The Sacred Everyday

 One beautiful early evening last week, my husband, daughter and I sat on our patio bordering the woods, talking, listening to music and singing along, when I experienced that altered perception of reality that I have come to think of as a "God moment".  Suddenly, everything shifted, became infused with a sparkly light and I was intensely aware of the life pulsing behind everything.  The simple joy of the moment became sacred and filled me with peace.  At dinner, as we sat on the deck, I was aware again of the profound beauty of everything: the intensity of the colors of garden flowers, the precise way that the setting sun shone through the arborvitae and infused all with a golden glow, and the luxurious feeling of the breeze on my skin.  

It occurred to me that all these simple moments of everyday life are to be cherished because this is the "kingdom of heaven in the midst of us". Ordinary life is incredibly beautiful if we open our eyes and allow ourselves to be fully present.

I have embraced this truth more fully the past few years, perhaps because I'm growing older and realizing how precious life is.  But I also believe it was my father's parting gift to me.  Yesterday was his birthday and also the anniversary of his death two years ago, so he is on my mind this morning.  For the last couple  years of his life, he lived with us, and, while caring for him was a very challenging experience, it also taught me to slow down, to pause the frantic pace of my life and enter into the moment. 

My dad loved to sit in the shade of our giant locust tree in the front yard and watch the world go by.  He would say to me, "Patti, please stop being so busy and just sit with me".  So I would pull up a chair, enjoy the shade on a hot summer day and listen to his stories as we sipped iced tea.  Sometimes he would just take my hand and tell me what a good daughter I was. Sometimes we would sit in silence and listen to the birds.  Sometimes we would listen to classical music as the afternoon passed and we watched the light change.

The day before my father died, we had a big family party to celebrate his and my husband's birthday.  Most of his grandchildren were there, surrounding him with joy and laughter.   He lit up and clapped his hands when we brought his cake and sang Happy Birthday.  We took group photos of him with all the grandchildren and great grandchildren.  

He was tired that night and fell asleep easily, but woke at 2 am, crying out for someone to come sit with him.  I resisted the urge to express my frustration at being woke out of a sound sleep and assured him that everything was ok.  I sat in silence with him until he was calm and watched him as he closed his eyes for the last time.  In the morning, we thought he was still asleep, but he had passed peacefully in the wee hours.  

I believe that he chose this morning to leave us because his heart was so full of love that he was no longer afraid to die.  He went "gently into that good night and (did not)rage against the dying of the light" but found one infinitely brighter to pass into.

*paraphrase of a Dylan Thomas poem