Reflection 8: Where Do You Like to Meet?
Blessings Pilgrims,
It’s been nearly three weeks since I last shared a reflection with you.
I hadn’t planned on the silence… but Lent has a way of drawing us into the deeper places, the ones we often walk around, too settled in their patterns, yet quietly asking to be transformed. That’s where I’ve been.
This season invited me into intense introspection, healing, and surrender. Over the past four years, I’ve held space for many who have transitioned, friends, family, souls passing through. As a death doula, a spiritual companion, and someone who shows up for her community, I didn’t fully give myself permission to grieve. I carried it quietly… until my body could no longer hold it. The grief settled in my lungs, and this Lent, God gently turned my gaze toward what had been long ignored.
I must apologize for my absence. As your guide on this pilgrimage, I wanted to walk closely beside you, sharing daily reflections, being present. But life, and God, had other plans. Ironically, many of you shared that the pace was too much, that you needed time to breathe, to integrate. In your slowing down, I was invited to do the same.
Thanks to the grace of loving souls who crossed my path these past weeks, I’ve undergone a deep inner renewal. I’m beginning to see the world in color again. I hadn't realized how much grief had dulled my vision.
We are now in the second reflection of this part of the journey: “Meeting and getting acquainted with God.” The first reflection invited us to sit with sin: not as shame, but as disconnection; the places where we turn away from our Source.
And now we shift toward intimacy, toward relationship.
Where does God delight in meeting us?
Where do we feel most alive in God’s presence?
Where does the friendship begin?
Yesterday, I finally sat down to write, eager to share something about silence, as I had promised myself. But all I could write was a single line. The rest felt stuck. I prayed for inspiration and let go. And this morning, as always, God whispered it in.
What poured out was not a reflection on silence, but something else entirely, a piece from my heart: a poetic dialogue between me and God. It’s a glimpse into the 25-year friendship I’ve been cultivating with the One I often call the love of my life.
For those of you who know me, you may have heard me say it before:
“God is the love of my life.”
It’s still true. More than ever.
What follows is a tender unfolding of how and where we meet, how God and I speak, wrestle, laugh, and walk together. I hope you feel something stir in you as you read. A resonance. A remembering. A quiet invitation to discover how God is meeting you, too.
I am very proud of this share and even feel emotional offering it to you, with tears in my eyes. I am learning to go to these deeper places of tenderness and to share more of what I feel. I’m on the journey, a work in progress. Thank you for your attention, your companionship on this path, and your heart.
May this reflection bless your Saturday and nourish your soul.
With all my love,
Swaady
From my writing and painting station this morning. This is the home of Divine Indwelling so the perfect location for today’s reflection.
WHERE DO YOU LIKE TO MEET? - by Swaady Martin
me: I’ve been thinking…
If we’re really going to be friends, You and me,
I should probably ask…
Where do You like to meet?
God: Everywhere.
But not everyone notices.
My favorite places are the ones
where your soul grows still enough to hear Me breathe.
My friend Rumi says, “Silence is the language of God,
all else is poor translation.”
It made Me smile.
It’s not only My first language,
but also one of My favorite places to meet.
In silence, nothing performs.
Nothing pretends.
It’s just you and Me,
breathing in rhythm,
being without needing.
That’s where I wait.
That’s where I speak.
That’s where I am.
me: Stillness is hard for me.
It’s not just that I keep myself busy to avoid feeling,
though I’ve done that too.
It’s more that… there’s just always something.
Someone needs something.
Deadlines, dishes, messages, expectations,
they come like waves, and I’m always swimming.
Even when I want to pause, it feels like I can’t.
If I stop, something might fall apart.
Or someone might feel let down.
Sometimes even I might unravel.
But I crave it… that stillness You speak of.
Not just silence, but a kind of soft anchoring.
Like a deep breath I forgot I was allowed to take.
I want to try.
Even if it’s just a moment.
Even if it’s just this one.
God: That’s all I need, your wanting.
