As a kid, one of my favorite movies to watch was the 1995 animated film, Balto. If you aren’t familiar, the movie tells the true story of an Alaskan husky dog named Balto. Back in 1925, he and his musher, Gunnar Kaasen joined multiple teams of sled dogs on a mission across Alaska, to bring a much-needed antibiotic to their small town of Nome, where many children were suffering from a serious illness.

It’s an inspiring story, but what I remember most about watching that movie is being introduced to the Northern Lights, or Aurora Borealis, if you want to be technical. Before watching the movie, I had no idea the Northern Lights were actually a thing. And when I discovered they were real, and not some made up magic to enhance the movie’s storyline, I knew that someday, somehow, I had to see them in person.

Well, years passed, DECADES actually, and that desire still had not been realized. But when Brad and I were planning our big trip to Scotland earlier this year, I was pretty sure I would have my Northern Lights moment while we were there. Not only would we be much further north than we typically are here in Florida, but conditions were also expected to be prime. I can’t explain all the ins and outs of it, but apparently, according to the experts, the odds were very much in our favor. And I was preemptively thrilled.

We downloaded an app that tracked Northern Light visibility and were ready to be alerted any time visibility chances were high. And yet, despite the ideal conditions and our attempts to be in the right place at the right time, in the nearly six weeks we were away, we saw not even the tiniest glimmer of a Northern Light.

I was disappointed, but let me tell you, we experienced so many other incredible things in Scotland, it wasn’t hard to let that disappointment go. I decided not seeing the Northern Lights this time just meant we’d eventually plan another trip to see them another time. Something to look forward to. All hope was not lost.

Then, a couple months later, on a Saturday morning back in May, I took some time to check in on social media, and let me tell you, my jaw dropped to the floor. Friends all across the Southeast—including friends right where I was in the Big Bend of Florida—were sharing their photos and videos of the Northern Lights. At first I thought maybe everyone took a trip and forgot to invite me; but upon further investigation, I realized they witnessed the Lights right where they were, right where they lived, in their literal backyards.

As unexpected as it was, the Northern Lights came to the South. And I missed it.

The night before, I went to bed early, completely unaware of what I might miss, honestly not even entertaining the possibility. Because, after all, the conditions and circumstances were much less than ideal. I was in the Florida. Plus the visibility probability was highest in January-March. It was mid-May. There was no way.

And then. About an hour later, after I’d gone to bed, the Northern Lights showed up in the South. And I slept through it.

Once again, I was disappointed, but in a different way this time. Rather than being disappointed I missed the Northern Lights right where I was, I was more disappointed in my not even realizing it was a possibility. Had I known the forecast, that that night, visibility chances were actually pretty high down south, I probably would have stayed up anticipating the view. But I wasn’t really paying attention. I had no idea. Like I said, completely unaware. And as per usual, I think there might be a metaphor there…

Now before we continue, a quick note to say, physical rest—actual sleep—is important. In fact, I did a whole episode on sleep as spiritual practice a few years ago. It’s remind{h}er 54: Sleep On It, if you’re interested. Sleep is good for us, and that night back in May, I needed to go to bed early. It had been A DAY, and there is absolutely no shame in resting well when possible.

But there is a sense in which, again, on perhaps a more metaphorical level, I find that my experience sleeping through the Northern Lights, often mirrors the way I go about my actual life—technically awake, but somewhat slumbering through it all. Here’s what I mean:

It feels like I’m rushing through the motions, and each person, errand, invitation, meeting, and conversation, becomes part of the larger blur.

I grow irritable, anxious, envious, cynical, disenchanted or bored.

I mindlessly, incessantly scroll, and rarely look up from the screen.

I miss what is good and true and beautiful right where I am.

As I “sleep” through my life, I become, to use a term from Chuck DeGroat, “habitually disconnected” from myself and God-With-Me, and ironically, it is exhausting.

Maybe you can relate?

It’s interesting to consider, then, what it might mean for us to wake up from our slumber. To be more attentive to and aware of God’s movement and promptings around and within. To expect the unexpected in regular, ordinary days. To trust and believe God is with us and at work right where we are, even when conditions and circumstances say otherwise. To embody a deep presence and attention. To live a full, abundant life.

