Summer Rhythms

Summer has a way of loosening our grip.

The alarm clock feels a little less urgent. School lunches disappear. Evening sports practices come to an end. Calendars that have been packed for months suddenly develop open spaces.

For families, summer often arrives like a long exhale.

There are later bedtimes, slower mornings, camping trips, backyard barbecues, afternoons at the lake, and evenings spent lingering on the deck long after the sun begins to set. There is time to sleep in, time to wander, time to simply be.

And honestly, I think that's a gift.

For generations, church life often followed a different rhythm. Growing up, church wasn't optional. Unless we were out of town, we were there every Sunday. It was simply what we did.

But as I've been reflecting on routines lately, I've come to believe that stepping away from one routine for a season is not necessarily a bad thing.

What matters is not whether we sit in the same pew every week.

What matters is whether we continue to nurture our souls.

God is not confined to church buildings.

God can be found on mountain trails and beside quiet lakes. God meets us in the rustle of tall grass, in the sound of a creek slipping over smooth stones, in the shade of a campground pine tree, in long walks along the river, and in moments when we finally stop rushing long enough to notice the world around us.

Summer can be a season of worship too.

A season of paying attention.

A season of listening.

A season of wonder.

About thirty days ago, I decided to create a new morning routine for myself.

The first thing I do when I wake up is spend time with Lectio Divina, slowly reading a piece of scripture and listening for what rises to the surface. Then I move into my yoga room and begin my practice.

I wanted to change the way I started my mornings. Less social media. Less work. Less reaching for my phone before my feet even touch the floor.

More intention.

More presence.

More space for God.

At first, I didn't notice much.

The practices felt ordinary. Some mornings felt easier than others. Some mornings I wondered if anything was changing at all.

But somewhere along the way, something shifted.

The daily practice of Lectio Divina helps me set an intention for the day. Sometimes the invitation is to listen more carefully. Sometimes it is to look for God in unexpected places. Sometimes it is to focus on gratitude, compassion, courage, or rest.

Whatever the invitation is, I find myself carrying it with me throughout the day.

The yoga is still a struggle.

At 7:30 in the morning, my non-morning-person self would often prefer another hour under the covers.

Yet every day I step onto the mat anyway.

And every day, by the time I finish, I feel different.

More awake.

More grounded.

More alive.

Even before the coffee kicks in.

I've realized that spiritual practices rarely transform us all at once.

They work more like summer itself.

Slowly.

Quietly.

Almost imperceptibly.

Like tall grass bending in the breeze.

Like a river shaping stone.

Like a garden growing while we aren't looking.

And perhaps that is my invitation to you this summer.

If your routine changes, let it change.

Sleep in.

Go camping.

Take the hike.

Sit beside the creek.

Watch the sunset.

Walk along the river.

Take the vacation.

But wherever summer takes you, don't forget to tend your soul.

Look for God in the places that make you pause.

Listen for the sacred in the ordinary.

Pay attention to what fills your spirit.

Because sometimes the most important thing we can do is simply slow down long enough to notice that God has been there all along.