As I’m writing this blog I’m listening to “Pilgrim,” a song by John Mark McMillan. The lyrics remind me of my mood while I was writing chapter five in my book Things We’ve Handed Down: Twelve Letters I Leave for You. 

Like each chapter in this book, I wrote about my thoughts on a book which had a major impact on my life. This chapter’s book was Pilgrim at Tinker Creek by Annie Dillard. 

This is what I wrote in Things We’ve Handed Down: 

It started when I read Pilgrim at Tinker Creek. Through her tapestry of nature’s intricate threads, her poetic narrative weaved my view in new directions, noticing what I often ignore, appreciating what I often rush by. She beckoned me to behold the world with new eyes. That is what I want to hand down to you. A beckoning, a luring, an awareness, a weaving, a noticing, an appreciation. Dillard unveils the marvels hidden in the ordinary, urging us to pause—one of my favorite words, one of those words I’ve used  too often, one of those words I need to live better in my own pilgrimage. She helps me observe. She helps me embrace the quiet wonders of my walks and talks and deep thoughts and short reflections. 

Her observations shout for us to live in awe, inviting us to notice the  gentle dance of life in the intricacies of our existence. Where is my Tinker Creek? Will I notice it, hear it, walk by it? Where is your Tinker Creek? Will you notice it, hear it, walk by it? Is the creek a reality or a metaphor? Yes. And yes. In this normal rush of life in our modern madness, let us slow the pace. Let us park the cars of our preoccupations. Let us embark in an excursion of seeing the unseen, hearing the unheard, hugging the  unloved. Maybe it is the fish and a creek and the wind and a walk. Maybe  it is the song and a conversation and the story and a few tears. My dear  friend, there is beauty surrounding us. Overlooked in the rush of current  haste, it is all around us. 

Walk by your creek this week. Feel that wind this week. Hear the noise  this week. Rest from the hurry and welcome the breeze of peace. 

As I read again what I wrote, I want to apply it. I need to apply it. To walk. To feel. To hear. To rest. 

I remember revisiting my own version of Tinker Creek in last December. I also remember reminding myself to not wait until I hear a waterfalls or stand on a mountain or feel the wind or stair at the stars. I need to—today, now—hit pause and breathe deeply and see what I often ignore. The wonder is nearby. Let’s not hurry past it. 

Today, may all the pilgrims find a creek—or some place of peace. Rest there. If just for a moment, rest there. Even with a packed schedule and full agenda, rest there for a moment. And welcome the breeze of peace.