The Companioning Center Blog
Lang shares about a trip with his partner where emotions run high, and history repeats itself. Follow along as he walks through his process of being free and invites others to learn how to let go.
In a culture that values bigger, faster, and stronger, my quiet life as a spiritual director sometimes seems a bit small. I start to worry: Shouldn’t I be doing more? Shouldn’t I be busier and more productive? Shouldn’t my ministry be bigger? Shouldn’t I do more to respond to the many problems of this world?
God is an Artist, to be sure. His ability to repair our deepest cracks and wounds is worthy of wonder. But as much as our mended lives testify to his skill, he has even more in mind for us than display. By repairing individual lives, God is weaving an even greater shalom. Turning to another art form, the film The Mission illustrates the chain reaction of grace.
My name is Ben Shoup, and as a spiritual director, I get to foster conversations with people seeking the Divine presence in their daily lives. These encounters often reveal a newfound depth of meaning, uncovering previously unnoticed insights.
The Children’s Jesus sparks the imagination. It invites us to the feet of Jesus through the eyes and experience of children who found themselves filled with great joy!
Take time to celebrate this vibrant energy by spending a few moments under the sun, closing your eyes, and simply breathing. Visualize warm light filling your body, energizing your every cell. Allow this moment to awaken your senses and connect you to the world around you—a reminder that you are alive, vibrant, and integral to this magnificent universe.
On any given morning, I can usually be found in the driver’s seat of my car. Most often, I’m transporting my teenage daughter to school. Our daily drive is filled with chatter that’s almost entirely practical. Typically, it begins with me asking about assignments and tests. Then the conversation moves on to whether my daughter remembered to pack her lunch. And whether that lunch contains anything nourishing whatsoever.
These emerging summer days draw my soul toward the wide, open expanses of the outdoors and awaken cherished memories of summers past. One particular memory lingers. In one of my seminary classes, our professor invited us to spend time in a place where we were invisible.
My husband was uncomfortably full, to put it mildly. Having traveled to Europe for work, he found himself in a large German church on his first Sunday morning. Following their service, he was invited to stay for a feast of a fellowship meal. Knowing he’d face a four-hour journey into France later that day, my husband ate his fill. What he didn’t know at that time was that his host family, awaiting his arrival in France, had spent that very same day in their kitchen, diligently preparing a traditional seven-course meal to welcome him.
In The Princess and the Goblin, George MacDonald weaves the tale of a sweet young princess named Irene who discovers her great-great-grandmother residing in a hidden room in the recesses of their castle. The tale is full of drama and dangers, but in every situation, Princess Irene’s grandmother is present to calm, comfort, and rescue.