“Nancy, come here!” Tabbitha called, as she poked her head through the door of my classroom. Tabbitha taught across the hall from me. It was still early morning, and students hadn’t begun to arrive yet.
“I want to show you something!” she beckoned. Tabbitha’s smile and sparkling eyes gave me a hint that, whatever her surprise, it was going to be good.
Quickly she led me out of the school building and back towards the parking lot. She stopped at a row of low, scraggly bushes that grew along the sidewalk.
“Look!” Tabbitha cried, pointing down at one of the bushes.
I looked but saw nothing. “What am I supposed to see?”
“Right here,” she said, and moved her finger closer to the object.
My eyes finally focused on what she saw: a shriveled brown pouch adhered to a branch. A chrysalis.
I couldn’t remember ever seeing one in the wild before, only in a butterfly habitat.
We studied the chrysalis closely, marveled at the miracle within, and wondered whether the end result would be a butterfly or moth.
“Actually, I have to tell you. I didn’t spot the cocoon,” Tabbitha confessed. “Brooke did.”
Of course. Tabbitha’s daughter, Brooke, was four years old at the time–closer to the ground to notice such details as an odd protrusion on a low stem. But Brooke was also an observer. Her little eyes and ears didn’t miss much, and her mind was always active—learning, wondering, connecting,
As for me, I hardly even noticed there were bushes along that sidewalk, much less a miracle taking place among them. My mind was always busy with the to-do list, lesson plans, students needing special attention that day, the emails to be answered, the meeting after school, etc., etc.
Little Brooke taught me a lesson that morning: Pay attention!
God is revealing himself to me every day—his creative genius, his loving care, and his wisdom. He arranges little serendipity gifts for me to discover. My challenge is to be watchful.
The blessings are there, the joy available–not just in grand rainbows and sunsets that grab my attention, but in the sheen on rain-washed leaves or in the mesmerizing flicker of a candle flame.
Joy is not the result of happy events, a collection of lovely things, or even near-perfect relationships with family and friends. Joy is experienced in the presence of God (Psalm 16:11). And when God and I together enjoy his creation, his people or his engineering of events, the joy becomes rapturous.
However! I have been a slow student to learn the habit of attentive living. I’m still developing a praise-frame of mind.
But when I pause long enough to enjoy a cocoon on a stem, a group of children on a playground, or the smile on the face of a friend, I want to extend that pause into a prayer:
Oh, God, thank you for lavishing gifts of love upon me each day. Thank you for filling me with eternal pleasures at your right hand (Psalm 16:11), all day long, now and forever. Yet there is more! Thank you that, as I celebrate these blessings together with you, my joy is expanded even further. Help me to become attentive like little Brooke. And perhaps, as I express my contentment in you and in all your gifts, your heart will be filled with joy as well.
(photo credits: www.princetonaturenotes.blogspot.com; http://www.discovermagazine.com; http://www.brantfordfire.ca.)
From the Inside Out 