One of the things I’ve been thinking about this week is why I do daily spiritual work in the first place. Yes, I think it makes daily life a little easier over time, but that’s not the primary reason I keep showing up every day. I do it because life will inevitably become difficult, and I want to be spiritually prepared when it does. The goal isn’t to eliminate hardship or to convince myself that nothing bad will happen. It’s to live in a way that I no longer have to fear when bad things happen because I trust that, with God’s help, I’ll have what I need to face them. The real fruit of the work is that when something difficult does happen, I respond differently than I would have five or ten years ago.
Last Sunday was a pretty good example of that.
I go to a church that serves many people experiencing homelessness, which is one of the reasons I love it. Everyone is welcome. On any given Sunday, there are a few individuals who appear to be in various stages of psychosis, talking to people who aren’t there or carrying on conversations only they can hear. They aren’t harmful, just people who have often been rejected everywhere else, finding a place where they are accepted. Seeing homeless individuals at church is not unusual. What happened this past Sunday, however, was.
I was standing in the back of church waiting to help with the collection when a large woman came barreling through the doors behind me in what appeared to be some type of mental health crisis. Before I could even understand what was happening, she began screaming words no one could really make sense of, grabbed me by the hair from behind, and pulled me to the floor. As we both fell, she wrapped her legs around my torso and refused to let go of the handful of my hair she was holding. She also had hold of my shoulders, making it nearly impossible for me to get away. Even as I screamed, she only tightened her grip. Within moments, my husband, Kevin, and a few other men rushed over, and they eventually managed to physically pry her off of me. When she finally released her grip, I ran barefoot through the church and ended up hiding near the confessionals. It was one of the most surreal situations I’ve ever experienced.
The police arrived, and at first, no one could find me. In trying to hide from her, I had also unintentionally hidden from everyone who was looking for me to make sure I was okay. Eventually, they found me because I simply stepped out from my little corner by the confessionals, and still barefoot, got in line to receive Communion. The paramedics evaluated me as best they could, and the police asked whether I wanted to press charges. I was still shaken and knew I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to make that kind of decision. Rather than answering in the moment, I asked if I could take a few days to think and pray about it. They told me that was completely fine.
Because I’m pregnant, I went to the emergency room afterward. My neck and ribs hurt, and I had bumps on my head the doctor wanted to evaluate, but my first concern wasn’t my head or ribs. I just wanted to see the baby. I remember telling them, “Can we just do the ultrasound first? Then you can look at my head all you want.” Once I saw that little heartbeat, I felt like everything else could be figured out.
The next morning I realized something that hadn’t even occurred to me all day Sunday. It never crossed my mind to drink, binge, starve myself, or use any of the coping mechanisms that used to control my life to deal with what had happened. For someone who spent years turning to alcohol and disordered eating whenever life felt overwhelming, that’s kind of remarkable. Moreover, I didn’t avoid those behaviors because I was trying really hard not to, they simply weren’t where my mind went anymore. That’s one of the greatest gifts of recovery. The obsessions didn’t even come to mind.
But, what struck me even more was where my mind did go.
People sometimes think spiritual growth means you learn to control your thoughts. I don’t think that’s true. I still don’t control the first thought that pops into my head. What I do think is that years of daily prayer, confession, and trying to honestly look at myself have slowly changed what those first thoughts are. The work didn’t just change my behavior; eventually, it changed my instincts.
While the police were asking whether I wanted to press charges, I noticed what wasn’t happening inside of me. My mind wasn’t racing with thoughts of revenge. I wasn’t thinking, She deserves to suffer for what she did to me, or I hope she gets what’s coming to her. I wasn’t consumed by an “eye for an eye” mentality or a desire to make her pay simply because I had been hurt. Instead, my mind immediately went somewhere completely different. I found myself wondering, “What happened to her?”
I know what it’s like to be completely unlike yourself. I’ve lived through addiction and mental health struggles. I understand how someone can become a person they never thought they would become. That doesn’t excuse what happened, but it changes how I see the person who did it.
That also doesn’t mean the answer is automatically move on after I forgive her. I’m still praying about whether pressing charges is the right thing to do, not because I’m angry, but because I’m trying to ask a different question. What actually helps this woman? Is a pass what she needs? Or are consequences what she needs? In recovery, we understand that sometimes the DUI is what saves someone’s life. Sometimes consequences are what finally wake us up. So my prayer isn’t, “God, help me get even.” It’s, “God, what is the most loving response for everyone involved?”
I noticed something else too. My thoughts weren’t centered on me. They were, “Is the baby okay?” “How do I keep everyone else safe?” and “How do I make sure this woman gets the help she needs?” As I’ve continued praying about whether to press charges, I’ve realized that my concern isn’t about me. I’ve forgiven her. I’m not lying awake worried that she’s going to come find me or attack me again. That’s what unforgiveness does, it keeps us living in fear, constantly replaying what happened and trying to protect ourselves from it happening again. By God’s grace, that’s not where my mind has gone.
What I do think about is the next person, the next volunteer standing by the door, the next elderly parishioner, the next pregnant woman, the next child. If there is a meaningful risk that this could happen again, then I have to ask whether the most loving thing isn’t simply giving her a pass, but helping ensure she gets whatever intervention she needs before someone else is hurt. That’s a very different motivation than revenge.
At the same time, I can’t help but imagine another possible ending to this story. What if years from now, she stood at a podium telling her own recovery story? What if she said that the day she attacked a pregnant woman in church became the moment everything finally changed? Maybe that’s not how her story ends. I have no idea. But the fact that my mind even goes there is evidence that years of inventory, prayer, confession, and forgiveness have changed my heart. Years ago, I would have wanted justice for myself. Today, I find myself praying for healing, for me, for the people she could encounter next, and for her.
That’s what I think spiritual work does.
Most days, prayer feels ordinary. Confession can feel repetitive. Forgiveness often feels slow. It’s easy to wonder whether any of it is actually changing me. But then when life caught me completely off guard, and without even realizing it, I discovered that my mind had been rewired. I didn’t react the way I used to. My first instinct wasn’t revenge. It was compassion, discernment, and asking God what love actually looks like in this situation.
As I look back over the past week, I realize that this is exactly why I do the spiritual work. I don’t pray, take my own inventory, confess my past, or work on forgiveness because I believe those things will prevent difficult days. I do them because when those days inevitably come, I want to be spiritually prepared for them. I want to trust that, with God’s help, I’ll have what I need to face whatever is in front of me. This past Sunday reminded me that the real fruit of the work isn’t that life has changed. It is that I have.
If you’re new here, I’m Dr. Lisa Stanton, and I want to welcome you to my writing home.
A bit about me: I write and teach about faith, recovery (not only from addiction, but also mental health, physical illness, the need for control…just about anything), and the process of unlearning the things that keep me from peace.
My publication is called The Unlearning Gazette, and my emails are simple: stories, reflections, and reminders that God hasn’t gone anywhere, even when life feels heavy or confusing.
So, welcome, or hello, it’s great to see you again!