Finding God in Ordinary Things

There will always be a tree that isn't mine. But I'd be a fool to miss the forest that is, longing for it.

Do you ever think about the 'Holy' when looking at the 'everyday' things of life? If you do, you'll love The Sacred Ordinary . If you've never thought about such things before, this book may change your way of thinking.

Within its pages are 112 meditations covering all sorts of things - from old chandeliers to hymns and junk drawers. Wonderful, eclectic, and thought-provoking.

Here's the piece on other peoples' trees:

I have a wish list, even though it isn't written down anywhere. I'll bet you do too. I don't know what's on your list, but I can quickly cite some of the bigger, recurring items on mine: A buttercream, VW Beetle with a black rag top. A good, godly husband and a family of my own. A horse... and a place to put it that doesn't violate municipal deed restrictions. And anything hanging in my closet with a size 8 tag that I could comfortably wear. (NOTE FROM THE BLOG POSTER: Size 8 US is size 10 UK - don't panic, ladies!)

I saw the car on my list this week. I even parked next to it so that I could peek inside. And I've imagined that I glimpsed my husband more than once - although not recently. I finger the size 8's (10s!) in stores from time to time, but even at my leanest - given the bone structure I inherited on my father's side of the family - it's not likely to happen. Each time I see something on my wish list, I feel my heart go out. There's an insistent little voice that says, "I still want that. Why hasn't God allowed me to have it?"

It's far, far too easy to consider the account of man's fall in the book of Genesis and imagine (go ahead and laugh) that if I’d been Eve, things might have happened differently. But let’s face it: we all want the tree that isn't ours. Any tree that isn't ours.

There's no doubt in my mind that Eden was lush... beautiful... fragrant. I'm sure it was a treat for the senses and a deeply satisfying place to call home. But confronted with the one thing that was off-limits to her, Eve's satisfaction with Paradise wilted. Told that there was one tree that wasn't hers, she could think of little else. She wanted little else. All the goodness of the garden lost its shine when she remembered that single tree.

And most days, I'm no different.

But what if I saw those other 'trees' as cues to offer thanks for all that is mine? What if every “Beetle sighting” was my cue to thank God for safe, reliable transportation – or that my car actually started up this morning when I got in and turned the key. What if dinner with married friends or a trip to Baby Gap for a shower gift reminded me to thank him that I’m not unhappily married and that there are children all around me who need extra love? What if a drive to the country in April didn’t make me sigh deeply for the horse I don’t have but made me grateful for the cute, apartment-sized dog draped over the back of my city-girl sofa? And what if a glance at a well-clad, gaunt mannequin remind me that I’m clothed in righteousness and made me glad? Wouldn’t that be a healthier approach?

There will always be a tree that isn’t mine. But I’d be a fool to miss the forest that is, longing for it.