A Gentle January Practice

An invitation to a spiritual practice that hardly counts as practice

I’ve been noticing the roots of the trees at my local park lately - how they sprawl and weave, diving deep into the earth. I can imagine the breadth of their descent into the dark, rich soil - so much life beneath my feet I cannot reach nor observe, but I know it’s there.

Just the other day, some friends helped me notice another tree at our park - a Camphor tree. An evergreen with shiny leaves that, when you break them in your hand, have a strong smell of mint.

These simple noticings feel truer than a hundred good intentions, filling me with a gratitude beyond the reach of any journal prompt.

At the start of every new year, my social media feed is full of shiny new journals and planners promising to make me more organized, intentional, spiritual - you name it, there’s a planner for that.

I once bought a planner that included daily scripture, a spot to list what I am grateful for, a journal section for my prayers, and even a prompt to memorize part of the passage from that day. Then it had the audacity to have a calendar and a place to write my to-do list! I think I lasted two weeks. There’s nothing like the guilt of an empty gratitude journal.

For years, I mistook spiritual presence for progress. Formation language may have good intentions (see what I did there), but it often ends up sounding like productivity language. Do this thing or that thing, and you’ll feel closer to God - a kind of spiritual quid pro quo. But God doesn’t need us to improve to draw near.

The one thing I really needed more than a planner or new devotional was the ability to notice what is already there.

At the start of a new year, I don’t need something else to do but to return to a sense of being. Presence can get lost when we’re busy planning. I need a practice that barely qualifies as a practice. One is that optional, non-trackable, but impossible to fail at. The act of noticing is, in itself, a spiritual practice. Noticing holds us in the moment. It draws our attention to our environment, our body, and our inner world.

For those who began the year tired - tired from the holidays and tired from how the year has already begun - this is an invitation, nothing more. This is for those who still long to engage their faith without a set of instructions. A practice that notices the Divine in the midst of real life, where nothing is neat, but everything is still held. If you need that right now, put on your most comfortable pair of shoes and let’s take a slow walk together.

Four Paths (Not Steps) to Noticing

• Land: Notice where your body is being held. What are the surroundings? What colors do you notice in the environment? Perhaps find one thing to gently gaze at for a moment and just be.

• Breath: Just breathe - no special breath prayer here. No controlling. No holding. Just notice the air move. Is it warm or cold? Shallow or deep? Listen to the sound of your own breath. Perhaps acknowledge that God is as close to us as the very air we breathe.

• Silence: Silence is not an achievement. It can be noisy, awkward, and unfinished. Even if it’s for ten seconds, notice it, consent to it - then move on. Linger if you can. No guilt if you can’t.

• Light: A few winters ago, I started a new practice of lighting candles first thing in the morning before turning on the lights. It’s hard not to notice how a once dark room fills with a warm glow. Whether it’s a candle or simply watching the light move through the day. Take a moment to observe how light fills your current moment.

These simple practices of noticing are not about doing less but about being here. Attentiveness has always been part of the Christian mystical tradition. This is not spiritual apathy but holy responsiveness. These are step-free practices that don’t require you to buy a meditation cushion and sit under a tree for an hour or purchase another journal. They can be found in everyday, ordinary moments.

When I first began noticing the roots of the trees, it was during one of many daily dog park runs. I’ve probably been to this park a hundred times and past the same roots over and over again. It was just a moment, but it was a sacred one. And sacred moments like these are hard to quantify - they just are. Small awakenings, captured by awe and wonder, a moment in time when my being becomes aware of Being itself.

So whenever or whatever you find yourself drawn to, quieted by, or pausing for that sacred breath, bless it. Bless the moments of awakening, however small. Breathe out gratitude, however fleeting it may be.

And if you happen to notice the roots of a towering tree, let it be your intention.

Peace and every good,