In the United States this week many of us will be gathering with friends and loved ones for the Thanksgiving holiday. 

When I was in the monastery years ago, a week or so before Thanksgiving my dad called me and told me the terrible news that he had terminal cancer and may only live a few months. 

When I was in the monastery, the schedule each day was remarkably similar – including when I’d go to bed and wake up. 

In fact, my body got so accustomed to the sleeping and rising time that I’d literally wake up a minute or two before my alarm would go off at 5:25am. Crazy my body learned the exact minute to wake up. 

When I start work for the day or switch between projects I tend to dive right in and move quickly between things to avoid losing time. I sometimes find it hard to pause before meetings because I often schedule my calendar to have numerous back-to-back virtual meetings.

For seven years I lived in various Carmelite monasteries. In all of them, we’d have at least one meal daily all together – and sometimes as many as three meals a day together. 

The “Rule of St. Albert”, written by St. Albert of Jerusalem in the early 1200s, is like the original blueprint or “constitution” for how the Carmelites are to live. Here, the brothers are guided to have meals together daily. This is interesting because at the time, the Carmelites were mostly hermits – meaning they lived a solitary life seeking God. 

It’s easy to think of prayer like other aspects of our life where we “accomplish” something – getting chores done, completing a project at work, waking up at a certain time. 

However, Meister Eckart, the 13th century Dominican mystic suggested that prayer oftentimes is less climbing and more sinking into God – collapsing into the ground within us. 

During my Novitiate year in the monastery, I was in charge of the refectory (aka the kitchen) – keeping it clean, keeping food in the pantry, etc. 

My chore one afternoon was to mop the refectory. Father James, an older Irish Carmelite in his 70s (and one of the wisest men I knew) walked by and invited me to sit in on a class he was teaching during the same time I was supposed to mop. I would have preferred to go to the class and honor his invitation but I didn't know what the right thing to do was.

Freedom – one of the greatest ideals of Western civilization. And freedom is good. But there are many types of freedom. 

Political freedom -- to vote democratically. Economic freedom – to choose one’s work, to own capital and make purchasing decisions. Freedom of choice – to choose what you want to do and when. 

So many of us struggle with loving and caring for ourselves in a healthy way. Some of us don’t feel lovable or worthy of love. Others of us struggle with a self-love in which we pamper ourselves or indulge any desire.

But what does healthy self-love actually look like?

When I was in the monastery, we didn’t get to choose what we ate during our meals together. This was part of the spirituality of being detached from choosing our food. Of course, if someone had an allergy or extreme sensitivity, this rule may be relaxed a bit but that was the exception not the norm.

Sometimes for me, this was a bit of a cross because I had been accustomed to eating fairly light and healthy meals and occasionally the brothers would cook things and weren’t to my pallet or sometimes didn’t work as well for my system. 

Everyone does the dirty work. I don’t care if you’re running a global enterprise with thousands of people and won the Nobel Peace Prize (like Mother Teresa) or if you're the most junior person on a team, we all need to do things we don’t like doing. This is just part of work. 

The trick and growth opportunity is to first realize and accept that we need to do some dirty work. Then, secondly, to perform these tasks or projects with peace and serenity. And then, eventually, grow into performing them with joy and the gratitude that we have the opportunity to do these activities and thereby spare others from having to do them. 

We can all think of a time in which we’ve been criticized or attacked for something we didn't do or someone misinterpreted what we said or did. 

When this occasionally happened to St. Teresa, she reminded herself to be grateful instead of indignant because she knew there are many more things she had done wrong that if the person actually knew those things – the person would probably criticize her even more. 

At 19 years old, I got a group of friends together over my first summer back from college to go skydiving over the Georgia plains. I remember the skydiving guides telling us before we went up: 

“Now, when you get up there and you’re standing on the edge of the plane holding on, everything in your mind and body will NOT let you jump. You actually wont be able to jump because your body wants to preserve itself. But when we say go, you HAVE to jump. You will have to mentally override your instinct and force yourself to jump. You will have to trust that it will be ok. That is why you came here.”

We make dozens of decisions a day – how to respond to someone, what to eat, how we will spend our time, and much more. 

One of the best aids to making healthy decisions in the “little” things throughout the day actually has nothing to do with a given decision. It starts way before the decision arises.

Do you ever let your thoughts or imagination run wild and then feel the negative effects later on? Or allow your eyes to look at whatever you want and then regret not having greater discretion?

The ancient monastic practice of “custody of the heart” is intended to insulate our heart from spiritual viruses and bacteria that can infect and deteriorate God’s presence within us.

Moderation can be applied in many areas of life and most of us know - “hey, yea moderation is generally a good thing.” But we don't often think of moderating or restricting our options or potential choices. 

But much of the monastic life actually restricts and focuses the panoply of choices. You make vows of poverty, obedience, and chastity. You live with pretty much the same schedule and routine everyday. And all of this is, well, ironically extremely liberating.

I’ve been in school a lot, accumulating a whopping 6 degrees (2 undergrad and 4 masters). I’m thankful for those opportunities but also really hope I’m done with school! :)

Looking back, if I’m honest, much of my motivation for excelling in school was to achieve success for myself -- go to the right schools, get the ‘right’ jobs, look good and important to my peers. 

In one particularly grueling job I had years ago where we often worked to 10pm each night, I remember one more junior person would make rounds after she finished her work at 9pm – or later and ask “I’m wrapping up so what can I help you with?” 

This floored me – she should be going home but she wanted to help others to get home too. Through this, maybe she worked a few extra hours but she also left a lifelong mark on my understanding of how to build up others at work. I think that was a good investment of her time.

There’s a quiet power in realizing what you’re seeking might already be closer than you think. Brother Lawrence’s insight—that our spiritual growth comes through pausing, noticing, and remembering—invites us into the practice of recollection. But what does this actually mean in practice, and how can it change our life?

If I’m honest, it often feels to me like God is far away. I feel frustrated, emotionally down, or just empty. Yet, other times I feel Him very close.

John of the Cross reveals a profound truth about discernment: our capacity for good decision-making depends largely on our willingness to empty ourselves so that we can be filled with something … Someone greater. 

When we approach decisions with a heart full of selfish ambition, worldly wisdom, fear, and our own predetermined plans, we crowd out room for the Holy Spirit to guide us. Our internal noise can drown out God's still, small voice. Like a vessel already overflowing with our own desires, there's no space for God to pour in His perfect will.

When Dominic, the 12th century founder of the Dominicans was a young man, he sold his treasured books to have more to give the poor during a time of famine. This quote refers to “dead skins” because, at the time, books were often written on animal hides. In letting go of something he valued for an even better good - helping to feed starving people – Dominic was stretched toward a deeper charity and self-gift.