How Spirit speaks to us: a gentle nudge, two voices, and the signs along the way.

There's a monastery near my home that I had visited once before, and honestly, I wasn't impressed. Maybe it was me, or maybe I was still carrying old history from other organizations I'd been part of. Whatever the reason, I didn't want to go back.

But I've noticed something about the Holy Spirit, or my guide, or God, whatever word feels right to you. When I'm prompted to do something, the prompting doesn't go away. It keeps coming back, gently, never pushy or overwhelming, until I'm willing to reconsider. And it kept bringing me back to that monastery. So finally I said, "Okay, I'll go. But I need signs. Show me this is where I'm supposed to be."

Almost leaving

The minute I stepped out of the car, I felt the land. My heart opened, the way it always has there, and I thought, well, there's the first sign. But then I couldn't find the class. I had the email in my hand, and I walked around and around without finding where they were meeting. I got frustrated, then angry, and finally I decided that if it was this hard to find, I was leaving.

Looking back, I almost walked out, and I would have told myself it was a sign. I think we all do this. When something gets hard, we decide it must not be meant to be, when really we're just frustrated.

What kept me there was something I've learned over many years. If a friend who knows you better than you know yourself made a point of telling you, "You need to go to this," you would go, even if you didn't feel like it, because you'd trust there was something there for you to see. That's what a long relationship with Spirit gives you. So even as I stood there angry, I could feel two voices at once. My mind was busy making its case for leaving. Underneath it was another voice, loving and patient, with no pressure in it at all. I didn't hear that one in my head. I felt it in my body and in my heart. I think that's how it works for most of us. You don't have to silence your mind. You only have to notice which voice feels like love.

So instead of leaving, I started asking people for directions. Most of them had no idea what I was talking about until I came to a man I'd noticed wandering the grounds. Spanish was his first language. I showed him the email, and he said, "I'll help you. I'll help you." When I asked his name, he looked at me curiously, almost as if he had to search for it, and then said, "Juan Pablo."

Another man told us the class was in the library, and as we walked there, Juan Pablo took hold of my arm. He held it firmly, though I wasn't slipping or about to fall, and he walked me all the way to the library door before he let go. I still don't know what to make of that, but I know I'll remember it.

In the library

Once Juan Pablo left me at the door, I stepped inside and felt at home right away because I love books. Then, as I signed in, I noticed the books set out on the table: The Cloud of Unknowing, along with books by Alan Watts, Cynthia Bourgeault and Richard Rohr. I had expected church doctrine. Instead, these were the mystics and free thinkers I read myself, and I thought, okay, I hear you. I'm in the right place.

The brother who led the program stood at the front, and behind him was a beautifully carved statue of the Archangel Michael. Most of us have someone we relate to, whether it's a guide, an angel, a saint, or simply God. For me, that's Michael, and there he was, right behind the teacher. I couldn't take my eyes off it.

The talk itself was about daily intimacy with God. The brother described his morning practice and his time with God, and I could relate to every word. Then he spoke about discernment, saying that each of us has the ability to hear the Spirit and should cultivate it. It felt as if the morning had been arranged to answer the very question I had walked in with.

Later, a priest came to speak about the power of choice and the pull between our own will and God's will. It's a big subject, and he brought a lot of theology to it, which opened up a real discussion. The people in that room had read and studied. They asked questions and offered their own views. Some gently disagreed, yet the whole conversation stayed open and respectful. I loved being in a place where that kind of discussion is welcome.

One more sign

Not long after, my husband and I were driving home when freeway traffic came to a stop due to the fires at Camp Pendleton. We took the next exit, and it happened to be the exit for the monastery. I asked if he wanted to see it, and he said, "Sure." I had never been inside the church before, so we went in together. Off to the side, in a small private chapel, we found a replica of the Ark of the Covenant, something you don't usually see in a Catholic church.

My husband and I just stood there, both amazed, because ever since my conversations with God began in 2009, the Ark of the Covenant has been an image that Spirit and I share, a private symbol between us. I can't fully explain it, and I don't need to. Many of us have an image like that, something that quietly says I'm here only to us. I hadn't asked for that sign or planned to be there at all. A traffic jam took us off the freeway, onto that one exit, and into a chapel I had never seen.

Simpler is better

I've thought about all of this a lot since then, and about how much we can say about God when it's really very simple beneath all the words. Here is where I've landed: simpler is better.

It all comes down to our relationship with God. For me, that relationship is about intimacy with God rather than with a religion, and I want to keep growing in my own understanding of it, not someone else's rules about it.

A practice for you

The next time you feel pulled in two directions, stop for a moment. Put your hand on your heart if you like, and ask yourself two questions:

1. Where do I feel this?

2. Is it gentle and loving, or pushy and urgent?

Your mind will have plenty to say, and that's okay. Let it talk, and follow the voice that feels like love.

You can hear this story in my own voice on The Holy Instant podcast. And if you have a question on your heart, I'd love to hear it. You can write to me at laurettedejulian.com.