Sweet solitude

My pastor has been preaching a series on knowing God. Last Sunday he made reference to a book called Sacred Pathways by Gary Thomas. I haven’t read it, but I’m going to for sure. It’s a book about how we’re all wired differently, and God seeks to know us — and be known by us — according to the way he’s made us.

The book sketches out nine potential “sacred pathways” to knowing God: the naturalist, sensate, traditionalist, ascetic, activist, caregiver, enthusiast, contemplative and intellectual. We’re all drawn to these in different combinations.

Last night in a small group setting, we took a survey designed to help us make a hypothesis as to where we fall among these different “pathways.” I scored highest in the intellectual category, second highest in the contemplative. Of the two, it’s that second tier that I’ve always struggled with, that enjoyment of solitude and quietness. When I was in college and received treatment for bulimia, it became clear that part of my misuse of food was in substituting it for relationship, so for years I’ve worked to be more intentional than is natural for me about seeking relationship. But I’ve always felt guilty, or like there’s something wrong with me, for liking quiet, alone time so much.

For that matter, I remember it causing some tension even as a young child. The house I grew up in had a creek running through the back yard, and it was bordered by woods. My earliest vivid memories take place in different special spots in that setting. My most memorable moments of having a strong sense of myself, and contentment in myself, were alone. It apparently caused my parents a good deal of stress, because I had a habit of wandering off. I’d go for walks, then return home to anxious parents, and it always puzzled me. After all, I always knew where I was. (Now that I’m a parent I can’t even imagine the worry they must have felt! Eventually they bought a child harness, and I remember being tied to the house a few times. They were trying to paint it and kept having to stop and go looking for Janet. I remember running against the harness like a dog trying to get loose. It may sound primitive, but really I drove them to it!)

I remember one time sitting beside the creek for a long time, cradled among a few saplings that seemed to make a special little house just for me. When I returned to the house, my brother greeted me at the door by telling me I was in for it. I got spanked. It turned out that my parents had been calling and calling, worried sick, wondering where I was. I couldn’t hear them over the sound of the water.

I’m still a bit that way. I can devote myself to others for a time, then I just feel the tension building to withdraw and recharge. It runs against my ideas about what a mother is supposed to feel, but I find it very freeing to realize it may just be the way I’m made, and it’s okay.

The pastor pointed out that how we grow spiritually is a very personal and individual matter, and yet we can spend so much energy thinking others should be like we are. So on the one hand we need to cut each other some slack to be who God made us, and be prepared to celebrate our differentness. On the other hand — and this is the question that was raised for this week — what are the things that all of us, regardless of who we are, need to engage in if we expect to grow spiritually?

These are just my thoughts so far:

1. One is growing in our knowledge of the Bible. Some way or other, even for the non-bookloving population, this is laid out as a priority in scripture.
2. Another is surely prayer, even for those of us that don’t find it to come naturally.
3. Personally I think there has to be some intellectual equipping too. But is that just because I score highest in that category, and I’m trying to say everyone needs to be like me? I don’t think so, but I’m not sure. What comes to mind is Nancy Pearcey’s Total Truth, with its argument that being a Christian, and being able to make a case for Christianity, necessitates defining a Christian worldview, which is an intellectual process. Otherwise we can end up grafting our Christianity into whatever worldview is dominant in our age. Also the Bible emphasizes the mind from beginning to end. Many spiritual disciplines/fruits are intellectually enforced (faith, for instance).
4. The Bible also counsels us many times in one anothering: praying for one another, caring for one another, loving one another. So even though I may not personally feel a great drive toward relationship, I’m admonished not to just let it go and withdraw.

What else?