Noticing

A couple of weeks ago, I was running along Holes Bay towards the centre of Poole when I

noticed the RNLI building. It’s quite distinctive and I was appreciating the architecture of it

when a thought struck me. How had I failed to spot it before?! For some context, I have lived

in Poole for the best part of 17 years and have regularly run or cycled along the road I was

on at the time. If previously I’d lifted my eyes in the right direction and paid attention, I’d

easily have seen it.

This is not the first time something similar has happened to me. After living in a flat for a year

and a half, I was unable to identify the colour of the distinctive bricks of our residence,

without looking. It was also only in the last couple of weeks that a set of equipment was

found by a colleague in my cupboard. These were resources that that we had been looking

for a couple of weeks. It seems I just find it difficult to notice my surroundings.

Over the last couple of weeks, I have been reading Advent and Christmas, a book based on

Henri Nouwen’s writings. In the very first reflection, it refers to the “small child of Bethlehem,”

hinting at how Jesus’ arrival was not widely acknowledged at the time. If at that first

Christmas, “the promise is hidden in the stable,” where might we find God’s ongoing

promises with his creation today?

It is so easy to speed through life and to give the majority of our attention to that which is

loud, overstated or impressive. Since starting the book, I have tried to be more intentional

with being aware of the presence of the divine in and around me, slowing and concentrating

my thoughts more often. For me, I often find this easier when out running because the time

alone carves space that can be deliberately focused on goodness around me.

Nothing I have encountered is dramatic. I’ve seen the way that even when many trees have

shed their leaves, signs of life still endure on them as ivy or other vine-like plants use their

trunks as supports. When I’ve found myself further away from traffic than normal, my ears

have been drawn to birdsong and the rustling of small creatures in undergrowth that I have

not identified. I have appreciated eating a meal I haven’t been involved in preparing or

cooking. During rainfall, I have enjoyed its cooling sensation and felt gratitude for its vital role

in food production. While at close to my maximum effort on a run, I’ve enjoyed the

combination of pain and childlike appreciation of feeling as fast as I can be. I’ve also

experienced the hair-raising swell from a children’s choir filling the church during a carol

concert. None of these examples have been ecstatic or especially life-changing experiences

but through being mindful of them, they have helped me feel more rooted and connected to

God.

As Christmas edges nearer, in the busyness and the mayhem, we can choose to notice the

signs of the divine around us. Perhaps this is something to motivate you heading into a new

year, to be more intentional about noticing. Although it may be easier outdoors, regardless of

where you are, if you look carefully, there will be evidence of the goodness of God. The

promise that was found in that stable in Bethlehem two millennia ago, can be spotted and

recognised in different guises in our lives today. What will you choose to notice?