An Invitation to Notice

Jun 8 / Sheryl Graves
These emerging summer days draw my soul toward the wide, open expanses of the outdoors and awaken cherished memories of summers past. One particular memory lingers. In one of my seminary classes, our professor invited us to spend time in a place where we were invisible.

Childhood memories beckoned me outdoors for this assignment. I longed to re-live the experience of lying hidden in the tall grass of an open field, staring into the expansive sky above. But in the midsummer Texas heat, I chose my suburban backyard as the night air cooled the earth instead. As I spread my blanket on the grass, I was eager to lie back and gaze at the stars, anticipating what God might want to show me in this hour of my invisibility.

Anticipating this feast of the eyes, I settled onto my blanket and looked up. Within minutes, clouds rolled in and completely covered the night sky. Not a single star remained visible! I chuckled at the playful way God reminded me that I would be the observer in this experience, and God would create it for me. Even in my disappointment, I felt loved.

Letting go of my plans, I lay quietly, finally receptive to what God wanted. Slowly, tentatively, a symphony of sound emerged. Crickets began to sing. Grasshoppers joined in. Cicadas added a low, rhythmic song. Katydids and tree frogs began to punctuate with melodic variety. A vast ensemble blended, rising in crescendo, fading in diminuendo, or occasionally pausing in silence as if taking a breath when some larger creature stirred in the woods beyond.

Sometimes, this orchestra of the night harmonized so beautifully that tears welled in my eyes. Occasionally, the dissonance set my nerves on edge.

As my soul feasted on such a glorious display of sound, gratitude for the clouds slowly emerged, too. I often over-rely on sight to experience God and life, but God comes to us through all our senses. By denying me sight in that moment, God gave me the beauty that emerges in silence and noise, in harmony and dissonance, in stillness and movement. It was in the letting go of one that I opened to receive the others.

In his book, A Hidden Wholeness, Parker Palmer reminds us that:

“The soul is like a wild animal – tough, resilient, savvy, self-sufficient, and yet exceedingly shy. If we want to see a wild animal, the last thing we should do is to go crashing through the woods, shouting for the creature to come out. But if we are willing to walk quietly into the woods and sit silently for an hour or two at the base of a tree, the creature we are waiting for may well emerge, and out of the corner of an eye we will catch a glimpse of the precious wildness we seek.”

The invitation to be invisible was also an invitation into the stillness and silence my soul needed to emerge – an opportunity to awaken to how often I relied on my plans and missed the goodness and beauty of God.

I lingered there long past the requirements of a class assignment. I needed to rest in God’s loving presence. I arose from that space more aware that I am deeply loved, seen, and guided, and that harmony and dissonance can co-exist for good. But God still had more to teach me.

The next morning, I groggily opened the window to a stunning sight. There in the grass still lingered the imprint of where I had lain the night before. I froze for a moment at the startling realization that I really hadn’t been invisible at all – just still, quiet, and attentive. The grass now revealed that my presence mattered too. I had been there to listen to what God created.

I often think about that experience as a soul companion. The reality that I was present to bear witness to such a glorious revelation of God taught me to listen for the Divine and follow God’s lead.

 As soul companions, we lovingly bear witness to the precious soul of another that emerges in a holy space we hold. We pay attention to the movements of God. Yet, our presence matters too. In receiving what is offered, we also leave an imprint on others.

The memory of that experience compels me to revisit my backyard this summer. I wonder what God might want to show me this time?

Where might God be drawing you to linger together for a while?

How might God be inviting you to release your expectations or plans to receive what God longs to give?

What glimmers of God’s loving presence might you notice when you pause?

In what space are you invited to bear witness to the glory of God?

Only God knows what imprint your presence might unknowingly leave in that space.

Sheryl Graves
Sheryl Graves has a passion for spiritual formation and facilitated learning experiences. She delights in hosting open spaces, allowing people to awaken to themselves and God’s deep, abiding presence with them. Prior to receiving her MA in Spiritual Formation and Certificate of Spiritual Direction from Portland Seminary, Sheryl served on a church staff in adult discipleship, leadership development, and executive leadership. She also has experience working in mission, parachurch, and business organizations.

Sheryl is a spiritual director, supervisor, trained Ignatian guide, sabbatical companion, small group facilitator, and retreat speaker or guide. 

For more information about Sheryl, you can contact her at sherylgraves.spiritualdirection@outlook.com.