Quick! Slow down.

As we begin (or renew) a spiritual practice, it can be tempting to jump in with both feet and begin swimming - or reading spiritual books or doing asanas or meditating - as fast and as hard as we can. This enthusiasm is delightful and we feel bathed in light.

But then something happens.We lose our job, we are hit with a lawsuit, a loved one falls ill. We get sick, feel overwhelmed, or get angry. We are challenged by our laziness, our busy schedule, our patterns (from the past) of having started and stopped this kind of thing before.And the rubber meets the road.The gifts (and the tests) of our spiritual practice show themselves when, inevitably, something comes up; when the light fades and we find ourselves face-to-face with our same old life again - face-to-face with the self.A few years back, my mother suffered a heart aneurysm, requiring open-heart surgery. Her recovery was long and complicated, requiring 24/7 care - and constant coordination with family members and the professionals - doctors, nurses, aides - who worked with her.When it happened, I was in the final stages of a book I'd been working on for five years. At that point, I'd been writing every single day - from 7 a.m. until noon, five hours - for over a year.Still, with Mom in the hospital fighting for her life, anyone would have understood if I'd put down my pen for a while. But I wouldn't have - and you know what? Neither would my mom. An artist and poet, she'd told me all of my life, "Don't let anything - or anyone - take your art away from you."So, as Mom hovered between life and death, I held onto her hand - and my pen.Each day, I poured my sadness and worry onto the page. And writing met me there - right where I was: beside Mom's bed in the ICU, in the hospital cafeteria, in the parking lot.That writing - a blessed and spiritual practice - was some of the best work I've ever done. It gave me the strength to continue helping my mom - and it showed me what spiritual practice really is. It's commitment to the self: to doing whatever it takes to becoming (and being) the best me that I can be.As Mom recovered, came home and had several good years before she slipped peacefully away, I kept writing.I'm still writing - and still learning from the practice which got me from there to here.Today, wherever you are in your own spiritual practice, take it slowly and take it steadily.One step at a time, over time.Writing is my practice. Find yours - a craft, a hobby, a way of combining meditative action with contemplation. A way of 'moving being' - a doing - that fills and renews you.Look for ways to integrate your practice into the timeline of your day, the way you'd want to include a dear new friend in every part of your life - everyday - from now on.