The alarm on his Wi-Fi device sounded at 5:00 AM. The room was pitch-dark. The night before he had staged his clothing so he could dress by feel in the blackness.

Padding silently through the sleeping house, he carried his shoes to the bench beside the front door, sat down, slipped into his shoes, opened the front door, and closed it with a barely audible click as the latch caught.

He looked up and down the dim street. No one. Turning toward the copse of trees visible on the near-horizon, he began his trek, visualizing the path through the small wood, the sketchy trail across the meadow beyond, and the wilderness awaiting on the other side of the stream crossing.

As soon as he forded the stream, he took a deep breath, relishing the lonely place and its solitude, and began his prayers. Even in the dark, he knew this place more intimately than he knew the back of his hand.

“And in the early morning, while it was still dark, He [Jesus] arose and went out and departed to a lonely place, and was praying there,” Mark writes (1:35).

I don’t know how Jesus awakened while it was still dark. I’m quite certain it was not with a Wi-Fi device, but that He did so on a regular basis Scripture makes plain. Matthew, Mark, and Luke all note Jesus’ propensity for slipping away into the wilderness to pray alone, in a lonely place.

Nearly forty years ago, I read that my mentor, Mr. Drucker, went away for two weeks in August to reflect and reconstitute his outlook. I was inspired and decided to follow Mr. Drucker’s lead.

I didn’t associate my decision with the spiritual practice of solitude, but as I retreated each Fall, the association did occur to me. As I have continued the practice, my concept and practice of this spiritual discipline has formed into one of the most treasured and beneficial disciplines in my life.

“Solitude liberates us from all the inane chatter that is so characteristic of modern life,” Foster writes. “It liberates us from the ever-present demands that are put upon us; demands that in the moment feel so urgent and pressing but that in reality have no lasting significance. In solitude the useless trivialities of life begin to drop away. We are set free from the many ​“false selves” we have built up in order to cope with the expectations others place upon us — and we place upon ourselves. Solitude empowers us to walk away from all human pretense and manipulation.”

Like the other disciplines of the Christian life, solitude can be practiced in short bursts and impromptu venues. But for solitude to work its wonders, scheduled time of some duration is where the magic is created.

While I have moments of solitude that I create each week, I also set aside a day per month, and a week during the Fall for solitude and prayer. In the lines that follow, I’ll describe my patterns and the underlying rationale. It’s not important that you do what I do, like I do, but it is essential that you capitalize on my experience to form your own practice of the spiritual discipline of solitude.

The spiritual disciplines are not exercises you approach in order to make yourself more pleasing to God, or make God happier with you, or to be more spiritual, or more acceptable to God, etc. Given the work of Jesus Christ, your acceptance by God is established and secure. There is nothing you can do to enhance your position with God or diminish your place in God’s heart. You are as accepted now as you ever will be. In fact, you are as accepted by God as Jesus is.

Therefore, you do not engage the spiritual disciplines to improve your status with your heavenly Father. Rather, you engage the spiritual disciplines because each practice is designed to help you comprehend, understand, and then appropriate into daily living essential aspects of what is true of God and true of you in relationship with God. As described by Foster, the disciplines place you on the spiritual path of grace and freedom in Christ. It is here that you encounter God and build the closeness indicative of friends and family.

Jesus said the most important thing in life is to love God. During His lifetime, He demonstrated spiritual practices that advanced His comprehension, understanding, and consequential lifestyle as a man who knew God and walked with Him. It is one thing to declare theologically that you love God. It is altogether different to say that you know God closely and love Him. It is one thing to know about God, another to know God.

Hebrews says, “Remember those who led you, who spoke the word of God to you; and considering the result of their conduct, imitate their faith.” Christ modeled for us how to know God as Father and friend. And so it is that retreating to a lonely place in search of solitude facilitates your heart’s desire to meet with your heavenly Father, discuss your life, and advance your awareness of who He is and who you are.

