I made the bed the other day. Not an unusual thing, to be sure. Nothing groundbreaking or revolutionary or existential. Please hold your applause.
The girls were screaming, running, brushing their teeth—naturally, all at the same time. Also not an unusual thing.
But as I pulled that sheet into place, tucked those pillows just so, a thought came to me: This is what we fight for, work for—moments like these.
Last week, in our reflective walk through Ignatian myth and narrative, we passed along the road of trials. I think in moments like that—when we’re battling the monsters and leaping across chasms and solving riddles in the dark—it’s helpful to call to mind why we’ve set out on the journey to begin with.
It’s easy to look at epic tales and be drawn in by the dramatic romance, the life and death stakes, the great battle between good and evil. Everything feels so exciting on the road of adventure, when we’re in it, answering the call.
But we don’t live our whole lives at Level Epic. Most of our time is spent in the mundane, ordinary, nitty-gritty reality of the day-to-day. And while we know that to be true, I wonder how often we give thanks for those moments. How often do we realize when we’re making the bed or feeding the cat or buy the groceries that these ordinary tasks are what we strive to protect, strive to make new, strive to make holy?
This is a theme I return to again and again when I talk about Ignatian spirituality and storytelling—and when I travel to give talks on my first book, “Cannonball Moments: Telling Your Story, Deepening Your Faith”—because I think it’s foundational. If we believe that God is in all things, then we believe that every detail of our lives, of our days, of our very existence is glimmering with God’s presence, delight, grace.
I used to wonder about the end of stories—when Frodo returns to the Shire jewelry-free and when Rapunzel finally cuts her hair and assumes the administrative tasks of being a royal. For us readers, viewers, watchers, this is when we tune out, close the book, flip off the TV. The story, for us, is over.
But our story, the whole reason we go on adventure, is so that we can ultimately return to the quiet, the peace, the ordinary. We return renewed—and there’s more to be said about that in future weeks.
But for now, today, this week, sink into the ordinary moments of your life. Give thanks for the quiet and the mundane, when you have the opportunity to experience the ordinary. Because not everyone does—just look at the news. How many families today yearn to simply make a bed or spill a cup of coffee?
Too many.
Let’s not lose sight of these tiny moments of grace. And let’s keep marching down the road of trials so that we might be better able to ensure that all people have the chance to experience such quiet moments. Because we don’t just answer the call to adventure for ourselves; we respond for the good of all.
This is the seventh part of a limited series I’m calling The Ignatian Myth & Narrative Project. If you want to get caught up, read:
And another thing:
By now I’m SURE you’ve heard about my new book that dropped this week, “My Life with the Jedi: The Spirituality of Star Wars!” It’s been a super fun week of talking about the book and hearing from readers. If you’ve gotten a copy, I’d love to hear from YOU: What do you think? What moves you? What challenges you? (I’d also love if you could leave a review of the book on Amazon or wherever you get your books!)
If you’d like some behind-the-scenes insight into the writing of “My Life with the Jedi,” I wrote this essay for Busted Halo: “More Than A Story: How Star Wars Gives Voice To My Spiritual Journey.” Check it out!
Finally, my brother and I found a TON of awesome Pokémon cards last weekend. You can read about it here—and see where I found God in a holographic Charizard.
This is such an important awareness. Too often we don’t appreciate the ‘ordinary’ until it’s gone.
So true; I admire people who have mastered gratitude for the mundane. Thank you for the reminder, Eric.