I got a new phone recently. My old phone was a 4G model that continued to develop symptoms of being past its prime. It had a good run. But it was time for an improvement.

The new phone is great. Except for one thing. It didn’t come with a case, and the phone itself is smooth and sleek. Which means that it slides across surfaces very easily. Which means that when its sitting on a surface and vibrates from any kind of alert, it falls off whatever surface it was on. This includes the wireless charger that I thought would be a great convenience. Any little new notification that comes across the radar of my phone knocks it off balance.

So, I’ve ordered a phone case for it. Phone cases are wonderful things. They protect the phone, but still allow one to connect with it. They don’t encase the phone in so much armor that it can’t be used, but a good case keeps a phone from harm. Phone cases also have a little bit of texture to them. Just enough traction that the phone won’t go slipping to the floor at every vibration. 

I think our spiritual practices, if we use them wisely, are like good phone cases. They protect us from some of the harm that can arise from the traumatic events of a human life. And yet, they enable us to be meaningfully connected to other people and the world around us. And our spiritual practices have enough of a grip on us that we remain grounded and centered when all the little shocks of daily life activate us.

Sometimes human beings experience such painful ruptures in our relationships that we become overprotective. We might isolate ourselves or develop habits that disconnect us from ourselves and other people rather than deepening our connection. We might pretend that we are so slick that everything just slides off us, and yet wind up having a hard time staying stable when unexpected information catches us off guard. 

The behaviors we take on to protect ourselves from pain are often necessary for us in moments of deep wounding. But when those behaviors become habits, it’s like encasing our phones completely in lead and burying them in a field, just to make sure they don’t get damaged. Our phones need to be connected to us and to the wider world in order to be fully functional. 

We do too.

Whatever our spiritual practices may be (whether or not anyone else even thinks of our practices as “spiritual”) they are useful to us when they allow us to be fully functional human beings. This means that our practices, if we engage in them wisely, soften our hearts and connect us more deeply to ourselves, other people, the world around us, and whatever we call the Divine. They allow us to be vulnerable without being overwhelmed, to trust in our ability to remain centered and grounded in our life-affirming values. 

And from that space, we can be more aware of our influence on the world and more intentional about what we create. Rather than focusing on staying safe, we can focus on where our guiding principles are calling us into meaningful action. And we can embrace the dichotomy of being fully ourselves and fully connected to others, and all the complicated beauty that emerges from that connection.

What is your personal phone case of spiritual practices? What keeps you grounded and steady when life’s little shocks ripple over you? What envelops you in the assurance of your life-affirming values while also allowing you to be meaningfully connected to other people and the world we all share?