This week I’ve been pondering how to let Scripture reach more deeply into my soul. I wonder—what might happen if I set aside the chapter breaks, verse numbers, and headers, and simply read the text as a continuous story? Could removing those “helps” actually free me to hear more directly from God? I’m reminded of an inductive Bible study on the Gospel of Mark I once participated in when I lived in California, where we read whole sections of Scripture in that kind of unbroken flow. Perhaps it’s time to try that again.

I find myself praying in the words of Proverbs 16:3 (paraphrased), “LORD, whenever I read your Word, I commit it to you and trust you to establish my plans.” My desire is not just to understand Scripture, but to be shaped by it.

This Sabbath began earlier than usual because of the Labor Day holiday. By design, Monday was a lighter day—not completely off, but less full than normal. The effect was like winding down from 25 miles per hour instead of 60. Tammi and I took a walk to our neighborhood diner, Jack’s, and afterward lingered at Starbucks (yes, I still go there!). It was simple, unhurried, and refreshing.

And yet, I count this in my “Resistance.” Why? Because shifting my rhythm slightly—what felt like 5.5 days of work instead of six—left me on Tuesday morning with an itch to do something. The cosmic rhythm of six days of labor and one day of rest (6:1) was nudged just enough to unsettle me. So I chose to sit longer in Solitude. I lingered in God’s presence, quieting my mind until peace returned.

I’m reminded again that these Practices are not about perfection but posture. Even when rhythms shift, God meets us when we create space to be still with Him.

Finding a Shade of Rest on Sabbath

This week I tried something new for my Sabbath—I attached a small umbrella to my lawn chair so I could stay outside longer without the sun driving me back indoors. It may seem like a small thing, but I found myself smiling at how this “game changer” might allow me to linger in God’s creation more fully.

It reminded me of Elijah resting under the broom tree when God ministered to him with food and rest (1 Kings 19:4–6), and Jonah sitting under the leafy plant that God provided for shade (Jonah 4:6–7). Both were simple, ordinary shelters, yet in them God revealed His care.

My prayer is that even this little umbrella might become a reminder: God provides shade, rest, and refreshment for the soul when we slow down enough to receive it. And may we laugh, too, at His creativity—even if my “leafy plant” umbrella someday meets its own worm!

Listening for God

This week I found myself out of rhythm. Box breathing helped. Journaling helped. But then, as I reached for my Bible, I sensed God whisper: “Just be with Me.” So I set it down, closed my eyes, and sat in Solitude. Almost immediately a gentle breeze came and lingered for nearly 40 seconds—as if God Himself were reminding me, “I am here.”

In that stillness, I found myself asking, “Why me?” The answer stirred in my heart—it’s because of the love I carry for people. And so I began to pray for many of you by name.

Later, as I returned to my Spiritual Formation library, I noticed how ideas across different books began to weave together. Andy Crouch’s definition of Authority expanded in my mind as I considered Matt Bloom’s framework of Meaning, Purpose, and Connectedness (My words: Identity & Calling) are shaped by Systems, Purpose, and Community. I began to see fresh connections, as if the Spirit was gently stitching ideas together into something deeper.

I also reflected on how we take in Scripture. In the ancient world, oral tradition shaped how God’s Word was shared, absorbed, and remembered. Socrates warned that writing might weaken the living memory of truth, while Plato argued that writing enabled more rigorous thought. I wonder if both dynamics are at play in the Bible itself. The Old Testament, formed in a culture steeped in oral tradition, may have been designed primarily to be heard, while the New Testament—written in a world increasingly literate—was shaped with both hearing and reading in mind.

And so I ask myself: What would it be like to listen to the Old Testament—not just to read it, but to hear it aloud as the first audiences did? Perhaps in listening, we might experience God’s Word not only with our eyes and minds, but with our whole being—receiving it as the Spirit breathes life into it once again.