A few weeks ago, I had a holy moment.
I call it a holy moment because I was captured by its beauty and so much so, that something strange happened. It was like everything was perfect for a second or two.
It happened as I was driving on a West Australian country road. I would normally carpool to our annual women’s retreat but this year I was arriving a day late and I found myself solo, driving away from the city.
Both hands on the steering wheel and thoughts in a messy pile in my mind, I started to declutter them, sifting through the “to-do-list” and moving swiftly onto the “did-I-do-list?”
I’m not even sure how long I was driving on auto-pilot. The winter wasn’t over yet but it was hard to ignore the imminent spring because of one incredibly bold thing … canola. Carpets of canola. In full bloom and saturated with deep colour. I’ll be honest, the moment surprised me. I had to pull over and stare at the sea of yellow for a few minutes. Mostly because it was beautiful but also because of the stillness inside me. I didn’t want to upset the stillness.
I’m aware that everyone has probably experienced a moment similar to mine. When calm feels comfortably heavy. When we feel the heat on our skin before we notice the sun is shining or when a simple glance at someone or something lingers enough for you to carve a whole memory out of that moment.
Those moments are harder to come by these days. So hard in fact that we need to be taught how to have them. Daily meditations, mindfulness or practising the presence of God help us to learn a discipline that counters a culture that begs us to hustle and like and follow.
But the holy moment is when all that becomes white noise. When pure delight leads you beyond the ACTUAL moment and you taste the expanse of eternity. Everything is perfect in that moment. Hope lives there. A peace that passes all understanding lives there. Wholeness, healing, restoration and reconciliation live there.
He is holy.