I’ve discovered that the inclination within me to pull away compliments God’s desire to speak with me. Yes, there may be some experience of silence when I withdraw to the wilderness, but God respects my intentional devotion to create solitude, encourages me in my practice, and speaks because He knows I’m listening intently.

One day each month, I withdraw to a lonely place, create solitude, and spend the day listening to Father God’s counsel, guidance, and perspective. For me, this typically means that I pull away to the state park about an hour from my house. It’s large enough, remote enough, and I know the geography of it well enough that I can reliably create solitude.

Note that I create solitude.

I have go-to places that I’ve scoped out in advance as places that appeal to my soul and where I can control interruptions in order to create solitude. These are places that I define as wilderness: lonely places where I’m not distracted. Some are literally geographical wildernesses. These places are where I do my longer retreats. Other places are figurative wildernesses—like an airplane seat with noise-cancelling earphones—or a less-traveled stretch of the Trinity River Trail near my home.

I have three or four wilderness places within an hour of home that I utilize monthly and three or four destinations to choose from annually for my retreats. By choosing my venues in advance, they are familiar places and I’m able to immerse myself into solitude right away without the distraction of getting acquainted with a new place.

I have discovered that the most beneficial time of solitude for me is my annual retreat in the Fall of the year. It took some time, and lots of trial and error, to figure out my routine. Like I said earlier, craft your own routine, but here’s mine in hopes of flattening your learning curve.

The goal you hope to realize in practicing the discipline of solitude is an extended conversation with God about your life, your relationship with God, and His vantage point regarding your life together. Your practice is to remove as many distractions as possible so you can listen with dedicated devotion. Place, pace, duration, and pattern are important components to consider as you practice spiritual solitude.  

My customary pattern is to utilize my journals to remind me of my spiritual insights and issues over the year. I’ll describe this process in a moment.

In the nearly forty years I’ve been taking a week for solitude, I’ve utilized a book to facilitate my thoughts on only four or five occasions. Obviously, it takes a special book and a deep conviction for me to believe God wants us to spend our week of solitude sorting through a particular book’s themes.

When I go away, I never take any discretionary reading material. No books, magazines, or Kindle for spare time. In the first place, I have no spare time. Second, I don’t want anything to distract my solitude and focus. I never take my fly rod, or my bike, or my wife, or a friend. All of these are distractions—noise—that risk disturbing my solitude.

Unless strongly convinced otherwise in advance, I pause my customary Bible reading for this time away. Yes, God speaks through Scripture when we practice the spiritual discipline of Bible reading and study, but this form of listening while reading Scripture is distinct from the listening done during solitude. Thus, unless led otherwise, routine Bible reading requires me to consider something other than the topics God has prepared ahead of my time away. Succinctly stated, Bible reading and study is about taking information aboard. The discipline of solitude is more about digesting information already on board.

So, I schedule my week away. I protect my schedule for two weeks before I depart as well as the weekend after I return home.

In the two weeks leading up to my departure, I review my journal entries for the year, i.e. since my last week of solitude. My journals are personal, electronic, and filled with all kinds of topics and musings that are just between God, the journal, and me. As I review, when I come upon an entry that is spiritual or that I deem relevant—a subjective but generous decision—I copy and paste the section into a fresh file.

Once I’ve gone through the entries for the year, copied and pasted as described into a new file, what I will have created is an edited file containing—broadly speaking—God’s communications with me. The contents of this file is the basis of my retreat. My presupposition is that God has been speaking to me all year, and if I will listen, He will elaborate upon His thoughts, and expand into other subjects, during my solitude.

I have also exercised the discipline of solitude when I have a pressing matter on my mind that I need to discuss with God. I’ve also retreated into solitude after suffering a wound. But these practices of solitude are specialized retreats in that I pull away as necessary versus the planned withdrawal to lonely places already on my calendar.

In the days leading up to my departure, I visit with God about everything on my mind—all of my questions, concerns, dilemmas, etc. I talk to God a lot. It’s a veritable mind dump—an emptying. Why?

Because when I depart for my week of solitude, I stop talking and devote myself entirely to listening.

