In preparation for my first year of training as a Spiritual Director, I received an invitation to author a Spiritual Autobiography. The task seemed burdensome and self-indulgent, so I cast the assignment aside for a while. "What's the point of this exercise, and for God's sake, what is a Spiritual Autobiography anyway?" These were among the many thoughts, rationalizes, and forms of denial I engaged in until the deadline approached.

Deadlines have a way of helping us face what we’d rather put off.

Later to be confirmed, the hidden agenda was an invitation to explore my life from the perspective of more profound questions. This was not the usual, "I was born in Concord, Massachusetts at the close of the Eisenhower era” kind of biography. Instead, the questions centered on ultimate matters.

Who am I?
What’s my calling or purpose in life?
Am I alone, or is there another?

Answering these questions in a direct approach is an impossible task, but getting at them indirectly, now that's a doorway into another world. The Institute leaders ask us to reflect and write about other questions. Describe a time when the world looked, smelled, or sounded unusual or peculiar? Upon reading that question, a flood of recollections roiled through my head and heart.

An early morning walk in the woods behind my childhood home searching for an object for school. My kindergarten teacher assigned us the task of bringing something from our backyard. There was no doubt that there was more specificity to this homework (or maybe not), but my recollection centered on the search. Crawling along the forest floor, I discovered a small pinecone. Most likely from a hemlock tree as they are the tiniest of New England conifers. The act of laying on my belly, moving along on hands and knees looking, smelling, and discovering the wonder in something that was always there amazed me. I had not seen it before.

In the words of William Blake, “Each day has a moment of eternity waiting for you.”

I began writing of this and other encounters, and slowly realized how searching and discovering the magical, the wonder, and the sacred in everyday life has been a theme since I could walk, maybe even before.

I received other questions about mentors, favorite books, music that challenges and delights led me to realize the many influences. One recollection involved attending a baseball game at Dodger Stadium with my father as a young teenager. I recall snickering as he blew pipe smoke in the direction of an obnoxious fan, somehow brought connections to life and death because it would be decades later that lung cancer ended his life. "Laughing and Crying, it's the same release," sang Joni Mitchel. The connection of a both/and understanding of life and faith has also woven its way into my heart.

The point being that while many of us read biographies and autobiographies of famous men and women, be they actors, authors, or presidents, there is altogether something different from a spiritual autobiography. My theology professor James McLendon once cautioned his students on the difference between and biography and an autobiography, as the latter may have blind spots. Nevertheless, it's safe to say that what is unique about the invitation to write a spiritual autobiography; we are challenged to discover themes and connections we may have overlooked.

Human beings are meaning-seeking creatures, and the spiritual autobiography is one tool that can help give each of us a glimpse into the meaning of our lives.

Are you interested in joining me for a series on writing your spiritual autobiography later this fall?