birds and bells

I sat in bed this morning with my journal to have some quiet time with Jesus.  This has become a healthy habit for me over the last several years—something a mentor of mine recently likened to “taking out the garbage,” or letting the emotional clutter escape the body into prayer on a page.  That image works for me.  And I’ve had plenty of clutter lately to think about, like nearing the end of my CPE internship at the hospital… writing my final evaluation… prepping to teach an upcoming Sunday School class… planning a trip to Washington soon to see my family for the first time in nearly a year… among many other, smaller things.
 
As I opened the blank pages, I had a random song stuck in my head—one from a movie I watched days ago that wasn’t exactly conducive to quiet, reflective moments (it’s always the worst ones that get stuck on a loop).  I grabbed my phone off my nightstand and found the Peaceful Hideaway playlist on Spotify to quiet the mental clamor.  That oughta help.
 
Slow piano tunes mixed with birdsong began to play softly.  I lifted my pen, creased the journal pages open, and flipped my devotional book to the scripture for today.   
 
It took me a second to realize that I was now hearing bird chirping not just from the phone to my left, but also through the window to my right.  I reached over to pause the music and peaked through the cracked blinds.  Sure enough, several tiny birds sat on top of the bushes outside, chattering up a storm.  Birds from further away chattered back.  I hadn’t noticed at all until now.
 
Then bells rang in the distance.  I have no idea which nearby church they echoed from.  I glanced at the clock—it was 9 AM—and I listened to the bells.  I couldn’t believe I’d never heard them before.  Why hadn’t I heard them before?
 
I looked down at the text in front of me.  “…with minds alert and fully sober…”
 
There it was.  Heavy on the clutter, missing the alert. 
Pretty simple, actually:  I didn’t hear because I wasn’t listening.  I was distracted.
 
We’ve lived in this apartment now for eight months, and I’ve never once heard those bells.  Apparently, I’ve had other things on my mind.  The TV has provided background noise.  My brain has routinely glazed over looking at my phone screen.  In and out of these walls, life runs along in a perpetual state of diversion and thinking about “the next thing.”  Presence and paying attention are oft-neglected virtues.

I took three deep breaths while the bells faded out and the birds chirped on.  Those simple sounds were good for my soul.  How many other unassuming, yet God-given moments was I missing on a daily basis?  I live in a spacious world, but regularly only occupy the portion of it that exists between my ears—and that area gets cramped quickly.   

 
I copied the words into my journal: “with minds alert and fully sober.”  At 32 years old, I hope I have a lot more life to live… but heaven help me, the time goes by fast, and I rarely inhabit the moment I’m actually in.  I’m more anxious than alert, more distracted than engaged.  The future comes sooner than expected and the past gets blurry. 
 
There’s no way to change the time that has already come and gone.  But perhaps a prayer for today will suffice:  God, help me to see, hear, feel, and appreciate the abundant gifts you offer—the birds, the bells, and everything else—rather than miss those little moments of grace simply because I'm too distracted to pay attention.