There is always somewhere else to be.
There is always something else to finish, something else to begin, something waiting on the other side of whatever we happen to be doing right now.
And sometimes I notice how much of my life I can spend trying to get there.
This week on the Infinitely Precious Podcast, I continue exploring the nine ripening dimensions that have emerged through my own pondering, journaling, thinking, and living. These aren’t intended to be an exhaustive list or a set of steps toward becoming something we aren’t already. They are simply dimensions of life to which I have learned to pay attention.
The eighth is Ripening Presence.
Being Here Rather Than Getting There
When I think about ripening presence, I think about what it means simply to be here now.
Presence means loosening my concern about the end toward which I’m headed long enough to inhabit the place where I actually find myself.
This isn’t particularly difficult for me when I’m doing something I love.
Put me in a conversation with someone who wants to talk about their spiritual life, meaning, grief, loss, or some deep question they are carrying, and I can be completely there. Those encounters draw upon gifts that bring me life. I want to savor them.
Administrative work?
That’s another story.
When I’m crunching numbers, proofreading a document, working through paperwork, or trying to get the wording of a letter just right, I can find myself trying to get to the other side.
And perhaps that is exactly where I most need to practice presence.
Because even the task I don’t particularly enjoy is part of my life.
This moment is my life, too.
The Sacredness of Washing Dishes
Sometimes I wash dishes with great joy and exuberance.
And sometimes I wash them thinking about all the other things I could be doing.
I could be praying. I could be journaling. I could be reading. I could be sitting down. I could be doing something I’ve decided is more interesting or important than washing these dishes.
But the dishes are where I am.
This reminds me of Brother Lawrence and the little spiritual classic The Practice of the Presence of God. Brother Lawrence discovered that ordinary work could become prayer. Washing dishes could glorify God. Sweeping the floor could glorify God.
The Divine was not waiting somewhere beyond the task.
God could be encountered in it.
Maybe presence asks something similar of us.
What if I stopped dividing my life into the moments that matter and the moments I need to get through?
What if this moment—yes, even this one—were enough to inhabit fully?
The Gift Hidden in the Ordinary
I find something interesting happens when I allow myself to become present even to mundane tasks.
Take vacuuming.
I don’t particularly love vacuuming, but I don’t especially dislike it either. I pay attention to the patterns. I notice the places that need another pass. My body knows what to do.
And while part of my mind attends to what is immediately before me, something else becomes spacious.
Ideas move around.
Creative energy regenerates.
Something I had been pondering before I began vacuuming sometimes looks different when I finish.
Perhaps that’s part of the gift.
Presence doesn’t mean every moment has to be fascinating.
It means I am available to the moment I’m actually living.
Not Demanding Something From the Moment
There is an important distinction here.
I don’t want presence to become another technique for getting something.
If I’m truly present, I am not entering each moment demanding:
What are you going to give me?
Instead, I simply want to be awake enough that, whatever this moment does contain, I might notice it.
Maybe there is beauty.
Maybe there is insight.
Maybe there is a person standing in front of me whom I might otherwise overlook.
Maybe there is nothing particularly remarkable at all.
Presence doesn’t require the moment to perform for me.
It simply asks me to show up for the moment.
Release and Return
This is where these ripening dimensions begin to overlap.
A few weeks ago I reflected on Ripening Release—learning to loosen our grasp on what we are holding.
Presence requires release.
I have to release the future I’m rushing toward.
I have to release the past I’m replaying.
I have to release the voice saying, Thank goodness I’m almost finished. Then I can go home. Then I can eat dinner. Then I can relax. Then I can…
And return instead to:
Here I am.
Maybe I notice my breath.
Maybe I feel my feet on the floor.
Maybe I notice the person in front of me.
Maybe I notice the knife moving through vegetables on the cutting board.
Maybe I notice the road beneath the tires.
Maybe I simply breathe myself back into this moment.
Not yesterday.
Not tomorrow.
Not the other side of the task.
This moment right now.
What Is This Moment Holding?
Perhaps this can become a simple practice.
When you notice yourself rushing ahead, pause.
Breathe.
And ask:
What is this moment holding for me?
Not because the moment owes you an answer.
Not because every moment contains some secret spiritual lesson waiting to be decoded.
But because this is where you are.
And if you are actually here—awake enough, aware enough, attentive enough—you might catch some little nuance you otherwise would have missed.
A conversation.
A sensation.
A thought.
A glimpse of beauty.
Perhaps even a glimpse of where the Spirit is moving.
So wash the dishes.
Vacuum the carpet.
Write the report.
Chop the vegetables.
Drive the road.
Have the conversation.
Breathe.
And when you discover that your mind has raced ahead or wandered behind, gently release whatever is pulling you away.
Then return.
Here.
Now.
This moment.
May your presence ripen.
And remember: present or not, you are infinitely precious and unconditionally loved for the gift you already are.
Infinitely Precious 