Good morning Dear Readers! Welcome back to the Daily Devo, I hope that you missed having these magically appear in your inboxes, and social media every weekday!
It’s been a while, hasn’t it? As you know, I have been on sabbatical for the past several months, which meant that I ceased writing the Daily Devo during that time. It’s good to be back writing these again, I must say.
I’ve missed all of you. That might sound a bit odd to hear, considering that I don’t often know who is reading these, but I did miss you all. It’s an amazing feeling to know that you are out there, sharing these with me, and I keep you all in mind as I write them.
Over the past many weeks, I’ve traveled halfway around the world, put over 6,000 miles on my trusty Jeep Wrangler, and I’ve had some incredible experiences. You’ll hear about some of my adventures, I’m sure—they were bound to end up in a Devo, after all.
But for today, let me share this: This summer was probably one of the most momentous times of change and transformation that I’ve ever experienced in my life. Mind you, I have a long way to go toward the kind of wholeness and healing that I long for, but I’m closer to it than I’ve ever been.
As I write this, I am on a silent retreat at a Camaldolese Benedictine monastery high above the Pacific coast of California. I haven’t spoken to a soul in over 24 hours now—other than talking to myself out loud a few times just to hear my own voice.
The sun is rising beyond the mountains behind me, and I am looking out over a vast fog that obscures the ocean from my sight. I can’t see the waters beneath the clouds that are slowly moving over it, but if I am quiet and still, I can hear the waves crashing, so I know it’s there.
And I can imagine what it looks like beneath the clouds.
This is what faith is like, I’m beginning to understand. There is what you perceive, and what is underneath or beyond your perception. You might not be able to perceive the depth of what’s beneath the fog of your own sight, but it’s there.
Sometimes you just need to be still and you can hear it, imagine it, and even know it if you are patient and quiet.
I’m also confident that the clouds will scatter as the day prevails, and the waves below will be revealed in all of their sunlit glory—ever moving, constantly reaching the shore, and bringing with them the gifts of the deep from whence they came.
May you, in all of the busyness of your day find space for a moment of quiet, stillness and patience. May the clouds of worry, the fog of your own obscured vision of your life be pierced by the light of the Divine.
May you trust that there is more beneath what you can see. And may the grace and peace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you now and always. Amen.