Tuesday, February 25

an apology to the ordinary

Dear friend,

Today I talked with a stranger who was inspiringly, sincerely kind. Her words gave off light. She spoke to me with so much respect, so much value, and I have the suspicion she spoke to everyone the same way, whether it was her husband or the person who bagged her groceries. She was just one of those people who radiate joy.

These are the encounters I have in ordinary moments, and it feels like God reminding me that He loves me in a hundred different ways. I once saw an elderly man deliver flowers to a coffee shop. He somehow had too many, and he gave the rest to me. They were, of course, my favorite color. I still keep them pressed between a stack of dictionaries. I once had the manager of a bookshop give me a Bible, sneaking it into my bag with a bookmark. I went back the next week to tell her thank you, but she wasn't working. I never saw her again.

I often have really incredible conversations with strangers in line at the post office, or at the gas station, or in the most mundane places you could imagine. The ordinary tasks of every day life never sparkle with adventure. They never seem to say here, notice me, until I am there, until I am absolutely in the middle of something that seems scripted and precise and wonder-full.

I can't explain to you why I needed to encounter this incredibly kind lady today. I'm not sure I even know why. I just know that there, in her words, was something that I needed to hear. That I needed to be reminded of a kindness that exists. I don't know.

I know that belief is this giant, textured canvas. I know that it's a weight that keeps me steady. I know that these one hundred small moments are a gift from a God who knows me well, and deeply. I know that when I pass the ordinary by, striving for something bigger, something that seems more grand, I am so entirely missing the point. Lately, I am learning to be here now. To stay in one place. I am learning the art of consistency and showing up. It's a good lesson, and I'd like to apologize to the ordinary, and the ways that I've overlooked it. I would like to ask for grace, because the beauty I've been searching for, just maybe, has been here all along. Maybe it still is.

With all hope,

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