Too often in our world, we buy into a lie that it is possible to live without suffering. Then, when pain finds us (in any form), we believe that something is terribly wrong. But if suffering and pain are eventual waves we all face, then learning how to suffer well, endure through, and grow from pain are part of the spiritual and physical journey of living.
I have been wrapped in grace and mercy by God and by other people in all my weakest moments. I count this as perhaps the greatest miracle of my life. These times have long seasons which include grieving and resting, surviving and accepting the fragments of the possible. And after the storm and the hunkering down to wait for it to pass comes the time for cleaning up the wreckage and stepping out into hope – as a verb.
The spiritual work of hope is believing that we are not defined by the worst things we do or that happen to us. It is hearing the call to the next right step and taking it. It is having the courage to try again, to trust that we can rise out of ashes. Augustine famously taught that grace builds upon nature. For me, this means that God chooses for us to be participants in divine work. God can – and does – pour abundant grace over us, and it is more effective when we work with it.
As a young parent of neurodiverse children, I found that my parenting skills were not meeting my kids’ needs. God gave me eyes to see the need for change. I recognized that I was too impatient, too angry, and needed more resources. I prayed, and the spiritual work was heavy. I had to face my own insecurities and bad habits, let God redefine my own and my kids’ worth, and then I had to practice breaking bad habits. I read books and used a journal. I apologized more often to my kids. I set better boundaries. I continue to show up and do the work to be the parent my unique kids need.
Similarly, resentment is a constant temptation for me. In the worst seasons of my life, I let it move into the largest chamber of my heart and take up full residence. It feeds my longing to be needed and chokes out my ability to receive love. The kind and gentle words of a therapist and a confessor respectively allowed me to see it for what it was: an imposter rather than a friend.
And so, it was time to do the spiritual work. I started seeing it first. I asked for grace to choose a different path. Then, I chose new habits, including sharing responsibilities and lowering expectations. I practiced saying yes and no with authenticity. Slowly, I started experiencing more peace. Doing the work changes me and my experience of the world.
One of my mentors is fond of saying that nothing changes if nothing changes. The space between now and what we long for is often a combination of grace and grit – showing up to do the work. Sometimes, our work will not be enough, but at least we have learned that much, taking us steps closer to where we want to go.
Our spiritual work takes us inward, calling us to become our most authentic selves; then, it drives us outward, to practice being and becoming ourselves – in relationships and communities and service. Faith is both the things we believe, and the way that we put our belief into action. Spiritual work is the moment by moment practice of love. May we roll up our sleeves to do it well.