On a Sunday afternoon this July, I laced up my running shoes in a cloud of desperation. My soul was on edge. The emotional euphoria, the gratitude I had been so struck with after weeks after recovering from emergency surgery, had seemed to evaporate as I leaned back into the real life of mothering four kids.
Real. Life. Takes. A. Toll.
I was overwhelmed, and imploding on the inside. I had slipped into the human spiritual soul’s most dangerous life-crushing space: a critical spirit. No one person who came across my path could do anything right. But even worse, I was irritated with myself. I was angry at my anxiety. Disappointed that I had so quickly forgotten how to live purposefully with gratitude.
I felt physically and spiritually bankrupt.
It was mid-day and fiercely hot. I didn’t know where I was heading but I tramped along the pavement, past small cottages nestled on our creek’s edge. I was attempting to pray, attempting to pour out my anger and frustration over my struggle with perfectionism, but no words spilled out. I knew deep down what I needed most was confession, to let loose the sins of my heart and throw them at the feet of Jesus, but as I tried to get right with God, I felt no remorse. No repentance flooded through. Only justification. After all, I had a laundry list of hurts and grievances against those closest to me. I had been rightly wronged and the pains had all tallied up. Didn’t I have the right to hold onto these wounds? Wasn’t I allowed to be riveted with anger?
I started jogging, ending up one mile from our house, at our island’s fishing pier spread across the Eastern Chesapeake Bay. It was the furthest my feet had traveled in the months since my hysterectomy.
The pier was busy that day. Men and their young sons were throwing their baited lines in and out. Older women were rocking babies. Small homemade crab pots were dangling from the pilings. Aging men were sipping their cold beer and swapping fish stories. I stopped mid-way down the pier, staring out directly parallel to a duck-blind sitting a foot-ball field away, lonely on the rolling bay. I leaned over the railing longingly looking over into the clear water. The view was calm. My heart was raging. How could I possibly unload my grip on control and tendency toward closet criticism when I simply didn’t “feel” like it?
“I need to jump in this water…” I muttered softly to the Lord. “I need to be baptized again. Reborn. Made new.”
And then the worst fear came.
“Am I too far gone for you to redeem me God?”
Even with that heavy admission, my soul felt hard. Unmovable. I needed to get back home. But as I turned my body to start stomping the one-mile back, something tugged at my heart, urging me to pause a moment more.
I leaned closer to the railing, noticing a brown, worn notch.
I fingered it and then looked up at the sky overflowing with soft, fluffy clouds. The notch was directly south of the duck blind.
And that’s when I heard the invisible whisper.
“I can make you new, Jodi.”
Even though it was well above 90 degrees, I looked down and had chills cascading down my arms.
I looked again at the duck-blind. It was mysterious. Covered in cat-tail and strewn with bamboo. Weathered and battered. It stood alone, yet unmovable by the waters lapping around it. It’s solitude and security beckoned me. I longed to hide in its shady cover, away from this world and its messiness.
My heart answered back. “Lord, I am weary. I don’t know where to begin. I have been stuffing down anger at myself and have been harboring hurts from so many others. The list is too long and my soul is dry. Bone dry. I need help with this anxiety. It has taken over and I’m scared. I’m exhausted living like this.”
And again I heard Him.
“If you come, my daughter, I will make you new….I simply ask you to show up. Here. Come, and I will meet you here.”
As I stood there, on that pier, I could sense God’s invitation to grow deeper with Him.
For the next 21 days, I made a secret pact to meet God at the Fishing Pier overlooking our Eastern Chesapeake Bay.
Come rain or (blasting) shine.
By foot (or when utterly exhausted by bicycle).
No phone.
No play-lists or pod-casts.
No distractions.
Just me.
Meeting God at the pier.
A two-mile round trip.
A decision to have a secret rendezvous with God for the next 21 days.
As I walked home, I pushed down the pulsating doubt that this commitment was simply unattainable. After all, wasn’t I run ragged by day’s end from the washing and feeding and mothering? Wasn’t my body still sore from its wounds and in need of rest? Was there any daylight left to offer this secret proposal? Out-loud, I asked God’s blessing on this daily mission.
