Practice

Everything can be heard in this wooden cabin, including the silence. 

Outside, gentle rain hits the roof of this cozy place in Texas hill country, creating an intentional rhythmic melody. I don’t like thunder or the drama of a Texas storm, so tonight, as I rest in this cabin alone, I’m thankful God spared me from a deranged sky. The aroma from the decaf coffee I made for the night floods the room as the fake fireplace sways in the background.

 I reach for my pen. 

The sound of the creaking walls feels like a message. If this cabin could speak, he would tell me to write. So I do. 

I am alone. 

And I am alone on purpose. 

I unpacked my things earlier this afternoon after a five-hour drive along roads marked by wildflowers, hay stacks, and abandoned buildings with paint chipping in an oddly aesthetic manner. As I drove, I wrestled with a longing to talk away all my opinions, future ideas, reflections, dreams, research, and how it’s forming me. I craved asking someone—anyone—intriguing questions about their life in a way that would carry us into unnoticed time. 

 But I know this is not the point. On this road, God will be the keeper of my curiosity. 

Upon arrival, the key latches, and I step inside the cabin. I take everything in and instantly notice a book in the corner. Tucked on a wooden shelf, the purple sleeves of the book look right at me. I walk toward it and feel the illumination arise in my memory and connection. The book is all too familiar, even if it’s been approximately a decade since I read it. I deliberately choose not to see this moment, the cabin, the book, and this specific time of June 2024 as a mere coincidence. It is as though God is smiling upon this ordinary moment and making it meaningful. Warmth dwells in my spirit as I rest in this gift that no one is here to interrupt this or, worse, fill the space with their apathy. 

I am alone. 

In solitude. 

In peace.

In the seventh year of this practice. 

But it wasn’t always like this. 

Nine years ago, I went to Beijing alone and had a distressed time. The Great Wall of China was magnificent yet too profound a beast to take on alone. But I did. Guilt began to settle as an internal war took shape. I was walking along one of the most regal wonders of the world, and here I was, painting it gray with my loneliness. I marched every inch of those steps with an unrelenting desire for someone to be here with me - sharing such a unique experience. Traveling across the world has not only been a gift God so graciously has given to me but it’s become a significant value of mine. I wanted to take on Beijing with the same bravery as before and figured going alone would make it sacred. Maybe it would inspire strength in life as a single woman in a more profound capacity. I had hoped. I was the Maid of Honor for three of my best friends' weddings that following year. I had to accept that the shapes of my life were forming other patterns than the community around me. It wasn’t my time yet. Cultivating adventure, cross-cultural experiences, aspirations, and academic pursuits became God's fate He was asking me to steward. I hopped on my ten-hour flight home to Los Angeles, carrying both gratitude and the sting that comes with unmet desires. 

But there is always someone who goes before us.

Who comes along right on time and serves as gifts. 

And God let me receive her wisdom. 

Seven years ago, I began this practice after a conversation with a mentor who modeled this discipline so well. Inspired by the fruits of her faith, life, and leadership, I set out to incorporate this into my life routine. These solitude retreats created contentment for her life as a single, and they also crafted vision and time to hear God in ways that work, hustle, and even ministry tend to invade. 

So, I went to the beach and understood the freedom that comes with the practice of solitude. Years prior, I'd settled on quiet deserts, tame beaches,  hills surrounded by waterfalls, or cities that chattered away until the dark mornings. All of them provided a space where God and I went together.  Breathing contentment, calming the loud within, and pure connection with Him have all become some of the deep fruits of this practice. Silence is difficult for me, but I practice for the sake of purpose. Reaching for noise, talking,  overconsumption of ambitions, and filling my evenings with company are second nature habits. Often, I forget the original intent of these retreats - although becoming acquainted with life as a single for now remains, they have grown so rich in other ways. It is here, in the intentional seclusion of various places, where He guides me into new patterns. Patterns of inspiration and newfound visions for the fall semester that I bring to my classroom, my team, and my students. In solitude, convictions press on me and lift me toward character development: no shame but a desire to pursue Him more faithfully—paths for remembering God and all he did in the academic year form. I create, surrender, and seek wholeness in this sacred discipline. It is a short time, but impactful nonetheless. 

And so, I’ll go to bed alone tonight with the sound of the rain in this cabin with wooden walls. I’ll wake in the morning, sit in solitude, and let God spill perspectives into my mind. I’ll write them all down as I remain mentally uncluttered for this time. Content, this practice has made me. Next summer, we’ll do this again. 

Alone.

In Silence. 

In solitude. 

He meets me.