Holy Ground

How to Rightly See

The Basket of Apples, Paul Cezanne, 1893

Earth's crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God:
But only he who sees, takes off his shoes;
The rest sit round it, and pluck blackberries,
And daub their natural faces unaware
More and more, from the first similitude.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Aurora Leigh, Book 7

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Friends, your days are filled with glory, which does not mean they will always feel glorious. As mothers, our days can be easily “frittered away by detail” as Thoreau put it —the when, how, who, where, how much—such that we can miss the very beauty in our midst at times. Beauty doesn’t always appear to us as we expect. How many times do we repeat the same words and routines in a day or week? How often will you or I wipe a dish, a dirty body, or a tearful eye? The familiarity tends to glaze our eyes to true sight, as our attention gravitates towards the unfinished tasks, the unbecoming persons (even ourselves, at times), and the undone life as we eagerly seek to gather, make, and hustle. But what does glory look like? Where is the holy found? Could it be right where you stand now reading this?

About five or six years into homeschooling, I decided to offer each of my children fifteen minutes of 1-1 time with me each week, a time in which they could decide what we did together. We spent so much time together as a cohort that I was longing for more connection individually, to hear their thoughts, interests, and desires as persons apart from the sibling group. Fifteen minutes a week sounds a tad ridiculous to account, but it was approachable for me to follow through with in that season of life. Of course, I had other more spontaneous times with them individually, but more often we were doing something I had planned. These minutes were theirs, and their choices told me the most about their delights and perspectives of the world. For instance, when I first asked my eldest son, Liam, he requested a pillow fight, something I never would have initiated. For 15 minutes, we badgered one another with pillows and laughter, but what I learned in that moment with my pre-teen son was that in spite of his interest in our adult world, he still had a deep need for playful engagement with me.

I thought about our pillow fight this week while reading Little Men, how Mother Bhaer allotted 15 minutes on Saturday nights for a pillow fight before bed if the boys promised to go to bed properly the other nights of the week. Maybe we underestimate the power of 15 minutes in a child’s mind, or even our own. During that season of weekly 15-minute moments, I enjoyed an assortment of activities with each of my children from playing Legos to partaking in silly races or going for walks, from coloring or baking to playing with makeup. It was a small commitment, so small that I might even be tempted to overlook its value. But what I cannot rightly know or see was the delight and order that those 15 minutes of playful chaos and focused attention brought to the rest of the week.

We cannot always rightly perceive the beauty, goodness, and truth we cultivate in our homes or lives, just as we cannot always perceive God in them. We miss the glory for its ordinariness. How can we fully know the impact of a patient response or a warm meal or a small habit over a lifetime? How can we truly know the way our small acts form a life toward beauty, truth, and goodness when we are growing toward the same? We can read about the power of a habit in so many books, but we can also trust God in our work, with faith the size of the most minuscule seed, as Christ encouraged. Your work matters. Your life matters. We may not always see it with the same awe as a sunset or a mountain range, yet even those glorious works began with a word.

Even your smallest efforts of bringing order to chaos, of repeating the same good, of stirring beauty in the seemingly plain arenas of your life creates a thread of holy delight in it all. The earth is crammed with heaven, yet so are we. Our homes, the places of squabbles and crumbs, are holy ground, not because they are golden and flawless, but because it is place where God meets us, in the ordinary—sticky floors and all.

Graduating children from our home/school has created perspective, a sweeping scape that isn’t snagged by the details. My youngest daughter and I rewatched these brief videos I created here and here the other night, and my heart ached. Some may say that it is my sentimentality or my unwillingness to move on, but it is neither. The ache is because of the goodness and beauty and truth in them that speaks to the deeper Reality. Our home was loud and messy and often filled with unknowns. I loved living with my children, and on some days, I didn’t. Sometimes, I doubted and questioned and fretted. And yet, all of it happened on holy ground, a place God encountered and formed me and them toward him, with ordinary nothings, through an abundance of details that had the power to fritter us away or take off our shoes.

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15 Minute Ideas to Help You See This Week

15 Minutes can change our perspective. It can be enough to refresh our vision and revive our hearts. Try one of these ideas this week and see.