A gentle noticing…
A few years ago, just after the world shut down in response to the COVID-19 pandemic, I found myself spending an inordinate amount of time on my back patio. It was the one place (at the time) I could “go” to get out of the house and not worry about COVID. In hind’s sight, I’m pretty sure it’s how I survived the isolation of that season of life. Every morning I’d wake up before the sun rose, gather up all my “necessities”, and make my way to the patio. To be clear, necessities included things like a mug of coffee, my Bible, a journal, usually a candle, whatever book I was reading, and my computer for when it was time to begin the workday. By the end of the day, it would often take multiple trips just to get everything back inside.
I ate my meals outside, read books outside, did my work outside, made phone calls outside, learned a few new skills, and more. My patio table became my desk, and my entire back yard was my office. As the days turned to weeks and the weeks turned to months, I slowly realized how much more I was noticing and how many more of the sounds of nature I was hearing. I began to identify all the different birds in my backyard and because I was out there nearly every day, I could practically see the daily growth of the grass, the greening of the leaves, the blooming of the flowers, and the changing of colors all around me. I remember thinking to myself, this happens all the time—every day, and I don’t always notice, but in these days of being home day after day, I noticed. It was a gentle noticing—and that’s when I began to really love that phrase. For me, it’s a way of noticing with care, self-reflection, and an openness to what God might desire to say in the moment.
I became so acquainted with the stillness and the silence of the patio and the backyard, I began to crave the stillness and solitude of the experience even more. (I should note here – this wasn’t my first experience with the spiritual practices of silence and solitude. However, the whole world seemed quieter, slower, and much more still considering the pandemic. Even the traffic was almost non-existent.)
On one particular morning, I was out quite early sipping my coffee and talking to God. After a few moments, a bright red cardinal came to perch on the fence post about 4-5 feet from where I was sitting. I froze, not wanting to scare the bird away. I sat there, motionless, for what seemed like an eternity. I didn’t move my hands. I didn’t turn my head. I didn’t take a drink of coffee, and I tried my best not to blink my eyes. I knew if I could be perfectly still, the cardinal would likely continue to sit and allow me to see him—to notice the beautiful red hue of his feathers, to observe the tiny details of his eyes and feet. At some point, the bird flew away—probably to go find something to eat or maybe to gather material suitable for nest building.
Once the bird flew away, I remember feeling like the words of Psalm 46:10 had come alive for me, as if I had seen it in action. I’ve loved this verse for many years, but on this day, I saw with my eyes firsthand the reality of what truly “being still” can offer us. The Psalmist states, “Be still and know that I am God” (ESV). It’s essentially a cause and effect statement—“If you can be still, then you will know that I am God.” It’s only in the being still that we can actually hear, see, or maybe I should say… gently notice the presence and work of God around us.
My efforts and offerings here in this space will be an attempt to share what I am gently noticing. It may be something from nature, something I’m learning, something I’m pondering, a story from scripture I’m sitting with, or just what’s stirring in my own soul. Whatever it may be, know that I am seeking to be still and know where and how God is moving, leading, or speaking in the midst of it all. Know that you are invited to come along on the journey—to do your own gentle noticing or simply notice from your perspective what I’m seeing at the time.