When Sacred Is A Walk Down The Hall – TOYS Guest Post by Shelly Miller

Shelly is one of my dearest friends. She is on the top of my list of bloggers I long to meet in person. She is gracious and kind, and her words drip with wisdom. The lessons that she finds in the common are uncommon, and the beauty she finds in the ordinary is extraordinary. If you aren’t a regular reader of her amazing blog Redemption’s Beauty, you should be. I savor her posts like Cadbury’s chocolate! So, sit back and relax and read her stuff, I think you’ll begin to understand why I love her so much!

A few weeks ago, I touched the hallowed walls of destiny in England. Leaned my head back to gaze upon the intricacy of church ceilings built one thousand years ago by the hands of those budded from my ancestral tree. I wiped my palms across the back of sturdy wooden pews, combining my DNA with those of centuries past.

Meandering around headstones, I read of a life’s imprint to the world once etched deep and now fading. And with every step around mossy pediments, I unlace my soul, allow room for history to reveal more of who I am.
While I don’t have the luxury of daily strolls of awe under vaulted ceilings of incense ribbons and angels waving, I experience the sacred of place right in the abbey of my own home.

When I began this intentional writing journey less than one year ago, I created my own room reserved for reverence. Not with clustered columns and arched windows but a quiet space to welcome His voice tucked away from stacks of mail and sinks of sudsy dishes.

On special occasions, this space is my guest bedroom, a place where friends and family spread out for coastal visits. During ordinary time, it’s my sanctuary. A space consecrated to God, a spiritual place.

My pew is a writing chair from Pier One, my altar, a re-painted childhood desk. The window that casts the first ray of sunshine’s welcome isn’t made of stained glass but it does reveal a secret garden outside my cathedral walls.
This is the place where I meet with my Savior, my friend, my Father, in the early morning hours of silence. The space where He guides thoughts that spill onto keyboard, into arrangements of words that tell His story.

In England, I marveled upon portraiture that resembles the profile of my children, admired the spoons from which ancient fingers curled in the breaking of bread. Today I look upon the words of friends and colleagues hanging memory board, eat from the Bread of Life in stacks of inspired writing, admire His creation cut in a vase beholding beauty.
Because surrounding ourselves with what tells the story of who we are today, sheds light on God’s providence in the future.

Susannah Wesley, the mother of nineteen children, pulled an apron over her head in the kitchen for moments of sacred space. Jesus slipped away to the side of a mountain in a secluded spot; in a rowboat to the middle of the sea when life pressed hard. (Mark 1:35, Luke 5:16)

And when my heart hangs dripping from the clothesline of life, I look out my abbey window, watch the birds eating riches from the feeder, and remember who much He loves me, who I am. And I am thankful.
Look at the birds. They don’t plant or harvest or store food in barns, for your heavenly Father feeds them. And aren’t you far more valuable to him than they are? ~Matthew 6:26

Do you have a sacred space where you meet with Jesus?

Won’t you join me on Fridays for a new series and linkup called, “Take Off Your Shoes, You’re On Holy Ground!” or TOYS? Each week a post will be shared about the significance of a place and you will be able to share as well!! Just 1) Write a post about how a place has ministered to you. 2) Add your post to the linkup. 3) Add the button to your post. 4)Visit and encourage your neighbors!

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