We live in all we seek. The hidden shows up in too-plain sight. It lives captive on the face of the obvious – the people, events, and things of the day – to which we as sophisticated children have long since become oblivious. What a hideout: Holiness lies spread and borne over the surface of time and stuff like color.
I went back to my dogeared copy of Annie Dillard’s For the Time Being this week, I’m not sure why. As I leafed through the familiar pages, these words jumped out at me. During these days when we wake in darkness and we eat dinner in darkness, when the light is so full of both endings and beginnings, the sun bright yet weak, I am trying to see the holiness spread all over this life of mine.
Some days it jumps out and snaps foil in my eyes, waking me up. How can I miss the beauty in this sky, that was spread out above me on a recent walk with Grace? If that’s not divinity, tangible in this human world of ours, I don’t know what is.
Or this sunset, seen from my desk. The sky went deep pink, and I took pictures, and then returned to my computer. And suddenly, for some reason I can’t recall (maybe I heard car doors slamming and the screeches of my children) I looked back out. And the sky had caught fire. If I hadn’t looked over, I would have entirely missed it, as the entire show lasted no more than 5 minutes. It is impossible not to drop to my knees in reverence, not to feel the presence of something that exists beyond logic – over the horizon – in that sky. And so I do.
Other days I have to be slightly more aware. When I parked the car the other day, on my way to an interview on a cold early morning, I could not believe how loud the song of sparrows was. I looked closely and saw that the bush right by the road, barren and brown, was absolutely full to bursting with sparrows. I tried to take a picture but of course it didn’t quite capture what I saw. In the midst of all these dead branches, this fallow world, there is song.
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