 When I began my first walk to the Cross over three decades ago, I had no idea where it would take me—or how long my heart would be held by the events of Jesus’ final hours. Each year since then, as Lent begins, I return to this pilgrimage—not to a physical place, but an interior one. I take time to gently enter into Jesus’ experience as He leaves the upper room, shares His final words with His disciples, agonizes in the garden, is arrested, tried, and ultimately put to death on Calvary. Because this journey unfolds over forty days, I’m invited to slow down and ponder deeply the price Jesus paid to make me His own. In a noisy, often combative culture, this slowing has become a source of strength and life for me. I feel the need for it more than ever. I'm invited to slow down and ponder deeply the price Jesus paid to make me His own After so many years of walking this way, I’ve learned to expect transformation—not through effort, but through attention. I eagerly anticipate a fresh revelation of Christ’s love, not as a theological concept, but as tender mercy that saturates my soul and deepens my love for my Savior. Though these quiet days often bring tears, I hold them alongside the steady knowledge that resurrection is coming. And when it does, my heart can hardly contain the joy. Hope resounds like an anthem as Easter arrives and I celebrate with family and friends. I’ve shared a brief video reflecting on this journey and the invitation I sense this Lent. As Lent begins (February 18), I’ve made a set of daily devotionals available for anyone who would like a simple, grace-paced way to walk through the season. Where ever you are, however you come, you are welcome here.
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Have you ever felt pressure to measure your spiritual journey-- to wonder whether you’re behind, or compare your experience with God to someone else’s? For many of us, the inner life can start to feel like something we’re supposed to track or evaluate. But what if intimacy with Jesus isn’t something to measure at all? Over time, I’ve come to recognize what I think of as windows of presence—simple ways Jesus draws us into relationship through quiet whispers of grace. Hear more below, or scroll down to read. DRAWN: This window is an inner, but often intangible, pull toward Jesus. The heart is being awakened to His presence, though whispers of grace may be muted by our sense of duty or obligation. Yet if we take the time to notice, we realize that Jesus is there, gently drawing us to Himself. DISCIPLINE: In this window, something stirs us to make room for God, to embrace rhythms in which His presence can shine. Perhaps we set aside time daily to meet with Jesus, plan a quiet retreat, or enter a season of fasting. We may envision ourselves as putting forth the effort, but in truth, whispers of grace are driving us deeper. What if intimacy with Jesus isn’t something to measure at all? DESIRE: These windows may surprise us. Jesus’ whispers of grace pulse with a yearning we can’t deny, and we realize we simply want to be with Him. We find comfort and peace in the presence of the One who loves to be with us. DELIGHT: There is a window of Presence that promises a true sense of joy. Whispers of grace tell us Jesus has come, that His presence within us satisfies our souls as nothing else can. We linger as He meets us here. DESTINY: Here, the loudest whisper says, “Welcome home to where you’ve always belonged.” This window opens within us a sense of belonging and wonder as we recognize that we are made for intimate communion with Jesus, the Lover of our souls. A FINAL WORD: These are not steps to climb, but windows of Presence. They offer not only lifelong direction—but a daily invitation. Moving in and out of these doesn’t happen through grit or determination, but by responding to Jesus’ gentle whispers of grace. We need only recognize His invitation and orient our hearts toward His Light. If you're looking for a simple way to engage with Jesus' presence, I am offering four weeks of devotional opportunities called Learning from His Heart: A Contemplative Journey with Jesus. You can read or listen, whichever works for you in this season. Find Week One--Learning Jesus' Gentleness here.