Come to Me in silence.
The kind that lives beneath your distractions.
The silence that doesn’t feel empty but full.
me: You mean that strange peace I feel
when I finally stop scrolling…
and just sit by the window and let the light fall on my face?
God: Yes. I am there, in that light.
And in your surrender to it.
me: It’s subtle.
I almost miss You every time.
God: But you don’t.
You notice. Even now.
That’s the beginning of friendship, awareness.
me: I think I feel You when I pray…
but it doesn’t always look like “prayer,” at least not the kind I was taught.
Sometimes there are no words,
just a heaviness in my chest, or a longing I can’t name.
And I wonder… is that prayer, too?
God: Oh yes, that is one of My favorite kinds.
Prayer isn’t something you have to master,
it’s something you already are.
You were born from prayer.
Remember Genesis?
“Let there be…”, that was My breath, My desire,
My holy imagination giving birth to the world.
And when I formed you,
I breathed My own Spirit into you.
You are not separate from My prayer.
You are its continuation.
So when you ache, when you sigh, when you whisper “help,”
or when you sit in silence, not knowing what to say,
that, too, is prayer.
When your heart reaches,
even if your lips don’t move,
I’m there.
You don’t need perfect words.
You don’t need formulas or performances.
You don’t even need to be sure I’m listening.
You just need to be honest.
I meet you where you stop pretending.
In whispered longings,
in tired amens,
in “I don’t know how to do this anymore.”
That’s when you’re closest.
That’s where I draw near.
That is prayer.
And that is holy ground.
me: I used to think You only met people
in churches, temples, or on holy mountains.
But honestly…
sometimes those places haven’t felt safe to me.
Some of them carried more judgment than love.
More rules than welcome.
And sometimes they told me I didn’t belong.
That You were theirs,
but not mine.
God: I know.
And it grieves Me.
Many places meant to bear My name
have forgotten My heart.
They’ve confused protection with exclusion,
reverence with control,
and sometimes, devotion with fear.
But I still love those places,
the ones that are alive with true longing,
with honest prayer,
with quiet devotion that asks for nothing in return.
Yes, I dwell there.
But I am just as present
in your laundry room,
in the hum of your fridge,
in your messy kitchen,
your late-night tears,
your silent walks,
your laughter with friends,
and your lonely Tuesday morning.
Holiness is not reserved for stone or ritual.
It lives where love lives.
It dwells where you dare to be real.
You don’t have to climb a mountain to find Me.
You just have to come home,
to yourself.
And you’ll find I’m already there,
waiting.
me: You know where I really feel You?
In Nature.
When I walk without hurry,
and the world feels ancient and alive.
The trees stretch like prayers.
The birds cry like prophets.
The wind wraps around me like a knowing.
And when the sun warms my face,
or the moon rises quiet and round,
I feel You.
Not far away, but here.
Like I’m walking through You.
With You.
As part of You.
God: That’s because you are.
I’m not just in Nature,
I am Nature.
Not separate. Not above.
But the roots and the rivers,
the pollen and the pulse.
The heat of the sun, the pull of the moon,
the howl of the wolf and the hush of the moss.
I am the aliveness you feel
when your feet touch the earth.
I am the thunder in your chest
when you stand beneath a vast, open sky.
Before there were temples,
there was forest.
Before scripture, there was sunlight.
Before religion told you where to find Me,
I was already singing in the trees,
shining in the stars,
flowing in your veins.
I am the medicine in the leaf,
the wisdom in the soil,
the memory in your body
when it knows how to rest.
You don’t have to look up to find Me.
Or bow down.
Just breathe.
Just listen.
Just be.
When you love the Earth,
you love Me.
When you care for her,
you care for your own soul.
We are not separate.
Come walk with Me.
Under the sun.
By the sea.
Through the fields.
And you will remember,
you were never outside of Me.
me: I wish I could live there,
in that kind of awareness all the time.
God: You’re not far.