It sounded a bit crazy, but I was going to take God up on His invitation to meet him at the Fishing Pier. Every day for the next three weeks.
His first blessing came on Day 2 in the form of a softening heart. It is amazing what our soul says to us when we embrace the silence. As I took each step, I started picturing my judgement day. The moment when my soul leaves this earth and I am standing in the presence of the Almighty Creator God. I envisioned God desiring to welcome me into eternity with Him, but pausing to first ask me to tenderly acknowledge where I had stubbornly and knowingly fallen short. A list of my unconfessed sins. But the part that made my throat catch? As He read each critical comment I had let slip sloppily from my judgmental lips, I pictured him inviting each person I had wounded, to stand beside me. To stand beside me in front of Him as He reviewed my sin. And then I imagined watching the pain and betrayal on each face. Faces I loved.
“Oh dear Jesus. Please forgive me. I can not bear to think about how my unconfessed sin would destroy and hurt others.”
“All I ask Jodi is for a contrite heart…All I require is that you seek forgiveness and I will offer it abundantly.”
It was the first crack in my soul’s impenetrable armor.
When I returned home, I grabbed my journal and turned to a fresh page.
Then, dividing the page, I made two columns. One labeled “Sin for which I need to seek forgiveness from our Lord” and the other “People I need to forgive who have wounded me.” For the next hour, I filled both columns. I wrote until my wrist hurt.
1 John 1:9 “If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness.”
I felt my soul release hurt that had been hiding. There was so much more to unload, but kids were calling so I ended my writing with the act of contrition:
O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee, and I detest all my sins, because of thy just punishment, but most of all because they offend Thee, my God , who art all good and deserving of all my love. I firmly resolve with the help of thy grace to sin no more and avoid the near occasion of sin. Amen.
On Days 3 and 4, I completed the same exercise.
Meet God at the pier.
Let my eyes linger on the beckoning duck blind.
Throw my heart open saying, “I’ve come like you asked God. I am here.”
Write out where my heart had sinned that day and fallen outside the will of God, asking Him for forgiveness.
Acknowledge and forgive those who had unknowingly sinned against me.
Earnestly say an act of contrition.
On Day 5, my side was throbbing, so I rode Lillian’s bike to the pier. Lightening was flashing all around and it felt dangerous and a bit adventurous to be out in the storm. I felt the glory of God and His power igniting all around me. That morning, I had a small misunderstanding with a friend. Without the distraction of checking my phone, I didn’t realize how it was affecting me and the heaviness I was carrying until I started telling God about it. I left that burden at the pier, in the hands of God. He asked me to extend more grace to that beloved friend.
I rode home lighter.
“Confession begins with repentance and ends with declaration. Jesus doesn’t say you can be or may be or will be free. He says you are free. (Romans 8:2)
Therefore, we must declare- we must confess-truths like the following:
*We are adopted heirs of the throne, sons and daughters of a King. (Romans 8:17)
*His love knows no bounds. (Titus 3:4-7) It is an everlasting, all-consuming fire invading our hearts and minds when we allow it, and it turns our worlds upside down. (Hebrews 12:29)
*No amount of loss or sadness or rejection separates us from his great and marvelous love. (Romans 8:38-39)
*No amount of manipulating and toiling, of approval seeking, will ever increase his love for us, or bring us into right relationship with Jesus. Freedom has already come! It is found at the foot of the cross, where Christ took our lack upon himself and declared, “I AM ENOUGH. I HAVE BOUGHT YOU WITH A PRICE AND SET YOU FREE.” (Galatians 3:13, 5:1, & 1 Corinthians 6:20)
(You Are Free, By Rebekah Lyons, Chapter 4)
On Day 6, I was harried and tired and worn down. This trek was getting a little old but still I paused for confession. Instead of a list, I had one particular thing that God had showed me that day where I had relied on myself and not on him. My independent streak was again keeping me from consulting God first. Always a gentleman, God whispered grace and comfort into my ears. He offered forgiveness, I just simply had to ask.
I was reminded of what Saint Isadore of Seville said, “Confession heals. Confession justifies. Confession grants pardon of sin, all hope consists in confession; in confession, there is a chance for mercy.”
