On Being Still
A new writing gig is introducing a weekly practice of reflecting on a given passage of scripture and then noticing the essence of that passage somewhere in current news. I’ll be at this noticing work for the next three months and am pleased to stumble into a new habit. This week I have been reading and re-reading this article on slow living. I’ve written here and here and, most recently, here about my desire to live slowly. This site’s name itself is testament to my desire to move intentionally in my life: A Still Life.
When I speak of wanting to be still, I do not always mean physically unmoving, though there are times of centering prayer that do inspire such stillness both physically and spiritually. For me, still is much like the language of mindfulness. Many people in the Christian tradition are rediscovering mindfulness as a spiritual practice that focuses on awareness of God’s movement in ordinary places. One might describe it as a way of prayer in which one notes the myriad ways God’s Spirit is present in all moments. In her new book, Faith Postures: Cultivating Christian Mindfulness, Holly Sprink describes the daily practice as “the art of noticing”. Sprink writes: “As we begin to learn the art of noticing, to observe our own lives and the ways God interacts with us, we are better able to recognize and respond to [God].”
Sometimes the obstacle between our desire to know more of God and actually knowing more of God is simply our distracted busyness; the same should be said of knowing ourselves or our family or our friends. We are too hurried to notice what is in our midst. This knowing and noticing of self and God and others is what I am after in my slower life. We each must find our own pace and our own ways of noticing, but it is the noticing that is essential.
Yesterday I spent three hours with my children at a lovely park in town to see farm animals, wild birds, bears, fish, and otters. My plate has been full as of late with freelance work and professional commitments. We three needed an unstructured day away from home, away from to-do lists, to enjoy each other. My daughter is now 15-months-old, and I realize I’ve already forgotten how s-l-o-w that pace is. Oh, she’s a runner and a climber and a super fast girl, but when she notices something, it all stops. The 4-year-old and I would stand and wait as she dropped to her knees before a waterfall. Mesmerized. Still. If she had words, I’m sure she would have shouted, “LOOK AT THAT WATERFALL! CAN YOU BELIEVE IT? THAT IS AMAZING! IT’S SO BEAUTIFUL! AND JUST LISTEN TO THE SOUND!” Through her, we noticed the waterfall. She repeated this over and over as she noticed fish after fish after fish and stream after creek after stream. She noticed, then we noticed.
That’s what it means to be still. That’s what it means to be slow. Whether at work or at play, in an office or in a home, we can move into ways that still us. We can drop to our knees when the art of noticing overcomes us and say, “LOOK AT THAT! CAN YOU BELIEVE IT? JUST LISTEN TO THE SOUND!”
