As I walked into my home tonight, carrying in a bag of groceries after taking my wife’s car to get a tire changed, I looked down and noticed the freshly cut grass. Something about it struck me and made me pause. It was strangely beautiful and breathtaking, at least in this moment.
I then glanced over and saw a ray of sunlight shining down on the bushes. Again, I was stopped in my tracks. It moved me in a way that I can neither explain nor replicate. It was just, for lack of a better word, perfect.
In his podcast Turning to the Mystics, James Finley often discusses moments like this when, as he puts it, “we are quickened” by some mysterious force. It grabs hold of us and, if we are attentive to it, we are given a brief glimpse into something beyond our control or understanding. For a second that feels like an eternity, God pulls back the curtain and gives us a peak into heaven.
These experiences seem to leave us as quickly as they come, but, if we do not harden our hearts, their affect lingers. It changes us, calling us closer to the divine. And for some of us, these moments become an obsession, not for their own sake, but because of what is behind them.
They feel like a promise, like we are being given a taste of what is to come and we want more. In a world of near endless possibilities, for those who hear this mysterious call, anything less than perfect union with perfect God feels like a poor substitute. Given the choice between the world and God, we choose God.
Then it was time to bring the groceries in and put them away. I entered the house and walked into the kitchen. There I saw a sink full of dirty dishes that needed to be washed. And just like that, I forgot about what happened only a few minutes prior. But then, as I put away the groceries and started to wash the dishes, something happened.
My mind quieted down just enough that I could see myself washing the dishes. Instead of my body performing one task and my mind performing another, they became one and I was simply present. At first, it made me uncomfortable, like I needed to do something to break the silence, but I decided to ride out my discomfort to see where it would take me.
I suddenly got the sense that the dishes were no different than the grass or the ray of sunlight shining on the bushes. Every moment, every task, is an opportunity to be with God and God wants us there with him. He wants us here, in this moment, with him.
~Robert Van Valkenburgh
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