On Presence and the God Who Lights up
I sat by the eastern window writing in my journal when, on her way to the coffee pot, she kissed the top of my head. Linda and I met back in high school when we were both fifteen. Today, we are 50 years beyond that and finding ourselves kindred all over again.
It was a wonderful wordless moment like a warm cherry pie cooling in the kitchen. I told my spiritual director the feeling I had was like a line from a Naomi Shihab Nye poem; she lit up like a lantern when I rang.
Companions by Naomi Shihab Nye [1]
She lived with words in a tall white house.
Hundreds of books lined her shelves.
They smelled like time, they smelled like rain.
Fanning the pages, she smiled.
I was ten when I found this friend.
Cherry pie steaming on top of the stove . . .
We sat until it was cool.
She lit up like a lantern when I rang.
Tell about your teachers, your work.
Who’s that bad boy again?
Have you seen that dog that bit you under the eye?
The plates were stacked beside the pie.
Her husband had died before we were born,
But she didn’t live alone.
She lived with words.
We are left to wonder what books she had on her bookshelves, though we know she shared them with her young company, and what words she lived with, though we find clues if we linger in the scene: home, kinship, tenderness, loss, hospitality, kindness, wonder, patience, tasty, and listening. I imagine some phrases that likely crossed her lips: there you are, I was hoping you might come, come on in, look at you, have some pie and tell me all about it.
Perhaps the most obvious word, hidden in plain sight like the best ones are, is companion.
A companion is someone you keep company with. Its Latin roots reveal a deeper layer - com (with) and panis (bread). A companion is someone you share bread with, or perhaps pie. Even if we don’t literally eat with those we accompany, a shared meal is implied.
In spiritual direction, whether we hold the space for others or it is held for us, we have gathered at a table, a potluck of sorts where everything we bring is welcome. The spread might be for joy, heartache, longings, or the bittersweet surprise of it all. We never truly know, but the space between us is for honesty, tending, and discernment.
For far too long, I prayed like God was a grumpy great-grandpa. I associated God with my Papa Mayerle, gruff in the sticky Louisiana heat, always in overalls with one strap unhooked, fly swatter in hand. I wasn’t aware this image was at play. It took some intentional awareness, vulnerability, and honest reflection in a companioning presence to realize it. These days, I am practicing a different way of being in God’s presence: relaxed, open-hearted, moving through the world more freely as he originally made me – already Beloved.
Contrary to my distant and gruff image of God, I now experience his delight in me. When I ring, he lights up like a lantern. I can do that for people I care for, my children, grandchildren, neighbors, directees, myself, even my enemies (which are sometimes me). As I refine and strengthen my image of and intimacy with God, I can be more present to others as they wrestle their images of God into view. I can give what I have actually tasted – delight, tenderness, peace, companionship. Father Gregory Boyle said it this way,
“You receive the tender glance, you become the tender glance. You notice the noticing of God, you become that notice in the world.” [2]
I find the tender, vulnerable, fierce language of the Psalms similar in rhythm and texture to poetry and prayer. Words full of the nonverbal language of coos, sighs, and honest tears. Like my newest granddaughter at 11-months-old. Eugene Peterson calls this Language 1, and he suggests that while we need it most dearly, we are least practiced in it.
“And yet, this is the language most necessary to our humanity, to finding out who we are and who we are with, for love and care. And for God.”
Companioning language is what we practice in spiritual direction, prayer, and poetry. It is not the language of markets, politics, power, or competition, but a language that slows our inner world, lets us catch our breath, and match it to Trinitarian Love.
“I hear this most gentle whisper from the One I never guessed would speak to me. ”
So, listen for Love to speak to you. It might be in poetry, friendship, creation, quiet moments, or the ordianry hubbub of life. In the meantime, let me welcome you with what I hear God saying to me,
Come and sit with me while the world harries and spins.
Let’s wait together for the cherry pie to cool. I’ll bring the napkins.
We all keep company with someone. So, here are three bread-breaking phrases to open up the conversation. Perhaps you can use them as God keeps company with you and as you accompany others.
Tell me about . . .
Remind me of that time . . .
Tell me about encountering your fears lately . . .
My prayer for you: May you hear the most gentle whisper from the One you might never have guessed would speak to you.
Photo credit: Levi Guzman on Unsplash
[1] Nye, N. S. (2008). Honeybee. New York City: Green Willow Books, pg 85
[2] Gregory Boyle, S. (2026, June 29). The Spiritual Life Podcast. (S. James Martin, Interviewer)
[3] Peterson, E. (1989). Answering God. New York City: Harper One, pg 39