One morning in June 2020, I was walking down the shady street where I always walk in the South, bouncing along, moving fast, wondering what to do about everything unfolding in the world at the time. Suddenly a tiny voice zapped into my brain. It was so tiny I could have missed it. It said: You should go to Yale Divinity School.
I cannot stress enough what happened next. I was so surprised that I laughed. Another inner voice, always ready to take me down a notch, quickly answered: Impossible! You don’t belong there.
Amused by the thought but unconvinced, self-doubt and imposter syndrome as strong as ever, I went on with my summer and my year. As fall approached, I began to realize that little spark of an idea was not going anywhere. It hovered in the back of my mind and seemed determined to stay.
Though I had not been considering school at all until that voice appeared, I decided to look into divinity programs. Since admissions events were newly virtual, I had access to a lot of people and information. I explored several schools, creating every opportunity for the universe to prove my little voice wrong.
But sure enough, among all the programs I explored, Yale Divinity School was the place where I found synergy and made personal connections. People there understood my interests and offered support from afar. The community was warm and generous, and something about it just felt right.
Before I knew it, my tiny spark had grown into a flame.
When it was time to apply, I told my husband and three wonderful friends in academia whom I asked to write my recommendation letters. They advised me, read my material, and offered suggestions, and I felt lucky to have their support. In the end, I applied to three programs; it seemed silly to put all my eggs in one basket.
In my typical style, I pored over those applications throughout the winter of 2020. I spent hours thinking, writing, revising, and forming connections at the schools in question. Every interaction felt promising, especially at Yale Divinity, which led me to believe I was on the right path. At every turn, my quiet little voice kept saying yes.
Fast forward to March 2021. After months of self-inquiry and preparation, I got some news.
I had been rejected from all three programs.
***
Rejection takes different shapes for all of us, and I have experienced my fair share, especially in my days as a singer. Being rejected was part of the process. When I was younger I felt each closed door deeply.
But this time, having inched closer to my purpose over the years, and having committed myself, along with John, to trusting our path implicitly, and allowing it to unfold with as much grace as we can muster, I took the news mostly in stride. I was disappointed, and confused about all the positive signs I had received, but decided to let myself off the hook. I wrote about it for a magazine.
I figured the rejection was a sign that I should simply devote myself to writing, which did not sound bad at all. My friends rallied around me. “You do not need an institution to do good work!” one of them proclaimed at a bar in the Lower East Side in a conversation I will never forget. “The world is changing — you do not need academia for validation!” another offered on the phone. And I agree.
Yet Yale Divinity was the community where I found connection, and the place my intuition led me first of all, so I sent a note asking for feedback. Spots had been very limited because of Covid deferments, they said, and many strong applicants had been turned away, so they would allow us to apply again in one year instead of the usual two.
The question loomed: Did I want to apply again?
I wasn’t sure.
***
Months passed, and I traveled and worked and wrote and kept on thinking. When the time to apply approached again, I did not feel as certain as I had the first year. Did rejection mean that I should do something else with my life? Should I commit to writing a book or start a business to help others deepen their connection with themselves and the world?
Despite my questions, I could not forget that little spark from the year prior.
I have done a lot, over the years, to learn how to clear a path to listen to my own gut, my own intuition, my own wisdom. And that inner voice — the one I almost lost to achievement culture and pleasing others and corporate paychecks — had said Yale Divinity was the next step.
I decided to apply again, but to keep things light and easy this time. To go with the flow. To dance rather than push my way through life. I rewrote my personal statement and kept everything else as simple as possible. I called the same three friends to write recommendations. I submitted them without fanfare, without extra meetings and calls, trusting that if I was meant to take this step, the door would open.
What happened next really surprised me. The universe proved my inner voice may not be so crazy after all. A few months later, nearly two years after first deciding to listen to my quiet idea, I received some news.
This time, I got in.
***
For the next three years, I will continue to develop my writing in the Master of Divinity program at Yale. I will have more of the conversations that tug on my soul, exploring how healing our relationships with ourselves, each other, and the planet can help us address our most pressing issues. This time, I will have them with an entire community, which is what excites me most.
