fruit of our practice.