Introduction: The Sacred Hidden in Plain Sight
We live in a world overflowing with marvels, yet so often we rush past them, our eyes fixed on what’s next — the deadline, the headline, the grocery list, the ache in our hearts we haven’t had time to name.
But what if wonder isn’t something rare or far away? What if it’s hidden in plain sight — woven into the fabric of our daily lives, waiting to be noticed, cherished, honored?
This piece is not a sermon, but a spell. Not an essay, but a litany. A meditation. A blessing. A reminder.
It’s an invitation to pause and pay attention. To let awe and delight find you again. To practice sacred play — not by escaping reality, but by falling in love with it more deeply.
Let us begin.
The Everyday as Holy
Let us lift our eyes not only to the stars,
but to the breadcrumbs of magic scattered through our ordinary days.
Let us speak a litany — not of sorrow, but of wonder.
Blessed be the steam that curls from a morning cup.
Blessed be the warmth of laundry just out of the dryer,
and the hush of fresh snow before the world has touched it.
Blessed be the moments when a song you love finds you unexpectedly.
These are not small things. They are the architecture of meaning.
They anchor us to the moment, to ourselves, to each other.
Noticing the Unseen
Wonder isn’t something we must chase — it’s something we must allow.
It visits in silence. It hides in repetition. It waits in the wings while we scroll and stress.
Praise for the ache in your cheeks from laughing too hard.
Praise for the first bite of something sweet,
for dandelion wishes,
for squirrels with too much to say.
The more we notice, the more there is to notice.
Wonder multiplies under the microscope of attention.
When we name it, it grows.
The Sensory World as a Portal
Our bodies are wonder-makers. Our senses are portals.
Every smell, texture, temperature shift —
each is an open door to presence.
Glory to the breeze that finds you on a hot day.
Glory to the softness of moss under bare feet.
Glory to the rain that taps on windows like an old friend.
To the scent of earth after rain — petrichor, ancient and sacred.
When we tune in, we remember:
We are not separate from this world.
We are stitched into it, thread by sensory thread.
The Magic of Mundane Moments
There is no such thing as “just” anything.
No “just a Tuesday.” No “just a sandwich.” No “just” getting through the day.
Every moment is saturated with the potential for joy, if we choose to see it.
Let us give thanks for library shelves and dog-eared pages,
for fireflies and flashlight tag,
for the way a cat blinks slowly at someone it trusts.
For sidewalks with chalk-scrawled galaxies
and children who believe they can fly.
To engage in sacred play is to bring reverence into the ordinary.
To smile at socks and celebrate sidewalk cracks.
To laugh at the way life never quite behaves — and to love it anyway.
Honoring the Body
Too often, we treat our bodies like machines.
But they are libraries of sensation. Altars of experience.
Maps of survival and resilience.
Hallelujah for freckles and birthmarks —
cartographies of the body.
Hallelujah for scars that prove you healed.
Hallelujah for goosebumps,
for tears that water the soul,
for the way laughter erupts without permission.
When we bless the body — not for how it looks,
but for all the ways it lets us be alive —
we practice a radical kind of gratitude.
The Sacred in the Mess
We don’t need perfection to find beauty.
We need truth. We need presence. We need permission to be human.
All honor to the messes we make while learning.
To the mismatched socks that still do the job.
To the dishes that mean a meal was shared.
To the dust dancing in sunlight.
To the spider weaving with exquisite patience in the corner.
There is holiness in the unfinished.
There is beauty in the clutter of a life being lived.
The Wonder of Kindness
A single moment of kindness can restore our faith in the whole world.
These moments matter. They ripple.
Rejoice in the kind stranger who lets you go first.
Rejoice in the friend who answers on the second ring.
Rejoice in quiet moments —
the ones that say:
You are here. You are breathing. And that is enough.
In the end, love is the deepest form of wonder.
And the most renewable.
A Call to Sacred Attention
This isn’t a poem to be read once and forgotten.
It’s a way of seeing. A way of being.
A practice to return to when the world feels gray and heavy.
Let us not overlook
the sacred in the crumbs,
the cathedral in the canopy,
the miracle of a held hand.
Let us make a religion out of paying attention.
Let us build an altar from all we usually overlook.
Let us sing a litany of wonder,
and in doing so,
become wondrous ourselves.
A Simple Invitation
What might your own litany look like?
What small, beautiful things have whispered to you lately?
What tiny mercies or delights deserve to be named?
You don’t have to write them in verse.
You only have to notice.
To pause.
To bless.
To begin.
