Holding Pain and Joy Together: Centering Prayer, Letting Go, and Finding Clarity in Uncertain Times

In these past few reflections—wrestling with Centering Prayer, learning to let go in the midst of uncertainty, and finding clarity again (even something as tangible as cleaner air and a clearer mind)—a quiet thread has been emerging.

It’s the thread of release.

Of letting go, not once, but over and over again. Of discovering that peace isn’t found by escaping life’s challenges, but by learning how to remain present within them.

It’s in that space that these words from Br. David Steindl-Rast feel especially meaningful:

“If we shut our hearts to the pain of the world our celebrations become superficial. If we let that pain overwhelm our hope, we are lost in the dark. Tears in which pain and joy flow together do justice to life in its fullness.”

There was honesty in Learning to Let Go: Wrestling with Centering Prayer—the kind of honesty that admits how difficult it is to sit still, to release control, and to surrender the constant movement of thoughts. That wrestling is not a failure of prayer; it is part of it. When we enter into silence, we don’t just find stillness—we encounter everything we’ve been carrying beneath the surface. Anxiety, distraction, resistance, even unrecognized grief begins to rise. Letting go becomes less of a single decision and more of a returning, again and again, to a willingness to release.

In Centering Prayer in Real Life, that inner practice met the unpredictability of everyday life—workplace concerns, uncertainty, the tension of not knowing what comes next. This is where the balance Br. David describes becomes real. It would be easy to shut down, to push through and pretend everything is fine, but that kind of denial thins out our joy until it becomes superficial. It would also be easy to let uncertainty take over completely, draining hope and leaving only heaviness. Instead, there has been a quieter, more courageous path—staying open. Allowing concern to exist without letting it define everything. Returning to prayer not as escape, but as re-centering.

Then came Clarity, Air Quality, and Getting My Brain Back, where there is a palpable sense of relief. Anyone who has experienced mental fog or environmental strain understands how profound it is when clarity returns. It feels like grace—unexpected, undeserved, but deeply welcomed. Yet even this clarity ties back into the same unfolding journey. It wasn’t forced into being; it emerged alongside release. As something shifted physically, something also softened internally. Space opened.

Looking across these moments together, it becomes clear that life is not one thing or another. It is not struggle or peace, uncertainty or clarity, pain or joy. It is both. Centering Prayer gently teaches us to sit within that tension without trying to resolve it too quickly. Thoughts come and go. Emotions rise and fall. Moments of frustration sit beside moments of stillness. And if we allow it, something deeper begins to take shape.

This is where the quote finds its fullest expression—tears where pain and joy flow together. The frustration of distraction sits alongside the quiet return to presence. The weight of uncertainty coexists with a steady, underlying hope. The fog of overwhelm gives way, at times, to clarity that feels like a gift. None of these cancel the others out. Together, they form a fuller picture of what it means to be alive.

What has been unfolding across these reflections isn’t just a practice of prayer, but a way of living. It is the courage to stay present instead of numbing out, to let go without knowing the outcome, to receive moments of clarity without trying to control them, and to hold both struggle and peace without needing immediate resolution. It is not polished or perfect, but it is real.

And maybe that is exactly where we are meant to be—in lives that aren’t simplified into easy categories, but are held gently in their complexity. Lives where hope is not the absence of difficulty, but the presence of something steady beneath it. Lives where even our tears can carry both sorrow and gratitude at once.

Resources:

Br. David Steindl-Rast Quote from grateful.org

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Update: Clarity, Air Quality, and Getting My Brain Back

I wanted to share an update following my recent posts about what I believed might be Sick Building Syndrome and the impact it’s been having on my health and work.

After environmental testing, the EHS (Environmental Health & Safety) results came back indicating that air quality levels were within acceptable ranges. While that was reassuring from a compliance standpoint, it didn’t fully explain how I had been feeling.

What has made a difference, though, is time and distance.

I’ve now been working remotely for about three weeks—and the change has been dramatic.

Physically, I feel fantastic. The lingering fatigue and mental fog I had been struggling with have essentially lifted. Mentally, it’s like a switch flipped: my focus, energy, and clarity have all returned in full force.

What’s been most telling is the shift in my work itself.

I’ve been diving into Splunk again, and not just maintaining things—but improving them in ways I simply wasn’t capable of while I was feeling off. I’m making meaningful updates to dashboards and reports, revisiting logic, refining visualizations, and uncovering opportunities I hadn’t even considered before. It’s a level of creativity and productivity that had been noticeably absent—and I didn’t fully realize how much until it came back.

Whether the root cause was environmental, physiological, or some combination, the takeaway for me is clear: how we feel directly shapes how we think, and how we perform. When something is off, even subtly, it can have a bigger impact than we realize.

For now, I’m focused on maintaining this momentum, staying attentive to what my body is telling me, and continuing to build on the progress I’ve been able to make since stepping away.

More to come as I keep observing and learning.

Resources:

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Centering Prayer in Real Life: Letting Go Amid Workplace Concerns and Uncertainty

Lately I’ve been thinking about how different parts of life—especially workplace stress and my faith—intersect in ways I didn’t expect.

