A spiritual director is someone trained to come alongside you as a listening companion in your relationship with God. It is an old tradition, gaining wider traction in the last couple of decades. Nearly sixteen years ago, when I moved to California, I knew that I eventually wanted to find a spiritual director.

I had occasionally met with a spiritual director in Chicago. However, at the time, her schedule was becoming complicated with caring for an ill family member. I had limited time that overlapped with her in Evanston, where we would meet. When I arrived in California, I knew I probably needed a consistent person who was very accessible to me.

Finding a Spiritual Director

While several of my colleagues practice spiritual direction, I sought out someone from outside our work environment on Google. What emerged was an eclectic list of names, ranging from New Age to Christian. I started with the most practical option, contacting a church with a reputable name down the street. I was referred to two women, the first was Julie. Since our first meeting, Julie and have met every month for fourteen years, until this last week.

Julie knows that almost nothing in my journey to California and my life here has been natural or easy. It has been uncomfortable for us at every turn. Meeting her and fitting naturally with her was an exception. She was easy. She came into my life without any trouble or barrier. Living less than two miles away, she invited me to meet at the retreat center in the next town over. She was always there, waiting for me attentively. Whether we met in the pergola, the alcove, or inside the building, she was always seated, praying for me when I pulled up, then stood to greet and hug me.

A Sacred Relationship

My relationship with Julie made up almost 1/3 of my life and nearly the entirety of my sixteen years in California. Last month, Julie left us rather suddenly. I am grieving, and so are my friends who I shared her with along the way. While she did not say that she was terminally ill at our April appointment, I had begun to reflect for the first time on how one day Julie would die. I should start to prepare myself for that day, I thought. I did not know her death had already begun until a month later when she called me to her home for our final meeting.

Julie knew what it was to suffer–to navigate call amid broken systems, deal with people who break your heart, and all the absolute junk of life. She knew how to remain a faithful wife and mom to complicated humans, including after one son had gone to be with Jesus. She grandparented with dedication. Everything she did was purposeful and a bit stubborn.

I used to feel bad that my deeply discounted 60-minute sessions rarely finished within 90 minutes and sometimes went on to two hours. Now, I’m so grateful for Julie’s generosity of time. I understand that time was limited. Like the alabaster perfume, it was so precious it deserved to be spent rather than saved. Our rhythm continued like clockwork, but it would not continue forever.

A Sudden Goodbye

Just over a month ago, Julie texted me to see if I would take my last appointment at her house, indicating that it would likely be the last time we would meet. She offered to contact a mutual friend who had been meeting with Julie for almost as long. My friend made adjustments to come to town from the west side, and the two of us met with Julie before spending the day together. It was an emotional morning. We cried, we prayed, we laughed. We got to see the dynamics of Julie expanded beyond our one-on-ones by including one another and seeing her in her home.

When we began to pray, the thing that immediately touched me and stood out the most was the gift of rhythm. Julie is a gift, but it was also the context of our meetings, a beautiful place that perfectly represented the space of spiritual direction, pulling us away to be still with God. In that space, we always began with a spontaneous appreciation of the grounds and the day, taking in the natural beauty and its contrast from the pavements where we lived just below. The grass was always green. The sky was usually cobalt blue. The deer frolicked, and the mountain and its vegetation offered a seasonal variety of orange, yellow, and purple hues. We saw bunnies, lizards, and birds. We were even there the morning of the Eaton fire before the winds began. The fire encircled the property later that evening. I am thankful that it survived.

Learning Surrender

I learned so much from Julie. In many ways, All Gen Movement, the little non-profit I’ve been building in the air, is a reflection of her presence in my life. It is about approaching the needs of the church and the generations from a posture of surrender to Jesus rather than from a position of control. Surrender is the very essence of the contemplative life learned through spiritual direction. 

Julie saw me through five job changes, a three-year stint on a church search committee, and a painful rejection of my calling that led me into a season of stumbling through the darkness. She taught me so much. Her voice prepared me for my current path when she told me “you hear from God.” She knows that every day since I heard from God has been somewhat painful and confusing. Still, she has told me every session, “You are on the right track. Keep going.”

Following the Cross

Whenever I complained about pain, rejection, and the lack of alignment with the kingdom happening around me, she would confront me with a hint of sarcasm. “Ya think?” she would ask me when I told her about the parts of ministry that seemed downright idiotic, idolatrous, or disobedient at times. “How do you think Jesus felt?” she would add. 

She welcomed me to the way of the cross countless times. She might add, “I hate to tell you this, but it doesn’t get better…” or “Yay, you get to be in the club of following Jesus unto death.” Julie had a way of encouraging me to continue while holding the truth that it was hard and that few would follow.

I know she died in the fellowship of Jesus and the cross, which she had followed, often alone, with her internal clarity and Christ keeping her secure along the way. I bet it felt good to lay it down now and not have to bear it. She can experience the other side, the victorious resurrection of Christ.

She always told me to write everything down. I planned to, one day. For now, I am just surviving, but I should have listened to her. I wish I had written down every appointment I had with her. Instead, it has become integrated into my life. I’ll have to do some work to excavate it. 

A Pilgrimage

A couple days ago, I returned from a pilgrimage in Ireland. It was a spontaneous trip for me after receiving an invitation from a friend. I told Julie about it that last day at her house. She was so excited, offering me to look through her book collection on the topics of Celtic Christianity. I promised to send pictures, but she passed away 17 days before I got on the plane.

Dear Julie,

The pilgrimage was pretty similar to everything you’ve lived through. I visited thin spaces, walked ancient pathways, and climbed impossible mountains. Sometimes I heard the quiet voice of God. I thought of you.

Sláinte,

Lisa