Notice

Dear friends,

This past Monday evening, I shared a meal with my mom, who was visiting from out of town, at a local eatery overlooking a sweeping lawn. The light was long and golden. We had nowhere particular to be, except with each other. So we lingered over our plates, let the conversation wander, and watched the shadows stretch across the grass. It was lazy in the best sense—restful, unforced, exactly what we needed on a summer day.

When we stop, we give ourselves the gift of noticing. We watched a deer make her way up a hill. We noticed the sunlight turn leaves into glistening gold shimmers. We were present to one another.

When we stop, we give ourselves the gift of noticing. We watched a deer make her way up a hill. We noticed the sunlight turn leaves into glistening gold shimmers. We were present to one another.

The psalmist saw God's fingerprints in such moments. "You crown the year with your bounty... the hills gird themselves with joy" (Psalm 65:11–12).

I wonder if you have been able to stop this summer. Summer offers us these gifts, if we will receive them. These are not distractions from the holy—they are invitations into it. "Be still, and know that I am God" (Psalm 46:10).

So this week, I invite you to step outside. Notice the light. Let creation remind you that you are beloved, that the world is good, and that rest is a gift to enjoy.