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​This past Saturday morning I was desperate to get as much done as I possibly could before the storms began to roll. I got up early, walked the dogs, had coffee on the porch, and then took off on my bike for a ride. I still had errands to run out of town, but at least, I thought, I would have gotten in my ride and I wouldn’t sit inside during the storm thinking of the opportunity I had missed to get in a ride. 

The morning was fantastic. The sun was shining and the air was sticky and warm from early spring. The wind, at that point, was just a breeze, and at various points of my ride the scent of lilacs in full bloom was wafting. 

The trail was damp in some places, but nothing too terrible, and I met a few other people along the way who were also seizing the mild morning to get in some recreation and exercise. One woman rode her bike in the opposite direction as I was headed. A man on a bicycle did the same–both of the smiling and saying, “Good morning!” as they passed. A younger woman walked the trail with her unleashed dog. The dog was some kind of “doodle”--something I was certain was mixed with a poodle–and was happy to be out and free and smelling all the smells.

At one part of the trail I was all alone in a more wooded area. As I coasted down a small incline, I looked ahead and saw a BIG, beautiful doe walking across the trail before me. I nearly stopped in my tracks. She was magnificent, and I swear that she paused as she crossed to look me square in the eyes. And, just like that, as quickly as she had appeared, she was gone. 

I distinctly remember having a sense of remorse that I hadn’t stopped, taken my phone off of my arm band, and snapped a picture. As I continued to ride, I wondered about that feeling–that impulse–to record this special moment. Why did I want the picture? Was it so that I could share it to social media? I think so. I think, if I’m being honest, there’s a part of me who feels like something didn’t really happen if other people don’t know about it. Maybe you understand where I’m coming from?

Where my thoughts eventually led me was to an understanding that had I stopped to take my phone off my arm band, I would have missed that doe looking me in the eye. I would have been distracted from her magnificence and the special bond that only she and I shared in that moment. I would have missed a sense of feeling like I was really a part of something so much larger than myself, and how that moment with that deer on the trail was the most seen I had felt in a while. In my desire to capture the moment forever, I would have missed it entirely–missing ALL the awe and wonder that one bike trail could hold. 

In his book “Awe: The New Science of Everyday Wonder and How It Can Transform Your Life,” Dacher Keltner writes, “Awe is the feeling of being in the presence of something vast that transcends your current understanding of the world. Tears, then, arise when we perceive vast things that unite us into community. Awe is about our relation to the vast mysteries of life.” 

I can’t help but wonder as I look back on that moment, how many times I have missed out on awe and all the connection and relationship that it brings for a picture that will probably just sit in my phone or in the cloud (wherever that is) forever? How many times have the vast mysteries of life and my relation to them literally been right in front of me and I’m so busy playing something over again in my mind for the 500th time, or planning for how I’m going to get the next thing on my to-do list done that I just miss it? How often is God standing just down the path from me–in a doe’s eyes, in a bird’s call, in a stranger’s greeting, in the excited wiggles of some kind of doodle, in the scent of lilacs in full bloom? How often do I miss the transformational power of unexpected, unplanned, everyday awe because I’m staring down at my phone?

Sadly, I think more times than I care to count. But I want desperately to have more moments in my life filled with awe. And I don’t think I–or you–have to go on some big soul-searching trip to some exotic place to find them. I think they’re here–right in our path. And if we just look up, and give our phones our rest, maybe we can give our minds a rest too, so that we can rest in the Presence of something far wilder and more expansive than our current understanding.

No image available this week because my heart, mind, and soul were so available to the moment. I pray we all find more moments like that. 

Pr. Melissa

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