If you're looking
A Small Essay & A Poem for your Thursday
If you’re looking—
Weathermen in Colorado are notoriously inaccurate. It’s probably something to do with the fact that our weather can change dramatically in the span of five minutes, but even still we love to complain about it. This year has been our latest snow on record—another troubling sign of climate change. But I knew before it happened that it was finally due to arrive—because when I looked out my kitchen window one morning last week and saw the sparrows pecking their way through the dry grass of my backyard, looking for seeds.
It’s a habit of theirs that I wasn’t sure was as consistent as I imagined it to be the first winter we lived here—but I was grieving, and I was sleep deprived, and I wasn’t sure if it was a normal occurrence or a sign.
But after years of waiting and watching in the same place I can tell you; if the ground is bare (not already covered in snow) and weather is on the way, the winter birds look for seeds in the grass of my backyard. They will be there by the dozens, before dawn has lit the dark storm clouds behind my hill with eerie light.
They never lie.
On our recent trip to Mexico, we—my husband, my parents, and I—sat on plastic lounge chairs on the upper deck between two bedrooms after we’d gotten the kids tucked in, and we stared at the stars. They weren’t any brighter than my stars back home—because of course, I live in the glorious middle-of-nowhere with very little light pollution, my stars are hard to beat—but they were equator stars. The constellations were in different places than I was used to. Sirrius, the dog star, flashing green and red, as the frequencies of light travelled from those two warring suns, to my eye. And as we sat there in the ocean breeze, chatting about life for hours I counted shooting star after shooting star.
“Have we come in the middle of a meteor shower?!” I asked Willy in awe.
“No, honey. There are shooting stars all the time.”
“All the time?!”
“Every night.”
“Every night!?”
“If you’re looking.”
what will you see?
My children grew up asking Google “what’s the weather outside right now,” but I am trying to teach them to stand in the yard and watch the sparrows; to hold their palms out to the wind. To use their god given senses to tell them what machines may never get right. To take the time to look—because how else can you really see?
Even those of us who see some things, do not see everything. I’ve lived all my life thinking that shooting stars were a rarity; a meteor shower I was destined to miss because I was too exhausted with my tiny babies. Now I learn that wishes fly past nearly every night, if only I have eyes to see them?
I write here often about noticing, and I hope to do more small essays like this one—snap shots of moments that taught me something small, but life changing.
We’ve lost the art of staring at the sky long enough to see a shooting star—I’m still amazed that all I had to do was look for long enough to see something I’ve been enchanted by my entire life. And yet again, this is something free—a generous gift of Creator that I have only to enjoy. It makes me wonder how many other gifts I’ve missed, simply by failing to look. How many other messages have I not received, because my ears are not tuned to hear?
It’s December, and the gifts of my life are all around me. The sparrows in my yard, reminding me of provision in cold times. The shooting stars every night, reminding me of ordinary miracles.
All that is asked of me to receive, is to pay attention. The Creator whispering; those who seek me, will find me, when they seek me with their whole heart.
If you’re looking—what will you see?
A Poem for your Thursday
I thought today might be a good day to reshare this poem from my first collection as the Sparrow flies. In a season of deep darkness, noticing the sparrows brought me a kind of peace that was hard to explain without writing a poem—so of course I had to write one.
I highly recommend poetry, all poetry, if you want to learn to pay more attention to the life right in front of you. Whether you ever feel drawn to put the pen to the page, all of us can notice like poets, and life will be all the richer for it.
while it is still dark
before golden light crests the hill behind my house,
I see a dozen small sparrows hopping through the shallow snow
in the predawn dark of my backyard.
they are bold, almost cheeky, as they peck their way
through the dry grass and weeds and shriveled crabapples
that have fallen from our tree.
I have heard that He is aware of every feather and flap,
and not one has fallen apart from His notice.
I realize He must know which weeds provide the best seeds,
and He plants these in summer’s abundant heat.
these dozen small sparrows do not wonder
who will feed them their daily bread.
it is still dark while they sing their songs of joyful trust,
knowing a feast has already been prepared.
then there’s me—with my tear-stained face
pressed to the ice cold window pane,
hoping & praying, for a small sparrow’s faith. 
as the Sparrow flies is, primarily, a book about grief.
As I began the project I kept asking myself, “if love hurts this much, is it worth it?”
When distance parts, loss separates, betrayal destroys, and the deep ache required of sacrificial love feels too heavy and holy to bear—let the Sparrow lead the way. Perhaps, it is not so far after all.
Accompanied by exquisite, original artwork by the talented Bethanie Pack, as the Sparrow flies takes the reader on a journey through the nuanced layers of the grief of love. (Bethanie is the BOMB.COM and you should definitely check out her website and other work. She made landscape calendars last year that have single handedly made this whole insufferable year more manageable.)
Over and over again, readers have told me the book was healing for them, and made them feel seen and understood in their grief. So if you, or someone you love is in a place of grieving this holiday season, this might be a great gift. You can get it anywhere books are sold, but if you buy it from my shop, I’ll sign it for you.
There are also book bundles on there where you can get both of my books, or ugly duckling versions as well for a discount price.
I’m grateful you are here, Dear Readers. If you haven’t checked it out yet, I’m doing a lot with our free subscriber chat lately. Mondays, we are holding space for what feels hard/holy. Wednesdays, we share bits of beauty together in what I’m calling a Beauty Hunters thread. And Fridays, we have our Community Care Celebration—where we see and notice the ways the we are both giving, and receiving, community care.
You can pop in and out as you like—the app is definitely the best way to participate there, and we’d love to have you. I’m not about building an online community that doesn’t encourage you to pursue community in your real life—but I hope that some of the posts we share there encourage you to do just that.
And if you’re getting annoyed of all the emails—I get it. Some seasons are for some things and not others. You can go in peace at anytime, and know that my good will goes with you.
But for those of you who choose to stay, I am grateful.
Warmly,
Gracie
such graceful, restful writing. thank you.
this is so beautiful