Sunlight, summer mornings, sunsets. Some things have to be savored.
A bluebird flies low across the street, so bold. Someone at the coffee shop shoulders the heft of a crate before the boy working there drops it. The sun rises over the sea and you drift through the quiet, deep in a happy cocktail of serenity and awe.
Cliches exist for better or for worse, but let it not be said they have no raison d’être. In my case, during these dog days I have been inhaling-exhaling the truth that God is in the details.
Every day has its trajectory. But the moments built into each one sprout up both gently and starkly: those are the studded light on the surface. Within the blur, the edges on leaves and the dappled sunlight and the gleam on the water’s edge seem sharper, or brighter, or more beautiful; everything slows down and comes into focus.
What does it mean, though, to say that God is in the details?
To me, it is to believe in the power of His still small voice.
We look for signs – for loud sirens to draw us to the “right” place, or to some magic rock of stability. At least, this is my tendency. I see fog settling over the morning and wonder if it’s an omen, a warning to seek shelter from a something wicked that just may come. But in reality, it’s as simple as this: I am seeking a reason to worry or to be afraid. Maybe that is our human tendency: hard-wired to seek protection at any cost.
Today, while casually flipping through the lower-numbered radio stations, I landed on a short treatise – probably a PSA – on turning to Jesus during tough times.
“In the world we will have trouble. But He has overcome the world. Seeking the Lord makes those hardships – and there will be hardships – just a little easier to bear.”
A comfort? Of course not. My poor sweet monkey-mind immediately screeched out, “Oh, come on! So what’s going to happen to me now?” Me me me me me. It was all about me and my secure future. Where is my secure future? What ill shall befall us now?
But then my heart remembered: there are troubles in this world every day. Of course. They are there in ways big and small. What matters is whether or not the still small voice of truth, love, and a sound mind are acknowledged, or ignored.
Historically, I am not great at this acknowledgement. Historically, what charges me towards action is the emotional – the theatrical – the gigantic and bombastic. Historically, this seems to be a very normal human thing. Hamilton isn’t smashing all sorts of records and barriers for nothing, right? Didn’t reality singing shows take over America one fateful day in 2002?
Here’s the thing, though: the oak grows from a small acorn. These big, enormous triumphs all started as a small seed of hope.
(Where’s a good Totoro gif when you need one?)
Summer is ending, but let us hold it in open hands as a series of quiet moments. This is so different from clinging to that sweeping, crashing wave of emotion from school-free days past. Those are gone from my life, but then again they still breathe into it sometimes, with the cool sigh of an evening breeze, with the electric pulse of an outdoor concert, with time spent drifting down the river or settling into a shared laugh.
Moments: as they are savored, they somehow grow bigger and riper with meaning. And maybe that’s the detail to remember.