My family has dinner together every Monday night. We meet at my parents’ house. My brother-in-law, sister-in-law, and I all come straight from work. My husband and sister come from our homes with the kids. My parents are there, and my niece is with them, because they watch her every Monday. My grandma lives near us for half the year, and when she is here, she comes.
We all come from our different places and busy days. From school and work and parenting (or grandparenting). After dinner, we all head our separate ways. The 3 older granddaughters head to Awana. There is often a soccer or baseball practice for my son. My sister heads to the gym. We land at my parents’ house from all our different days, and then we shoot back out.
And while we are there, it’s pure and utter chaos. There is so much noise. Frequently someone asks, “How many kids are actually here?” But it’s always just the six that belong to us. Kids fight or disobey or need to process their day. Among the adults there are about 378 interruptions to the conversations that happen over the course of the hour or two we are together. Sometimes my sister and I will text later in the evening and realize we barely talked to each other during dinner, because there was so much going on.
It’s busy. It’s chaotic. It looks nothing like the Reagan family dinners on Blue Bloods.
But it is sacred. It’s sacred because it’s our family, because each person there is precious and vital to the lives of the others. It’s sacred because we do it every week, we make it a priority, we make space even when it’s inconvenient. It’s sacred because of the work and time my parents put into making it happen. When we come together each week, we say that these people and these relationships and this time matters deeply. It is sacred.
Once upon a time I believed that the only sacred things were the things that happened in the church sanctuary. That the hours that I spent at church were the sacred hours of the week; the rest were just ordinary.
I don’t see it that way anymore. Now I see that there are moments and rhythms and glimpses of that sacred, set-apart time everywhere.
The other day I saw geese flying over a frozen, snow-covered field. The sun was coming up and the light reflecting off the ice was breathtaking. It was a holy moment, and it took my breath away.
Last night I was reading bedtime stories to my daughters, and my 7-year-old said, “that last part spoke to me. Can you read it again so that I remember?” I went back and reread the last paragraph, and we talked about what it meant to her. As I was tucking her into bed, I rehearsed the moment in my mind so that I wouldn’t forget it. I love that she used that very grown up phrase, but I also love that she is listening to the stories we tell at such a deep level. It was a sacred moment.
I want to have eyes to see the sacred beauty and meaning in the world. I want to recognize the sacred and respond with gratitude and worship. I want to see the sacredness in the mundane things, in my drive to work, in nightly bedtime routines, in Monday night dinners. I want to see it even in the midst of chaos and kids and noise and distractions.
And if I want to see it, I have to be looking. I need to ask myself at the end of the day where I saw meaning, what moments were holy and set apart. I need to see those moments and respond with gratitude.
Tonight I will pull into my parents’ driveway. I will probably respond to a quick text or email before going inside. But as I walk in, I’m going to take some deep breaths and remind myself to pay attention. This is a sacred space.
What was sacred in your day today?