As we enter Thanksgiving week, I’ve been thinking about how our hearts so often carry a mixture of things—joy, longing, fullness, and sometimes heaviness. The season invites gratitude, yet many of us find that gratitude doesn’t simply rise on its own. It’s something we return to with intention, lifting our eyes long enough to notice the gifts God has placed quietly around us. Over the years, I’ve learned that gratitude is less about feeling thankful and more about pausing long enough to let thanksgiving shape our perspective. Even a moment of stillness can soften the noise inside us. Several years ago, I recorded a short two-minute Gratitude Practice—a gentle pause to reset your soul and make space for Jesus in the midst of the week. The science behind what gratitude does for our well-being is amazing. It just takes a few simple steps-the video will show you how. I pray it brings you a sense of quiet wherever you find yourself today. As you gather, remember, or simply breathe through these days, may the presence of Christ meet you with tenderness. May He anchor your heart, steady your thoughts, and draw you into the peace that only He gives. And just a little note: In a couple of weeks I’ll be sharing a short Advent/Christmas devotional—twelve guided reflections designed to help you enter the season with intention and rest. I look forward to walking that journey with you. Grace and peace to you this Thanksgiving week. —Tricia  In my last post, I shared that God does not see us as His projects but as His beloved. This raised lots of questions: What about obedience? What about putting off the old self? What about sanctification? I was reminded of these the other day when I read a familiar proverb that dates back to the 1500s: “Don’t get the cart before the horse.” In those days, horses were precious and not always easy to come by. It made no sense to prepare your cart if you hadn’t yet secured the horse. This, I think, is what we often do when we approach spiritual growth. The cart represents all the things we know God is calling us to do. Obedience and service are valuable, but if we begin there, or even put these things in the forefront of our hearts and mind, we will never get where we want to go. The trying feels tedious and discouragement sets in at our lack of progress.  When God spoke to me that I was not his project and I asked him what I was, he answered simply: You are my beloved. The horse that draws the cart of Christian growth and service is God’s love. God is always the initiator—we love because he first loved us. Thus, the older I get, the more I understand that everything hinges on my experience of God tenderly caring for my soul with the love that Scripture describes as beyond our understanding (Ephesians 3). When I was 19 years old my life was forever changed by an aunt who challenged me to fall in love with Jesus. I have loved him for over six decades now and my adoration grows daily. But what I didn’t grasp until much later was that Jesus is in love with me...that his love is so beautifully powerful that it can fuel every act of obedience, every putting off my old self, every work I might do in his name. What does this look like practically? Mother Teresa, in one of her final letters to the Sisters of Charity wrote:  I have come to the place in my life where I cannot go a day without experiencing God’s love for me. In the quiet stillness of prayer, I wait. Sometimes I take Scripture at face value and receive His love by faith. More often, I simply rest until the Spirit whispers His love — and I am undone. May you know the tender blessedness of being loved by God today. If you are reading through the Bible with my Survey plan, click below for the final two months!
You are not my project.... I heard these words one morning last week during my prayer time after I’d turned a simple prayer of examen into an exhaustive list of all I thought God needed to work on in me. I am good at this.  You are not my project... I knew this had to be a Kairos moment, but what flooded my mind was the array of DIY tasks waiting to be done around our aging house. From a leaky roof and torn aluminum siding to peeling paint and broken electrical outlets, the list seems to grow daily, at times leaving us overwhelmed with the enormity of it all. You are not my project... I pondered my spiritual journey as I waited before the Lord. Decades ago, Jesus pulled me from the mire of dutiful religion and set my feet firmly on the Rock of grace. Since then, he has gently stripped me of residual layers of legalistic performance. The roots of religiosity run deep.  God's message to me that morning was that he was not trying to fix me, that all the fixing I needed took place when Jesus died and rose again to make me new. What he wanted, indeed what God has always wanted, is the intimate companionship that comes in knowing him, the following that finds its fuel in the caldron of his love. Have you ever felt like a project? As if you are on some self-improvement podcast and God—the guest host—is determined to do whatever it takes to make you over? Does the list of what is frail or damaged or broken batter your fragile soul at times? Are there moments when you feel overwhelmed at the enormity of it all?  Here’s the thing about assuming we are God’s project: We will always vacillate between pride (I got it right) and condemnation (I blew it again). In the process, we miss the marvel of a Father who delights in us, the miracle of the Son who wants to be our friend, and the power of Holy Spirit who waits on high to call our true selves into being. God’s heart surely grieves when we substitute his precious gift of relationship for the good works we might do in his name. You are not my project... I heard those words that morning and asked: “If I’m not your project, then what am I Lord?” His answer was stunning in its simplicity. You are my beloved. I waited for him to say more, but God was silent. You are my beloved.  In 1962, a world-renowned Swiss theologian named Karl Barth was lecturing at the University of Chicago. During a Q&A session, a student asked him if he could summarize his life’s theological work in one sentence. He replied: “Yes, I can. In the words of a song I learned at my mother’s knee: ‘Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so.” And so it is. I am not God’s project, and neither are you. We are his beloved. May we ever learn to live in the wonder. DISCLAIMER: I can just hear some of you asking me things like what about growing or sanctification or putting off the old self? Valid questions! But you'll have to wait till next time for my thoughts on that.
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Tricia McCary RhodesAuthor of 7 books and pastor of Global Leadership Development at All Peoples Church in San Diego, Tricia specializes in helping others experience God’s presence through practicing soul-care. 
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