If you’ve been following along, you know I’ve been writing about the concerns I’ve experienced with our office environment—the dust, the air quality issues, and the uncomfortable feeling that something just isn’t right. I’ve also shared my experience with the EHS testing that, in many ways, raised as many questions as it answered, along with what I’ve been learning about possible sick building syndrome symptoms. More recently, I’ve talked about the process of requesting a remote accommodation and trying to advocate for my health.

None of that has fully resolved yet, and sitting in that kind of uncertainty has been challenging.

At the same time, I’ve been reading Open Mind, Open Heart by Thomas Keating and trying to understand centering prayer. I’ll be honest—I don’t fully grasp it yet, especially how it applies in the middle of stressful situations like work.

But I’m starting to see that maybe these things aren’t separate.

In my work situation, there’s this constant undercurrent of tension. Waiting. Wondering if concerns are being taken seriously. Trying to make sense of information and determine what is “normal” versus what feels off in my own body. It’s easy to get caught in a loop of overthinking—replaying conversations, analyzing details, searching for clarity.

If I’m really honest, a lot of that comes back to control. Wanting answers. Wanting resolution. Wanting things to feel settled and certain.

And that’s exactly where centering prayer has started to challenge me.

The idea of letting go—not chasing every thought, not needing to resolve every question immediately—feels almost opposite to how I’ve been approaching everything else. In centering prayer, the invitation is simple but not easy: notice the thought, and gently let it go. Come back to stillness.

I’m realizing just how hard that is for me, especially when the thoughts feel justified. These aren’t random distractions—these are real concerns about health, environment, and what feels like my ability to function well day-to-day.

Letting go doesn’t mean ignoring those concerns. It doesn’t mean I stop advocating for myself or asking questions. What it changes is the internal posture I bring into those situations.

Instead of being driven entirely by urgency and anxiety, there’s an invitation to hold things a little more loosely.

That’s new for me.

I’m slowly learning that I can continue to pursue answers and take action where needed, while also recognizing that not everything is within my control—and not everything has to be solved immediately for me to experience a small measure of peace.

Reading Keating’s book, I keep coming back to the idea that something deeper is happening beneath the surface, even when I can’t see it or understand it. That applies to prayer—but I’m beginning to think it applies to this season of life too.

Maybe growth isn’t always something I can measure right away.
Maybe clarity doesn’t always come on my timeline.
Maybe being in an uncertain work environment doesn’t mean everything is broken—it might mean I’m still in the middle of the process.

That process isn’t easy. It includes real stress, real questions, and situations that still feel unresolved. But it also includes something quieter—learning, very slowly, how to sit with uncertainty without letting it take over completely.

I’m reminded of Psalm 46:10:
“Be still, and know that I am God.”

That stillness doesn’t come naturally to me—especially when I feel like something needs to be fixed. But I’m beginning to understand that stillness isn’t about having everything figured out. It’s about choosing, even briefly, to release the need to control every outcome.

So this is where I am right now:

Still asking questions.
Still advocating for my health and what I need.
Still walking through conversations and uncertainties.

But also beginning to practice letting go—just a little sooner than I usually would.

Even if it’s only for a few moments at a time.

If you’ve been following this journey—from the office environment concerns, to the EHS testing, to exploring sick building syndrome, to navigating a remote accommodation request—you know this hasn’t been a straight or simple path.

And if any part of this resonates with you—whether it’s dealing with workplace stress, advocating for your health, or trying to find peace in an uncertain situation—you’re not alone in that.

I’d really value hearing your experience. Feel free to share your thoughts in the comments, or explore the earlier posts if you’re walking through something similar.

Resources:

Sweeping Up Dust to Detect Emerging Viruses

YouVersion Bible App - Scripture Image

Related blog posts on this Journey:

https://santiniserenity.blogspot.com/2026/05/workplace-health-update-continuing.html

https://santiniserenity.blogspot.com/2026/05/workplace-health-update-personal-note.html

https://santiniserenity.blogspot.com/2026/03/when-office-makes-you-sick-recognizing.html

Learning to Let Go: Wrestling with Centering Prayer

Lately I’ve been reading Open Mind, Open Heart by Thomas Keating, and I have to admit—it’s both really interesting and a little hard to wrap my head around. I keep feeling like I’m almost understanding it, but not quite. And maybe that’s okay.

Centering prayer is described as something you don’t really do, but something you consent to. That alone feels different from how I’ve always thought about prayer.

Most of my life, prayer has been active—talking, thinking, reflecting, asking. Even when I’m quiet, my mind is usually full of words. But this way of praying invites something else entirely. Less doing, more being. Less effort, more letting go.

In the book, Keating talks a lot about releasing thoughts instead of getting caught up in them. Not pushing them away or getting frustrated, but just gently returning to a sacred word. It sounds simple enough, but in reality, I’m finding it kind of difficult.

