Me, God, a cigarette, and trees

With all that has been going on in my life as of late, I regret to write that it has been quite difficult for me to find time for my own spiritual life and nourishment, something I probably desperately need. One challenge for me in congregational ministry and being involved in church worship is that during the services themselves, I'm often too distracted by my own actions, reactions, and responsibilities in order to fully participate in the spiritual practice and reflection of the services openly and authentically. Even when I do recognize my becoming overly self-conscious and stop to take a "breath," I often discover that it is not long before I am wandering/wondering: now what is coming up next in the service, is my microphone turned off, can they hear me singing, why can't I read music anymore, am I allowed to sneeze up here, remember it’s body broken and blood shed – not body shed! Ironically, church is becoming less and less of a time of my experiencing God and much more about my insecurities, God help me (truly). Perhaps it is yet another lesson God has intended for me in genuinely understanding and experiencing Christ’s true Grace in being utterly human me.

So that said, I am a bit ashamed to admit that my one constant spiritual practice presently is having one cigarette with God standing under the trees outside my apartment each night before I go to bed - ashamed both because I find smoking rather repulsive these days and because I believe I owe God a bit more time and attention than the time I spend in self-destructiveness. Now I quit smoking regularly years ago, only having an occasional cigarette here and there when the situation or company seemed to deem it; however, when the weather turned hot this summer, and I began feeling like everything was falling apart - financially, with my father, etc., I decided my stress level had warranted my purchasing a pack of cigarettes. I never wanted (nor want) to become a “regular” smoker again, my lungs hurt just writing about it, but somehow, that one cigarette late in the evening this semester, while looking out at the stars and the moon or an overcast sky lit only by Nashville or the trees full of rustling leaves, seems altogether peaceful – an experience outside my hectic, nonstop world. In its own kind of “silence,” I stand out there listening to the crickets chirp or some birds sing evening songs; occasionally frightened by the random possum who lives nearby or surprised by the alley cat who strides cautiously under the orange fluorescent street light. All the while, I am praying, always praying. I talk to God, mostly asking God to help me, help me please, or thanking God for all the things that are well and right with the world. This smoke with God gives me a little solace at the end of the night, and I’ve come to appreciate it.

Now truthfully, my ideal is to cut out the cigarette part of my nightly ritual; but for the time being, I'm trying not to judge it too harshly. Instead, for now, I just look at the moon in its fullness or fingernail sliver, watch that one multi-colored twinkling star that seems to wink at me from beyond, and feel a bit connected with something that is beyond me. The smoke from my breath unfurls in a breeze like incense of a kind. Yes, for now, and just for now, it's okay.