For the next few weeks, I will be on a mini sabbatical from writing this column. During that time, we will continue to send weekly emails from The Ecological Disciple as my fellow-writer, James, regularly shares thoughts and insights through his Monday column.
In preparing to take some time away from The Art of Creation, I've been thinking about what I wanted to leave you, our readers, with—perhaps a book recommendation, a piece of art, or a word of encouragement. What I've decided on is an invitation to explore the "book" just outside your door at least a little bit each day.
I've found this "book" to be full of surprise, beauty, drama, and even humor, enthralling if read intently and openly. One of the best things is that its illustrations are exceptional. In fact, just like real life! In my own experience, time spent keeping company with this intricate world can be a powerful way of encountering the Creator, seeping in like water trickling through a rockfall.
A couple of years ago, my family and I were shaken up by hard circumstances and I found myself waking up every morning with a feeling of deep dread toward the new reality. Every morning my first thoughts tilted toward what we were in the midst of. When I rose, it felt like there was an unbelievably heavy weight attached to my heart, my mind, and my body.
About a week into this, when the grief (and anger) were still very, very fresh, I walked outside and encountered the most amazing icicle I had ever seen. It cascaded off the roof of the eaves of our church building, draped itself over and down the branches and trunk of the evergreen tree below until it finally ended on the ground beneath.
It was huge, but it wasn't just its size that caught my attention and fascination. It was quirky and elaborate. It was sharp in parts, smooth in others. The whole of it looked like a huge, crazy chandelier and each bit of the icicle was like a pendant, intriguing me to view it from all sorts of different angles. It was massive enough to cover huge branches, and yet delicate enough to surround a single thin twig in its casing.
Its beauty jolted me out of current circumstances and ushered me into an experience of curiosity and loveliness. It gave me a taste of delight and reminded me what that tasted like. Frankly, I was awestruck and that moment of awe was a reprieve from the weight that was so heavy.
I wanted to see it from every angle. I wanted to see it as a whole and see all its separate parts. It intrigued and amazed me. It reminded me that there were other emotions besides sadness—feelings of joy and amazement—and that I could still experience these.
The icicle was a gift that pointed me to a God who creates beauty and who implants the ability to enjoy that beauty; I was given the gift of being awestruck.
My Invitation
So, over the next few weeks, I invite you to take intentional notice of this world we inhabit. When you step outside your door, consciously open yourself up to what is around you, welcoming the sights, sounds, smells, tastes and feel of this world. Make room for the surprise and delight that you might experience as a result. Make space for a bit of "unproductive" and unplanned time.
When you step outside, there is something wonderful to be seen and experienced no matter the season or place and immersing yourself in it can be healing.
Have you noticed how a raindrop gathers itself before it falls from one leaf to another? Have you seen the way the clouds layer themselves on top of each other? Have you been still enough to hear the woodpecker drum on the tree trunk?
As part of this practice of stepping outside, consider bringing along a camera (or a pen and paper) to chronicle whatever captures your attention and admiration—and perhaps sharing it with other readers of this journal when I return.
If and when you find yourself interested or fascinated or touched by what you notice, try to slow down and notice the details—taking a photo may be a discipline that helps you with this. Not everything can be captured by a camera, but I encourage you to try.
At the end of my sabbatical, I will extend an invitation for readers to send in their photos for a post that combines all these various wonders into a collection, but if you would like to send them to me as you take them, that's fine, too. I will gather and hold them until I am back writing again.
In the meantime, enjoy the start of a new year. I look forward to seeing what you find outside your door.
Feel free to leave a comment below (you can sign in through your email) or contact me directly at louise.conner@circlewood.online.
Louise