Every return is a homecoming.
me: I’ve also seen glimpses of You in people,
in the way my friend stayed on the phone
when all I could do was cry.
In the way a stranger once held the door
with a kindness that felt like more than manners.
God: I live in people.
In their kindness, their laughter, their questions.
Sometimes even in their silence.
Every soul is a doorway.
And I’ve walked through many to reach you.
This is the mystery of the Divine Indwelling,
that I’m not only beside you,
but within you.
Woven into your breath,
whispering in your conscience,
burning quietly in the center of your being.
I don’t just visit you.
I inhabit you.
I made My home there long ago.
And when you meet another, really meet them,
with tenderness, with presence, with truth,
you’re meeting Me again.
In new form.
In another doorway.
me: But what about when people fail me?
When love feels like loss?
When forgiveness feels too far?
God: Even then, I am there.
In the tears that say “this hurt,”
in the choice to forgive,
in the ache that stays open instead of hardening.
I don’t cause the wound,
but I anoint it.
me: And what about joy?
I know You’re there in the deep stuff,
but are You in the goofy moments?
Like when I dance around my room,
laughing at nothing,
just… alive?
God: That’s one of My favorite places to meet you.
Joy is My purest language.
When you laugh,
you echo Eden.
me: I think I meet You best when I’m being real.
Not trying to be “spiritual.”
Just… me.
God: That’s exactly where I long to meet you.
Not the edited version.
Not the polished prayer.
But the raw, unfiltered, beautiful you.
me: You know… I’ve wanted a friendship like this all my life.
Someone who really sees me.
Someone who stays.
Someone I don’t have to impress.
God: I’ve been here all along.
And I’m not going anywhere.
me: Sometimes I forget that.
I get caught up in the doing.
I make You into a task instead of a companion.
God: Then let Me remind you,
I am not your checklist.
I am your Home.
me: I feel like we’re just beginning.
Like I’m learning how to recognize You…
in my breath, in the sky,
in my pain, in my joy,
in myself.
God: Yes.
This is the beginning.
Of a friendship that has no end.
me: Then…
meet me in all the places I didn’t think to look.
Surprise me.
Stay close.
Teach me how to be a friend to You, too.
God: I will.
And I already am.
Spiritual Assignment: “Where God Meets Me”
This week, you are invited to gently and intentionally explore your relationship with God through awareness, reflection, and prayerful noticing. This is not a performance. It’s a quiet uncovering of what has always been there, your connection to the Divine.
🕊 Part 1: Awareness PRACTICE: "Noticing the Meeting Places"
Over the next days, take at least 10 minutes each day to simply notice:
Where do you feel most at peace? Most alive? Most still?
Where do you feel something holy brushing close, whether in nature, in silence, in another person, or even in pain?
What places, moments, or activities soften your heart or bring tears to your eyes?
Write these down. Don’t analyze. Just notice and name them.
🕊 Part 2: Reflection: “Where Have I Met You, God?”
Find a quiet moment and complete this journaling prompt:
“God, I’ve met You in…”
Let it become a stream-of-consciousness list. Be honest. Be raw. Let the poem you read be your guide. God meets us in grief, laundry rooms, lonely mornings, forests, kitchens, and moments of surrender. Where have you met God, even if you didn’t know it at the time?
Then reflect on:
Where do I long to meet God now?
What gets in the way of me noticing God’s presence?
Where might God be longing to meet me—that I haven’t considered before?
🕊 Part 3: Intimacy Practice: “A Letter or Conversation with God”
Using either poetry, prose, or simple words, write a short letter or prayer to God that begins with:
“God, I want to meet You in…”
“God, thank You for meeting me in…”
Let it be a conversation. Let it be real. This is not about getting it “right.” It’s about cultivating relationship.
💬 Optional Sharing (for those in the group chat):
If you feel moved, share a short phrase or sentence from your reflection that touched you. Just one line is enough.
We are all learning to listen.
We are all learning to be met.
We are all in process.
