This morning I am contemplating what it means to have a sound mind. I think a really huge part of it is to be slow and steadfast. Steadfast in mindfulness—that is just being fully connected to the present moment and taking our time to notice things. That really is a gift. Deep breaths are also important. Inhale, exhale and take life in for what it is worth. The deeper the breaths, the more thoroughly we can inhale life, and take in all of its beauty and mercies. Life is a gift.
I am tempted to recount all the things I’ve missed out on as I’ve found myself speeding mindlessly through life. Little things have slipped right through my fingers, and it is in the little things that I find the most grace. It is in the way that the bus arrives at my stop right on time. It is in the way that a roommate leaves folded laundry lying neatly on my bed after a day of errands and not feeling so put together really. It is in the way rain is in the forecast, but I forget my umbrella and so the heavens don’t burst open with dew until just moments after I arrive home. It is in these things that I slow down, count, and feel God’s grace constituting the very fabric of my life. He is a God that is most wonderful, and endlessly gracious.
What have we to mourn really when we realize that our God, big as he is, is ever-present in the little things? Perhaps a laundry-list of things to mourn even considering the fact of small blessings, but there he is, even in the tears. There he is writing the story, and weaving grace through the details. Jesus wept, even as we weep. He grew weary just as we did, and my hope lies in this: that he is still present in the form of the Holy Spirit comforting us, empathizing with us, knowing us. His grace never runs out.