Fractured Presence as an Invitation
Richard Klavins, Unsplash
I started writing this blog post several months ago, when the leaves were just starting to change over here in Colorado. Fall is a notoriously quick season in this state. Blink, and you'll miss the vibrant yellows, oranges, and reds of the trees, especially the aspens. It’s one of my favorite times of the year. I realized how easy it was to miss the fleeting beauty of the world around me, and I sensed an invitation to be more present. To look up. To look out.
A couple of years ago, when Bryan and I were doing the Ignatian Exercises, the idea of “fractured presence” came up for us, and it's something I've been reflecting on again recently. It’s a phrase we came across in Justin Earley’s The Common Rule, and it became a way to describe what Bryan was experiencing as his diminishing ability to be fully present in the moment.
I am rarely, if ever, totally, intentionally present right where I am. I've become accustomed to a fractured presence, with my attention split between my kids, my phone, my husband, the task at hand, the tasks swirling around in my mind, current events (my goodness, the amount of air space the recent news has taken up in my thoughts!), you name it. I will open my phone to check the weather or respond to a text message when suddenly fifteen minutes of mindless scrolling have gone by, and I didn’t even intend to open Instagram. The algorithms are fracturing me, friends. And I’m growing weary of it.
Remaining present, even for a few moments, has become a discipline I crave.
It would be easy to shame myself because of my fractured presence. But instead, I’m seeing this as an invitation. What is taking up the air time in my thoughts, and how are those thoughts even being formed? How are those thoughts, in turn, forming me?
A couple of weeks ago, our family was hit with a virus that landed our 18-month-old daughter in the PICU for a couple of nights. My own body was a wreck from the virus, as was Bryan’s, and we found ourselves taking turns spending a sleepless night in her hospital room, comforting her the best way we could in our own states of exhaustion.
It was the same week of the presidential inauguration, which was, to put it mildly, a crazy week of current events, particularly here in the U.S. (This past week and a half has been no different!) I’d spent far too much time reading the news and scrolling while in the hospital, which, I know, was not the wisest choice. When we got home that Saturday, I realized my nervous system was shot. Not only was I physically worn out, but I was mentally and spiritually worn out. It was a warning to me that my inability to be present in a time of mini-crisis was taking a very real toll on my entire being.
This morning, I read Psalm 9 and John 15, and the Lord graciously reminded me of two things: 1. Nations rise and fall, but his Kingdom is forever; and 2. My task is to make my home in Jesus.
There are innumerable things I cannot control; control, I think, is the great illusion we live under. What I can do is choose to abide in Christ as he abides in me, and trust that he will, by his grace, put my fragments back together and form me into someone who loves and lives like him.
And so, here are three things I’m doing right now to cultivate the practice of being present:
Keeping my phone away from me as much as possible. While I’m working, it’s put away somewhere I can’t see it. While I’m with my kids, it’s tucked away on a shelf or in a drawer or on my nightstand. While I’m enjoying the quiet of the evening with Bryan after the kids are down for the night, it’s nowhere near me. At night, it’s charging in my basement office so that it’s not the last thing I look at nor the first thing. This is truly making a huge difference, friends.
Beginning my day in prayer, scripture, and resting in God’s loving gaze. One of the parts of the Ignatian Exercises that has stuck with me is beginning my time of prayer by imagining myself catching God’s gaze upon me and just sitting there for a few moments. Sometimes it’s unnerving to imagine God’s eyes on me, but most of the time, it’s grounding. It’s a moment of pause when I can breathe in and be grateful for God’s presence with me. It’s a way to start my day present to him and to myself, allowing me to then be present to Bryan, our kids, and those to whom I minister throughout the day.
Finding something each day that reminds me of God’s care and presence. Sometimes it’s a simple breath prayer (my favorite the last few years has been: INHALE, “Oh loving God…” EXHALE, “...hold me as you hold the world.”). Sometimes it’s getting outside for a short walk or to get some sunshine on my face. Many days it’s a moment of snuggling one of my girls.This morning it was checking in on Jackie and Shadow, the bald eagle pair in Big Bear Lake, CA, who are currently tending to three eggs. They were a sweet reminder of God’s promise to be faithful to his creation. (Thanks to Sharon McMahon for reminding me of them!)
Perhaps, like me, you can relate to this feeling of fractured presence, and perhaps this is a simple invitation to find ways to remain in Christ and allow him to bring you back to a sense of wholeness. Peace to you today.