C.S. Lewis wrote that repentance is not the act of turning back to God; it's what turning back feels like.

Yet I've been thinking a little about what turning back looks like. Being a hedonist (in the un-Christian sense of the word), a sloth (you have no idea) and an egoist (my community's kindness in not saying so notwithstanding) I'm not a good candidate to write about this thing called spiritual formation. To me, even the phrase sounds funny, overly 'objective', a little mechanical, even.

But I've seen those to whom God would proudly say, "Thy heart is pure." To you who've so eschewed the corruption and complacency of the world you stand out like rappers at a Chinese opera, I thank you for your example, your counsel and your sharing life together.

And it's not about how long you've been at it. Some signs and patterns are similar for newbies and veterans.

You're not so 'hard' with other people. You easily give them the benefit of the doubt, the argument, even the injustice. You go on the side of gentleness and kindness and when unreciprocated your first reaction is not anger but sadness. You withhold violence of any kind, leaving it as a last, tearful resort for which justifications feel hollow and regret instinctive. You feel this way about judgment and punishment because you know it's not you. It's an alien experience, a 'strange work' you feel unrepresentative of He who governs you and, hence, your own being (Isa 28:21).

You spontaneously chat, cry to, rebuke, lament, thank, question and ascribe wonderful things to the God who's listening, though for the life of you you can't fathom how "creating the universe" and "paying attention to my need for meaningful connections" at all fits. You're somewhat uncomfortable when people behave in ways which lower the dignity of others. Your eye-brows go up (in renewed bafflement) and go down (in slight sorrow) when close ones and friends elevate money, security and pride to a no-questions-asked non-negotiable position.

You could be a little shy about talking about this new life you have but every sincere question is met with joy and an enthusiastic (even if somewhat incoherent!) recounting of the new meaning which Christ has given you. Your thank-yous' at meal times are more genuine and you willingly connect the food in front of you with God's providing action in your life.

You don't "get" certain Biblical passages and may even forcibly shake your head at some high-profile ones (e.g. "Love thy enemy and turn your other cheek", "Do not worry about tomorrow", "If you've lusted after X in your heart, you've already committed adultery; you should gauge out your eye and chop off your arm to avoid this" and so on). You nevertheless listen harder, think longer and ask more about these verses, ever new eureka a celebratory moment (e.g. "Oh, so it's NOT about self-humiliation per se but about peace-making which may REQUIRE throwing down one's rights so another can experience God's radical love!").

You agonise over your inability to halt certain practices, feel intense guilt over their repeated occurrences and despair that the condition could be permanent. You even wonder if your elders ever fall into temptation and admire their resolve in never doing so (telling yourself at least some people are perfect? as per Jesus' command in Matt 5:48? so it CAN be done after all?), until you discover their (sometimes very serious) failings later on and feel that dissonance in your heart, which resolves itself later as a reemphasis of the fact everyone needs to hang-on to the always-present grace of God on a continual basis and it's worlds away from a one-off done-deal thing. It's a paddling journey upwards against the stream.

Well, in the beginning of your, ahem, "spiritual formation", you probably noticed these things ripping a part of you asunder. It felt strange yet liberating at the same time. Strange because it hurt somewhat and there's a craving you couldn't deny. Liberating because you felt real-er, truer than before.

Like you've been eating stuff at the Mall's Food Court for years and one night you taste what the guy in the 40-year-old corner shop has been dishing out every working half-minute of the past decades.

And you NEVER return to the court again.