The Noonday Sun

Can we savor moments? Not just the moments that deserve savoring. At the end of the training day, we engaged in an activity asking us to look at a family picture. We reframed the story to consider an optimistic exchange versus what the actions may convey. I was reminded that emotions are not felt in isolation. We can have two experiences existing at the same time. I can be deeply overwhelmed or sad while also experiencing joy or contentment. For me, this realization provides a way to practice savoring moments. During my meditation yesterday, the reader highlighted Isaiah 58: 7-10. How can I acknowledge my human response of judgment, lovingly detach, and experience the “noonday sun.”

“then your light shall rise in the darkness
and your gloom be like the noonday.”

We were asked to consider the following:

Are you being nudged into action or into changing an attitude, however small or seemingly insignificant? It might be something obvious. Or there might be something to discern. Either way, you can bring it to God.

As you hear the passage again, consider carefully the promises from God here. They are overwhelming, life-changing. Perhaps you are catching glimpses of them – or are immersed in them – already. You can acknowledge that with God.

As this prayer time draws to a close, I ask to see the Lord in those I meet today, those I read about, hear about. I ask to be open, and to respond, as to Christ Himself.

God is overwhelmingly everywhere. In the smallest of details. A man in his 80s walking the sidewalks with us turns to enter his neighborhood church. The sun shining through the trees. The frustrated father of a two-year-old who just spilled all her tiny toys on the floor near the hostess stand.

So many stories or pictures exist in my life right now. I can reframe. I see into the lives of loved ones around me, and I realize I can only understand their perspective from my limited lens. We try, right? To understand, love, and connect in meaningful ways, but we never get it perfect. I’m beginning to understand more fluently that perfection is not possible. The sacred space that only belongs to the other person–their story–is not for me to completely understand. Knowing this reality causes me to savor a moment. To just let it be. Maybe ask, “I want to know more about your feelings. I’ll do my best to just listen.” The most common response from patients in surveys is that “they did not feel heard.” There is a world of people talking and pointing, but few listen well. To listen without fixing or controlling.

How can we pause, savor, and believe God is in all things?

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