Learning to Dwell Instead of Strive

There is a kind of rest that comes only after we stop trying to deserve it.

This week, as I linger in the early rooms of The Interior Castle, I am becoming more aware of how deeply I am trained to strive, even in prayer. Especially in prayer. I notice how quickly my soul wants to bring something with it. Words. Effort. Insight. Proof of progress.

And yet, Saint Teresa speaks of these first rooms not as places of achievement, but of awakening. The soul is not yet flooded with light. It is still learning how to see in the dimness. Still adjusting to a different way of moving.

In these rooms, prayer does not yet feel like union.

It feels like learning to stay.

And staying is its own work.

The temptation, always, is to rush through discomfort toward something that feels more certain. But Advent does not hurry us toward arrival. It teaches us how to wait with our whole bodies — not as passive people, but as people learning how to dwell.

To dwell is to remain where we are instead of rehearsing the next escape.

I see this in my own studio life right now. The earlier weeks of Advent have slowed my hands in a way I did not plan. I keep wanting the next piece to reveal itself fully, to resolve itself quickly, to justify its existence. Instead, I am being asked to sit with unfinished edges. To tolerate not knowing.

The soul learns the same way.

We want assurance.

God offers presence.

We want clarity.

God offers companionship.

We want arrival.

God offers abiding.

There is a deeper courage in dwelling than in striving. Striving can still be rooted in control ~ in the illusion that if we just do enough, we might finally be safe. But dwelling requires surrender. It requires us to believe that God is with us now, not only when we improve.

Perhaps this is why the first rooms matter so much. They train us out of performance. They undo the habit of self-measurement. They teach us that we are not entering prayer to be evaluated, but to be loved.

If Advent is a doorway, then these early days are not asking us to run through it. They are asking us to stand at the threshold long enough for our eyes to adjust.

You do not have to rush the doorway.

You are not late in learning how to stay.

Let me think about this some more.

xox