We all need more connection and presence in our lives than we have in our increasingly disconnected and fractured world. A loneliness epidemic was documented in this country long before the pandemic and considered “a public health crisis on the scale of the opioid epidemic or obesity.” Mental health professionals define loneliness as “a gap between the level of connectedness that you want and what you have.”
To compound our loneliness problem, most traditional opportunities communities have for connection are centered in religious practices that have historically left some people out. They imply that one group is more deserving of divine spark than another.
In response, I am excited to consider how we can reimagine the ritualistic and community-building aspects of traditional religious frameworks to meet us right where we are today. To serve a hurting world. To bridge difference and mend brokenness. To open the door to spiritual grounding that is accessible and relatable to all. To seek meaning in something beyond ourselves, no matter what you feel like calling it.
My hope is to create spaces in the world where this kind of healing can happen.
As a person who grew up in an oppressive, anti-feminine, anti-public school evangelical setting, the decision to attend what many people would call seminary occasionally makes me lol. But to be honest, laugher is part of it, part of life, part of awakening, part of the spiritual path. If we aren’t laughing, then what is the point? Delight always leads me in the right direction.
So, surprise! Here I am, going back to school in my thirties. Yet — and this is another part I find exciting — I am still me, still a writer first of all, still a person who finds stillness in yoga and reiki and meditation, still a wife, still a friend, still a dog mom, still a person who loves the desert. Still someone intrigued by the ancients, the mystics, the role beauty plays in our transcendence, god as a woman, god as creative intelligence, god as nature, god in the secular, god in the profane, physical, experienced, and felt.
The opportunity to explore these interests in new ways is a real honor.
***
In self-help and popular culture, it is common for people to tell you that you should “find your calling.” To follow your soul’s purpose. Or worse, your passion. They make it sound like your calling will be something loud and blaring that you cannot miss. Like you should see big, obvious road signs along the way.
But I am here to tell you that the road is distracting. Sometimes the voice you need to hear most sounds more like a whisper. A still, small idea that makes you laugh out loud before you dare to believe.
Maybe the bravest thing you can do for yourself is to get really quiet and make room for those whispers. And then, pay attention. Because even when they spark self-doubt, questions, or fear, you just never know.
They might end up changing the course of your life.
Between you and me—
I am forever indebted to you, dear readers, because your willingness to grant me space in your hearts and minds and inboxes each week is undoubtedly what led me to this next phase. WE’RE ALL FRIENDS HERE is where I finally stepped into my voice and found clarity and momentum around my interests.
Thank you for holding that space so generously these past three years. I am always grateful to share a little slice of your week, and now it is clear that our exchange has shaped my trajectory in meaningful ways. Your openness helped me find the courage to bring my desires to life in the world. As this path unfolds, anything I develop in the future will always point back to this space.
I will say it forever: Thank you so much.
On another note, if finding “god in the profane” intrigues you, I highly recommend “She’s Alive!,” an episode from Dolly in America that tells the story of how Dolly Parton “found God in an abandoned church filled with X-rated graffiti.” Everyone knows that Dolly finds great meaning in faith, but the story of where that faith took root might surprise you.
This week, I enjoyed Ayisha Siddiqa’s poem “ON ANOTHER PANEL ABOUT CLIMATE, THEY ASK ME TO SELL THE FUTURE AND ALL I’VE GOT IS A LOVE POEM.” She asks, “What if the future is soft and revolution is so kind that there is no end to us in sight.”
That’s all from me this week. Sending great big love. Take care out there.
The audio version of WE’RE ALL FRIENDS HERE is published every Wednesday. Last week’s, which was about recognizing that simply feeling okay in this moment is enough, is available on Spotify, Apple, Substack, or wherever you listen to podcasts.
WE’RE ALL FRIENDS HERE is written by Lauren Maxwell. Can you help us grow? Send this to a friend and ask them to subscribe. Share it on Instagram and tag @lauren_only. If you enjoyed this please consider becoming a sponsor, which makes this publication possible. Every gesture of support is appreciated!
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"As a person who grew up in an oppressive, anti-feminine, anti-public school evangelical setting, the decision to attend what many people would call seminary occasionally makes me lol. But to be honest, laugher is part of it, part of life, part of awakening, part of the spiritual path. If we aren’t laughing, then what is the point? Delight always leads me in the right direction." I love this so much! Mazel tov!