This is a life Jesus knew well. And as we see time and time again throughout the gospels, this is the life Jesus came to offer.

We see Jesus awake and attentive to his core identity as beloved by God.

We see Jesus awake and attentive to God’s presence, leading and invitation.

We see Jesus awake and attentive to the needs of others around him.

We see Jesus awake and attentive to the larger purposes of the Kingdom of God.

Ultimately, what we see is Jesus stewarding his attention well and living faithfully as a result.

And maybe there’s something there. Maybe attentiveness and faithfulness go hand-in-hand.

In her book, Kindling Desire for God, Kay Northcutt shares insight from Catholic spiritual guide Anthony Padovano, who essentially equates attentiveness to faithfulness. Kay quotes Anthony as saying, “Others must know you as faithful, faithful so often that when they wonder where life lives, they will think of you as one in whom life has made a home.”

Kay Northcutt then goes on to write,

“Jesus came preaching a gospel attentive to life so that we might have it more abundantly {John 10:10}…One in whom ‘life has made a home’ is a person who is fully attentive and awake to God. Such fully-aliveness to God {attentiveness to God’s gift to us: life}, [that] is faithfulness.”

Fully-aliveness to God, attentiveness to God, being awake to the gift of life that comes from God—maybe that is faithfulness. Or at least where faithfulness begins.

So what it might it look like, on a practical level, to live abundantly? To be a person in whom “life has made a home?” Fully attentive and awake to God with and within you?

Well, it’s not about seeing it all or doing it all, that’s for sure. That is not our role. But is about being attentive to what God has in mind for you, for now. Truly, it’s a whole beautiful, messy, lifelong process, but this might be a helpful place to start:

You could begin by identifying, prioritizing, and regularly engaging a couple practices that remind you of God’s presence with and within you, prioritizing time to listen to God within your own soul. For some, that might look like silence. For others, it might look like going for a walk or a run. For others still, it might look like journaling or listening to a particular kind of music or practicing yoga or sitting on your porch or taking several deep breaths. The list goes on…

Shameless plug here, but spiritual direction might also be a great fit as you begin or continue to build a deeper awareness of your connection with God.

As we seek to steward our attention toward God with and within us, God’s Spirit is with us every step of the way. Yes, it takes time and intentionality and commitment, but before long, we just might find ourselves becoming people

awake and attentive to our core identity as beloved by God.

awake and attentive to God’s presence, leading and invitation.

awake and attentive to the needs of others.

awake and attentive to the larger purposes of the Kingdom of God.

Living faithfully, as best we can.

So today, remember to live abundantly. Attentively. Faithfully. Fully awake and alive to the presence and movement of God.

As Audrey Elledge and Elizabeth Moore write in their piece, A Liturgy for Paying Attention from their book, Liturgies for Wholeness:

Oh Christ who lingered,

Who listened,

Who welcomed interruption,

Let us be generous with [our] attention.

Busyness tricks us into scarcity,

Into clutching on to time as if we could lose it.

Distracted by yesterday’s failures and tomorrow’s fears,

We forget the gift of today.

We long to stand attentive,

To be startled by creation again,

To be astounded by what has faded into familiarity.

May we take notice of the lives we have been given.

May we tune our ears when a friend speaks,

Make eye contact with strangers,

Touch fields of flowers,

Become students of trees.

May we regard how even dishes and dust have something to teach.

May our focus be always on You, looking for Your finger-prints in the world,

For to stay curious is to stay present.

May awe be the filter through which we experience the ordinary.

Lay claim to our lives again so we can

Attend fully to this moment.

Slow our pace and settle our spirits

So we may bear witness to beauty,

To details in the myriad stories around us.

May our attention feel more like a prayer that never ceases,

Like a rope that tethers us to You.

We lay down our need to perform and produce,

And choose to dawdle in nature,

To lengthen conversations,

To linger with neighbors,

To stroll instead of sprint…

[May it be so. May it be so. May it be so.]

Amen.