At some point I realized that I needed to define when my solitude begins, i.e. when I stop talking and start listening.

If I’m flying to my retreat, solitude begins the moment I step into the gate area for my flight.

I take this very seriously. Once I clear security, I go to the bathroom, then stand across the walkway from my gate and take final inventory of my thoughts. I scan through my mind for anything left unsaid to God as well as any phone call left undialed or loose end untied. Once satisfied, I step into the gate area and begin my week of solitude: no unrelated talking that is not essential, only listening.

I don’t pray for my wife, you, my work, or my plans after I enter listening mode. For the next week, all I do is listen and respond to what God is saying in the wilderness of my lonely place.

If I’m driving, my solitude begins as soon as I drive out of my neighborhood. Similar to my routine at the airport, I pull to the curb before I leave my neighborhood, scan my thoughts for any unfinished business, and once satisfied, put the truck in gear and drive into listening mode and spiritual solitude.

Janelle Esker states, “Scriptural solitude is the biblical practice of temporarily withdrawing to privacy for spiritual purposes.”

The conviction within the discipline of solitude is that in quiet contemplation, you will hear from God in an extended conversation that is not possible during the regular ebb and flow of daily life. In creating a week—or an extended time—of quiet, you are practicing the skill of active listening. You are confronting the anxiety of loneliness with the faith that in solitude you are not alone, you are alone with God. You are intentionally separating yourself from life’s chaos to embrace time with no one else but God. You are disciplining yourself with quietness to sophisticate your ability to hear God speak.

Thoreau said, “God is alone—but the devil, he is far from being alone; he sees a great deal of company; he is legion.”

Before I depart, I make certain Dianne (my wife) feels secure, has what she needs, and concurs with the quietness and the solitary goal of my time away. I pledge to call each evening prior to dinner.

Once gone, my entry prayer into solitude is, Father, I anticipate this week with you. I ask you to guard and guide my thoughts. Please speak to me about the things that concern us. To the best of my ability, I’m listening and desire nothing more than to hear from you, walk with you, and spend time with you.

Then, I begin a contemplative review of the computer file I’ve created in advance. As I read, I consider myself engaging in prayer, one of the other spiritual disciplines that I will write about soon. As I read and thoughts come to me, based upon the prayer I prayed earlier (see italics), I believe in faith that I’m hearing from God. I make notes in my computer file, and as I write and additional thoughts come to me, I continue to write, believing that as I do, I’m hearing from God and interacting with Him.

Once I’m on site, my pattern looks like this: Since it is likely afternoon when I arrive, and since I almost always retreat to the woods, I put on my boots and head out for a hike. I carry my phone, not to keep up with regular business, but as a recording device.

I typically switch my phone to airplane mode (no connection) until I choose to communicate. Dianne knows I will call before dinner. If she needs something right away, she knows to call the buddy I’ve enlisted to back me up while I’m away. In this way, I create solitude, and protect it, while easing my mind about the home front.

The phone is a dangerous distraction. I rarely take my week in a place with an internet connection, so my computer is not tempting. But the phone? Unless I’m off the grid—and one of my sites is—then as soon as I switch airplane mode off, the texts and voice mail notifications start dinging. Before I glance through the texts, I focus and vow to not engage unless something is critical or POTUS has called. In truth, the President rarely calls and if there is a true crisis, someone else who is connected will take care of it. But if the buddy I’ve asked to back me up contacts me, I take the call. But in all my years, this has never happened. 

I use my phone to record my thoughts—any thoughts of significance—while I’m hiking. I believe, by faith, that as I walk with a determination to listen, the thoughts I have are coming to me from God in honor of my intent to listen. Does not Scripture say to seek—and continually keep on seeking—the Kingdom of God and His righteousness and that everything concerning life’s issues will be added to you?

If my thoughts drift, I trust God will help me discern this and correct course. If I miss something God is saying, I trust Him to get my attention. If a thought comes to me that contradicts Scripture, I know that is not from God. As thoughts come to me that I know are not my own, I believe they are God’s thoughts.