My mind really doesn’t want to be still. It jumps around constantly—planning things, replaying conversations, coming up with random thoughts I didn’t even know were there. And when I notice it happening, my instinct is to either get annoyed or try harder to “fix” it.

One thing that’s been surprisingly challenging is the idea that there isn’t really a way to measure success here. It’s not about feeling peaceful or focused or like I’ve “had a good prayer.” Even when I feel distracted the whole time, that doesn’t mean I’ve failed.

That’s a hard shift.

I’m so used to wanting to know if I’m doing something right or getting better at it. But this kind of prayer doesn’t seem to work that way. It’s more about showing up and being willing—just sitting there and consenting to God’s presence, even when I don’t feel anything happening.

Keating talks about how something deeper is going on beneath the surface, even if we can’t notice it. I think that’s where some trust comes in. Trust that the silence isn’t empty. That letting go isn’t pointless. That God is still there, even when I feel distracted or unsure.

I don’t think I fully understand that yet. But I’m starting to sense that I don’t have to.

Maybe part of this is accepting that I won’t grasp it all right away. That it’s not just something to think about, but something to slowly grow into. So for now, I’m trying to approach it with a bit more openness and a little less pressure.

Just sitting quietly for a few minutes. Picking a simple word. Letting go when I notice myself drifting. And then doing that again…and again.

If you’re exploring centering prayer too and it feels confusing or frustrating at times, you’re definitely not alone. I’m right there in it.

I may not fully understand what I’m doing—but I think I’m still showing up. And maybe that counts for more than I realize.

Resources:

Related Blog Post: Quieting Your Mind: Tips for Centering Prayer

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Workplace Health Update: Continuing the Journey

I wanted to share a brief follow-up to my earlier note regarding the allergy and sinus challenges I’ve been experiencing in my workspace.

Since my last update, I’ve continued working closely with Ohio State’s Integrated Disability Accommodation team through HR, and I’m currently on an interim remote work arrangement while we identify appropriate next steps. I’m grateful for the flexibility and support during this time as I prioritize my health.

When at the office last week, I did not observe meaningful progress on the deeper cleaning that had been discussed. I requested cleaning at the beginning of March 2026.  However, Environmental Health & Safety (EHS) has continued their assessment, and one notable finding was that the sprinkler heads were heavily coated with cobwebs and dust—conditions that require professional maintenance and reinforce the need for a more thorough environmental response.

While this process has included some setbacks, it has also reinforced the importance of speaking up, staying engaged, and trusting the process even when progress feels slow. I’m continuing to work collaboratively with HR, EHS, and Facilities toward solutions that support a safe and healthy workspace.

A verse that continues to encourage me in this season is Psalm 34:14: “Turn from evil and do good; seek peace and pursue it.” For me, that has meant remaining steady, advocating with care, and continuing to pursue a healthier environment—not just for myself, but for others who share the space.

In the meantime, I'm grateful that I feel well simply being away from the dust and debris at the office.  A friend asked about my GLP1 energy levels and with the unwellness and fatigue after being at the office breathing in the dusty air, I feel so tired that I cannot really say if my energy has leveled out.  

Workplace Health Update: A Personal Note

Over the past several weeks, I’ve been navigating ongoing allergy and sinus challenges that seem connected to the indoor environment in my workspace. It’s been a learning experience—both in listening more closely to my health needs and in advocating for a healthier work setting.

I’m grateful to be working with Ohio State’s Environmental Health & Safety (EHS) team, who have conducted air quality testing to better understand the environment. I’ve also partnered with OSU Human Resources through the Integrated Disability Accommodation process to ensure I have the right support in place. In addition, Facilities has been responsive in coordinating a more thorough cleaning of the space, which I deeply appreciate.

This process has reminded me of the importance of persistence, patience, and community. As it says in Galatians 6:9, “Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.” That encouragement has stayed with me as I continue working through next steps.

Thankful for the collaboration across teams and hopeful for continued progress toward a healthier, more comfortable workspace for everyone.

Resources:

YouVersion - Scripture Image

Blog Post:  When the Office Makes You Sick

How Can Such a Cute Cat Have That Much Attitude?

If you live with a torbie, you’ve probably asked yourself how a cat that cute can have that much attitude. Yes, I have asking it a lot recently.

The answer is torbitude: the natural state of torbies everywhere. Torbitude is the unshakable confidence that things should be done a certain way—and the deep emotional response when they are not. Dinner will always be late. Pets will be perfect until they’re suddenly wrong. Doors being closed is a personal insult.

Torbies are extra cute, which is honestly misleading marketing. Their soft fur and speckled faces suggest sweetness, but inside is a tiny supervisor monitoring your performance. The side‑eye is strong, the opinions are stronger, and the tail tells you everything you need to know (mostly that you should stop what you’re doing).

The good news is that torbitude usually comes with intelligence, curiosity, and big feelings. These cats care. A lot. About fairness. About routine. About how you breathed near them just now. Once you accept that you are not the boss but rather enthusiastic support staff, torbitude becomes part of the charm—and living with a torbie becomes endlessly entertaining. 😼 

We love our cat Patty even with her moments of attitude!