By Day 7, I was ready to quit. My legs were sore and my shins were hurting. We had been busy all weekend and before I knew it, the day had slipped away and night was falling. I had not made it to the pier like I promised.
“I’ll just go this last time,” I said as I pulled myself off the couch. “At least I can say I did it for one week before I abandon this silly mission…”
I reached the pier as the sun was heading down. The view across the water was spectacular. The pier was unusually empty. I marveled at the beauty all around me.
I found the notch in the pier board and ran my finger over it.
“I’ve come like you asked Jesus. I didn’t feel like coming today, but I am here.”
“I’ve been waiting for you all day my dearly beloved daughter. I’m so glad you came. It is so nice to have you back walking with me daily…your obedience will be blessed.”
And my eyes spilled over with warm tears. I closed them and felt the warm, summer breeze dry my cheeks. I felt my soul fall quiet and just sit in the presence of God. There was nothing to say. I just needed to let Him love me. It was beautiful.
“You are healing me Jesus,” I whispered. “A little at a time. I feel the heaviness lifting and I feel your Spirit all around me. You are healing me one day at a time. Thank you. Thank you for meeting me here.”
That day, I had no list of hurts to confess. I felt a clean slate. I had returned to walking daily, hourly, minute by minute in prayer with the Lord and He had restored my soul.
Again it was a Saint’s words that came flooding back, “Good Christians make an examination of conscience and an act of contrition every evening. There was a devout monk lying at the point of death; when his Superior came and told him to make his confession, he answered: “Blessed be God! I have for thirty years made an examination of conscience every evening, and have made my confession every day as if I were at the point of death.” – St. Alphonsus Maria de Liguori
I ran home with a spring in my step that I had not felt in years. My legs still hurt, but my soul felt light and free. The day I most wanted to quit my commitment to meet the Lord at the pier, became my most memorable day. I had shown up and God had met me yet again.
It was the day I felt my heart experience what the Catholic Church describes in the Roman Catholic Catechism as a RADICAL REORIENTATION of the human heart toward Jesus Christ.
“Jesus’ call to conversion and penance, like that of the prophets before him, does not aim first at outward works, “sackcloth and ashes,” fasting and mortification, but at the conversion of the heart, interior conversion. Without this, such penances remain sterile and false; however, interior conversion urges expression in visible signs, gestures and works of penance. (1430-1433)
Interior repentance is a radical reorientation of our whole life, a return, a conversion to God with all our heart, an end of sin, a turning away from evil, with repugnance toward the evil actions we have committed. At the same time it entails the desire and resolution to change one’s life, with hope in God’s mercy and trust in the help of his grace. This conversion of heart is accompanied by a salutary pain and sadness which the Fathers called animi cruciatus (affliction of spirit) and compunctio cordis (repentanceof heart). (1431)
The human heart is heavy and hardened. God must give man a new heart. Conversion is first of all a work of the grace of God who makes our hearts return to him: “Restore us to thyself, O LORD, that we may be restored!” God gives us the strength to begin anew. It is in discovering the greatness of God’s love that our heart is shaken by the horror and weight of sin and begins to fear offending God by sin and being separated from him. The human heart is converted by looking upon him whom our sins have pierced:
“Let us fix our eyes on Christ’s blood and understand how precious it is to his Father, for, poured out for our salvation it has brought to the whole world the grace of repentance.” (1432, Roman Catholic Catechism)
Some days I couldn’t wait to meet God at the pier, others I begrudgingly went. But no matter the state of my heart when I laced my shoes and turned out of our gravel driveway to begin my trek to the pier, the return home consistently spurred a change of my soul’s disposition. My circumstances had not changed. My heart did. Each trip reminded me that without the sacrifice of Jesus Christ on the cross, I would have no one to pay my eternal debt. A radical reorientation of my soul toward knowing Jesus Christ was what I was my heart was longing for.
“Confession is an act of honesty and courage. It’s an act of entrusting ourselves beyond the sin to the mercy of a loving and forgiving God.” Blessed John Paul II
Quite simply? Confession was setting me free. I began experiencing pure joy. A joy not found in buying the next new couch or finally being able to button up my skinny jeans or getting that promotion from work.
