The Little Things

It's the little things I'm noticing that mean the most to me these days. Somehow, in the slowing of this season of life, I'm hearing, seeing, feeling, believing in ways I maybe forgot how to do in the past. Perhaps, in my busyness, I lost some wonder along the way and now, I'm trying to get it back. 

In this summer of so much getting canceled and postponed indefinitely, I'm losing my sense of hurry and I'm re-gaining my sense of awe. And I'm healing as I do so. 

Moments are turning into the holy as people talk of returning back to normal but I'm not sure I want it to. At least, not in the way it was before. Because this pause? It's leading me to a place where I'm becoming once again a lover of all things simple. I never stopped being that completely but somehow I got caught up in this pace, this life culture says you're supposed to live and I got too busy to see the things that open my eyes to the miracles. 

Because it's quiet, my ears can savor the sweet sound of baby birds straining to learn the song of their elders. 

Because it's quiet, my heart can feel the beat of God's heart, can listen to the clear speaking of God's will. 

Because it's quiet, I can give myself permission to say no - to turn down even the good things for the best things so I can do worthwhile things and to say so without guilt or apology for the life I feel I must live. 

Because it's quiet, my soul, so long darkened by sorrow, is being slowly shaken alive. While the sadness still lingers and the heaviness comes and goes, the light is getting brighter and the winter is giving way to spring. I'm seeing signs that all this will be made beautiful if only I'll wait. 

How you live your life pauses says a lot about who you are. How you endure the waiting is often where you will most find your significance defined. Because the pauses are where God usually shows up and if you're too busy to allow for such seasons of quiet and silence, you're probably too busy for Him. 

It's like a musical work, this thing called life. We're all dancing and the music is always playing but sometimes there are rests. We're all singing in our own way, but sometimes we must pause to take a breath before carrying on. And even the Psalms, themselves songs, wrote in some interludes or pauses. They called it "Selah." 

And maybe this time that's upended so many of our lives is our own Selah if only we'll learn how to live it as such. To learn how to express and embrace the silence of it all and see it as opportunity. As a break between what was and what will be. An ending yet at the same time a sign of beginning. 

The lack of obligation has shown me that there's a lot God can do when you're quiet and willing. Many feel as though busyness is a sign of productivity but I'm feeling otherwise. From these numerous days at home, I'm taking away deeper worship, greater insight, growing peace, and larger love. I'm appreciating much as never before. And I'm healing because God now has my full attention on what matters. 

Increasingly, I'm determined not to fill my calendar as before. I don't want that frantic pace anymore. I couldn't be me or do God's work at that speed. And I don't care what Martha's tell me I'm not doing enough - I must be at the feet of my Lord or else the darkness will set back in again. I will lose what I've gained because I must be in the presence of the little things where He is present. I must slow in order to see all He's showing. 

Perhaps He's challenging you in this time to slow down, too. Perhaps I'm not the only one. In this season, maybe you've noticed that you're finding a richer life in this peaceful slowing and you don't want to go back to what was either. 

I'm not sure what's ahead once this season passes. But I do know I want to step out of it changed. Changed in my attitude, changed in my soul, changed in my overall life. More and more, I'm becoming aware of the fact that the miracle lies on the other side of waiting. And how we let the silence hang and the questions sit and the pauses happen will determine how we receive the blessing that awaits us. 

And so, until I can see what all this is meant for, I take pleasure in the small evidence that God is still present, that He still loves. I find it in the summer wildflowers that bloom on mountain trails, in the faces of friends as we converse online, in the peace of a writing session or time of prayer where the truth of God shines clear, in the valued time with family, in all the things I might take for granted were I not forced to be still. To notice. And to say "thank You" for it all.