“Even with a greenhouse, you cannot make plants bloom on demand or bend the seasons to suit your schedule. Nature has its own timetable. In a hurry-up world, where everything is scheduled for maximum efficiency, surrendering to the rhythms of nature can be therapeutic.” (Carl Honoré)
This time of year and in difficult seasons of life, the tendency to rush “to get through it” can become overwhelming. Lately, God has been reminding me about having peace in the process and what that looks like. For me it means letting go of my timeline for breakthrough and releasing control of hoped for outcomes. It means saying yes to the rhythms and timings of God and no to when and how and what I think is best.
If we’re all like a tree planted by streams of water that yield its fruit in season (Psalm 1), then regardless of the season and what external appearances show our roots and the essence of who we are remains constant. We may produce different fruit depending on the season, but our identity remains. A tree doesn’t change its species based on the season or weather. It remains the same but looks different throughout the year.
Regardless of the season we’re in when our roots remain in Christ’s love, everything else works itself out in the perfect time. I pray we’re all able to have patience in the process and see the beauty of every season whether it’s raw, bare winter, bright, budding spring, lush, full summer, or diverse, crisp autumn.
I was ready to clear out the dead herbs from these pots when my sister said, “I love the bare lines of dead plants.” So I’ve left them a little bit longer to enjoy the beauty of their stripped down form.
Every day the trees lose more leaves, I think about how beautiful their branches are especially when they’re etched in front of a blue sky.
There are moments when everything feels like it’s been stripped away and reduced to its rawest, purest form. Those are the times I love because when you reduce all the buzz, excitement, heartbreak, boredom you remember what it’s really all about.
It’s about relationship – with God, with myself, with my husband, with my kids, with family, with friends, with neighbors, with people who I will never meet.
And this is not always easy. But when you take away all the external stuff, it’s the only thing that counts.
How we love God, how we love ourselves, and how we love others.
A year ago I began this blog, Still Small Moments. It came from a desire to write as well as to encourage others to embrace their season, see miracles in the mundane, and not despise the small things that make up most of our lives.
When I thought about the things I wanted to write about, it all came down to life’s still small moments.
The still small moments that no one else sees but that over the hours, days, weeks, months, years begin to shape our lives. While we all experience the big momentous thunder and earthquake moments that provoke a sudden and immediate shift, most of our lives are composed of still small moments and what we do with them determines how we live out our lives.
It’s the little decisions we make, the tiny thoughts we have, the small habits that add up over time and ultimately make us who we are.
Maybe it’s a reaction to the overstimulation of social media, the constant buzz of the phone, and barrage of heartbreaking news. In the midst of everyday life as well as tragedy, I want to make room for the still small moments, to embrace the stillness of watching a robin eat a worm, listen to music without doing anything else, read books to my kids, eat delicious food, and watch the sunrise and sunset. More than anything, through writing I want to celebrate the state of being still.
I write to capture the still small moments and to inspire you to look for your own still small moments in the season you’re in.
Be faithful in small things because it is in them that your strength lies. –Mother Teresa