In all the years of practicing solitude, I’ve entered my week away during some very trying tumults. In retrospect, the advance preparation I’ve described has always put my mind in position to secure quietness when I step into the gate area or depart my neighborhood. My wife and friends have always had my back while I’m away.

After dinner is cleaned up, I return to my computer file. Often, in my scheduling for my week away, I coordinate my trip to coincide with a full moon. Thirty minutes before moonrise, I depart my quarters and hike the short-mile up the hill in the dark. No flashlight turned on. I want to arrive at the top of the hill with my eyes fully adjusted to the dark. Once in position, I stand quietly, listening, awaiting the moon’s appearance.

As the moon emerges, the coyotes begin their yipping and howling at the lunar display. Since their curiosity has caused them to investigate me—meaning they’ve followed me as I walked up the hill—when they begin howling, I hear that they are close, all around me. I was counting on this when I scheduled my retreat with the full-phase of the moon.

For me, this is nothing short of divine—an appointment orchestrated by God. This is all part of how I go about creating solitude. The hike, the timing, the place—it’s all part of the way in which I practice this spiritual discipline.

Once the coyotes have satisfied their curiosity with me and returned to their evening activities, I hike back down the hill in the dark—to avoid distraction and joust with any tendency toward insecurity—and return to my keyboard. When my thoughts are silent, I go to bed. Some nights I’m in bed by 9:00 PM. Sometimes, I don’t lie down until the wee hours of the next morning.

I’m on God’s time, not mine.

I get up when I get up. I eat breakfast and return to my computer file. I listen at my keyboard until lunch. After lunch, I head out into the wilderness, recorder in my pocket.

My afternoons walking are not what Dad used to call “sweaty walks.” Rather, I walk and I stop. I listen. I may sit by the creek. I do whatever I feel will facilitate my ability to hear. I do whatever will engage all of my senses in my lonely place.

My pattern is to return home Friday afternoon. While I reconnect with Dianne, I have no other obligations for the weekend. I spend the weekend in review, cleaning up loose ends, taking long walks, and listening to Father’s final words.

Once completed, I have an appended computer file of what God has said to me during my week of listening—my week of solitude—concerning all that we’ve discussed in the year prior and all that He has on His mind for the year upcoming. Invariably, God’s thoughts throughout my week away are intimate, personal, close, and relational. I do not use this time of solitude for study, preparation, or planning.

For my part, I’ve labored diligently to create solitude, put myself in place to listen, and captured what God has said to me. The only words I’ve spoken are requests for clarification, response to His thoughts, or engagement with what He is bringing to mind.

This routine works for me. A week is long enough for me to settle into the rhythm of solitude and get done what I need to do. On a handful of occasions, I’ve returned home with unfinished business. In these instances, I’ve cleared the next week of all I can to continue my listening.

I have friends who find three days is a good length of time. I used to coach my executive staff regarding solitude. When they were ready, I provided a three-day retreat in solitude for them as an executive perk.

I’m comfortable alone in the woods. Not everyone is and not everyone has access to literal wilderness. Dianne goes away to a hotel—which requires its own set of parameters to manage distraction.

My routine is solid enough now that I can modify it to my advantage if I have a different amount of time or an irregular venue. This means my practice of the spiritual discipline of solitude is resilient and flexible.

What works for you?

Is there a question, an issue, a concern that won’t resolve? That’s a perfect agenda item for the practice of solitude.

Are you an extrovert? The practice of solitude is to your benefit in that it forces you to be quiet and draw your energy from time with God as opposed to drawing energy from being with people.

Are you an introvert? The practice of solitude is to your benefit in that it forces you to engage with God as opposed to isolate in self-sustainability.

As a Christian, you are in possession of a new heart that desires to know God and walk with Him. Listening to Him is the unique contribution the discipline of solitude makes to your heart’s desire.

“And in the early morning, while it was still dark, He [Jesus] arose and went out and departed to a lonely place, and was praying there.”

 

Next up: the spiritual practice of worship, followed by prayer, soul friendship, and service. Until then.