Written by Beth Waterman, MA (Clinician)
Today, as I was taking my midday walk, I began to think about the changing seasons that I’ve been privy to witness in my neighborhood in a unique way this season. I’d like to think that I’m spontaneous, that I live life on the edge, but the truth is I like consistency. I walk the same route, by the same trees and homes nearly every day. But perhaps there is something beautiful about this now familiar path I walk in hopes of breaking up my day. I notice things. I breathe. I leave my phone behind, and I focus on the present moment. I pray, sometimes. These are the very things I find myself inviting those whom I work with to do: “notice your breath, notice what’s happening in your body, notice what might need your attention right now…” The very prompts I offer, I have been walking out. Admittedly, not even on purpose most days.
But through these urban hikes I’ve noticed the same old trees changing from bare and bald and snow covered, to budding and growing and coming alive, to full and green and vibrant, to deepening hues of yellows and reds, to suddenly crunchy, slippery and piled up under my feet. Today I noticed again that the seasons are changing before us. And in our lives, at least in my life, I have often packed my days, my seasons, so full, that I barely have time to look around me. I barely even breathe, let alone take a midday walk to notice the trees in their constant state of dressing and undressing.
I think about how God reminds us that he too takes notice - of us, of our process, of this profound time we all are walking through. I love Matthew chapters 6 and 10 which remind us that wildflowers and canaries do not go unnoticed to our loving Father, and neither so do our lives. As confusing, complicated, painful, or needy as they might feel. My hope is that I might keep leaning in to the process of expanding this space and willingness to notice what is around my daily world. And I hope that for you too, that you might be able to step outside for a moment and breathe in the crisp air, stomp through a pile or two of crispy old leaves, and let yourself take notice of the world around you. And for a moment, maybe we all can join the wildflowers and the sparrows in knowing we’re not holding any of it alone.