Soul joy that only walking with Jesus can offer.
Fulfilling this commitment has been challenging. But so fruitful. Each day I noticed something new about God’s creation that would have gone unnoticed if I had music blaring in my ears.
The cry of a seagull, the way the water laps at the sandy shore, the feel of the wind whipping my face when my feet hit the pier’s wooden floorboards, the smell of the bay. I have waved to lonely neighbors and stopped to coo at babies pushed down the pier in strollers.
And each day my ailing body has grown stronger. Faster. More agile. Scars are still healing, but they remind me of where I have been. I now wear them proudly.
I have come answering God’s invitation to grow deeper with Him.
The secret that allowed me to hear His voice? It was purposefully decreasing as many distractions to drown out the noise of this world. God was always there. I just was too busy to hear Him. The silence allowed me to hear my own heart. Silence allowed me to hear the voice of God. It was so very faint at first. But as the days tallied higher, I became more aware of God’s presence. He was there all along. I just needed to tune in.
“Silence is more important than any other human work, for it expresses God. The true revolution comes from silence; it leads us toward God and others so as to place ourselves humbly and generously at their service.” (The Power of Silence by Robert Sarah)
For most of us busy Mamas, carving out time for silence sounds like an impossible feat. I get it. I really do. But so does another woman, who goes down in history as being one of the most influential mothers of this world.
Every morning, before she went down into the slums of Calcutta to minister to the ignored and poor, Mother Teresa of Calcutta spent time in silence and solitude. After quieting herself in prayer, this small woman received the Eucharist and threw her plans for the day ahead at the will of Christ, asking His plan to guide her every decision. Mother Teresa consulted God before she reached out to feed the poor. She asked for His wisdom before she pulled an abandoned child from a gutter. She needed the sacred heart of Jesus to love through her hands as she rubbed the legs of a woman striken with disease. She asked for her Savior’s eyes, to replace her own, to look lovingly on a man foul with lice.
An ordinary woman, with a purposeful decision to meet God alone every morning.
“Think of the image of this tiny woman clad in her famous white headdress with blue stripes. We remember her face first, with the ever-present grin Then we remember the hand gestures she used when speaking to the street people. She always touched whomever she was speaking to. Often she would cup their faces in her frail hands and look straight into their eyes. This gesture was profoundly personal. They were present, they were seen, they were important, and they were loved. Mother Teresa’s sensitivity and compassion were the hallmarks of her great work. And how did she become so sensitive and compassionate? She spent hundreds of hours in silent prayer.” (The Ten Habits of Happy Mothers Dr. Meg Meeker pgs 116 &117)
In her book, The Ten Habits of Happy Mothers, Pediatrician Dr. Meg Meeker answers the question for mothers, “Why is solitude so important?”
“Solitude is a necessity because it changes us. It strengthens our relationships with loved ones, it sharpens our sensitivity toward others and ourselves, it brings peace and healing, it helps us stay centered and sane in the midst of “choice overload”, and it may even help us live longer. Real solitude is a lost art.” (pg 110)
An ordinary woman can become an extraordinary mother when she pursues solitude with God.
Each day since then, I have come to the pier. I have come in the rain. I have come surrounded by little ones on bikes, pushing a stroller. I have come when I’m exhausted and when my knees ached and when I’m stuffed from eating too much dinner. I have come hungry. Once while running, I ran into my brother on the trail and had the gift of him sweating alongside me. I have come first thing in the morning, mid-day and late at night. I have moved my body each day since I made that commitment to meet God, and God has moved my soul. And until God asks me to meet Him somewhere else, I will continue to come to that pier.
I am curious? What is the status of your heart today? Are you frazzled? Bitter? Bored?
God is also inviting you to go deeper with Him.
I want to encourage you to accept His invitation. Meet God somewhere each day. Make this date nonnegotiable.
Carve time out in a hammock or hiding in your master closet. Create quiet time with God early in the day when you are sitting in your favorite dining room chair or late at night while you exercise. The place doesn’t matter – the decision to come does.
God is a gentleman. He is patiently waiting for you.
I just dare you to show up!
Author & National Speaker Jodi Dauses 
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