Summer slowing

The practice of paying attention

As regular readers in this community know, I love to travel. This Substack has chronicled many of my travels. So part of me feels itchy, rubbing against my decision to stay home for two months. I long to wander.

But after traveling in January, February, and March, hosting guests for most of April, and traveling again in May, I chose to put a single word on my calendar for June: Home. I have set aside some time to welcome myself. To be still. Or at least, to be here.

Yes, travel is a means of self-discovery. And welcoming others is a transformational practice. But what if staying home can also offer us a chance to practice awareness? To connect with God? To replenish our souls?

Travel: an invitation to self-discovery

My newsfeed tells me the world is on fire: our country is building a concentration camp in the everglades and gloating about it, and passing legislation to cut healthcare for the poor while lining the pockets of the wealthy. I feel compelled to speak up yet often overwhelmed by it all.

It feels somehow strange, going about my normal life while our democracy is on fire. I have protested. I have called and emailed my representatives. I have written here before about the unchristian behavior of our government.

"I was a stranger and you welcomed me..."

I’m learning in this season of just being home, of quiet routine, that slowing might be the antidote for anxiety. What if one way to steel ourselves for the battle is to rest? Perhaps being intentionally un-busy can replenish my soul?

This morning, I got up while it was cool. I took my journal and coffee on the back deck and watched the golden light flit among the verdant leaves of my backyard. I listened to a squirrel scold as the birds sang backup.

I watered the herbs that live in containers on the patio and noticed a bright flash of pink in the garden. I hadn’t planted poppies in about a decade, but one somehow volunteered amongst the tangled weeds and willful oregano.

I took a walk through the park, where wild morning glories bloomed boldly, like scattered popcorn on the dry grass. They hadn’t been there a few days ago, but here they were, despite the hot, dry weather.

Their defiant beauty somehow gave me hope. That a poppy seed cast in the garden years ago finally flowered. That unplanted morning glories can carpet a suburban lawn. That beauty exists, even in unexpected places.

We must speak out against evil but take time to rest and replenish our strength. I don’t want to get so busy that I don’t notice what is going on. Nor do I want to withdraw completely, ignoring the disintegration of democracy.

I’m not talking about being lazy, though in the summer, lazy has merit. But rather, a more deliberate pace, which allows you to notice the way light filtered through green leaves against a blue sky makes you feel just a glimmer of hope.

I’m talking about slowing down in order to pay attention to beauty, to people around you. To counter the narrative of fear and anxiety by giving your attention to the sacramental ordinary.

This summer, I’m working. I’m editing, coaching, writing. I’m cooking and hanging with friends. I’m spending time with immigrants who are scared, trying to simply love them. I’m reading a lot. I’m running, going for walks. I am intentionally trying to gather strength to believe that there is still good in the world, somewhere. I’m fortifying myself to speak truth and to be that good wherever I can.