Every Wednesday, I went to church prepared. Sitting in the back seat of my parents’ Chevy, my lips moved silently as I rehearsed that week’s Bible verses over and over in my mind. I was careful to get every word right.

I wanted my jewels.

And I’m not talking metaphorical jewels, but actual jewel embellishments that the adult leaders added to the bronze crown pinned to my lapel every time I mastered my memorization. I knew that if I said the words and said them well, I would walk away with a bit more bling accompanied by the look of pride in the church leaders’ eyes.

Gosh, how I wanted that gaze. How I ached to matter in eyes of others.

But by the time I climbed back into my parents car, the high of the spotlight faded. My achievement was still pinned to my chest, but inside, I felt much less sparkly.

For the record, let me say that this is not a criticism on how my church tried to foster a love of the Bible in children. That’s another conversation. But as a firstborn and high-achiever, that little crown blurred the line between my work and my worth. The pin became one of a thousand attempts to find my way. To matter. To belong.

Because as human people, we want to be seen and known, for life to have weight and meaning, but so often, we settle for a pat on the back. We let a moment of self-importance convince us that the way for our lives to matter is for others to take notice.

But meaning and self-importance are not the same.

Perhaps they begin on the same path, fueled by a divine longing for a deeper sense of God and self, but while meaning invites us to settle in, self-importance says, “Never enough.” The first keeps us openhanded, while the other leaves us grasping.

This distinction has become important to me in adulthood, to keep a tempered view of my dreams and desires. Because in many ways, I’m still that little girl mouthing the words I think others want to hear. I’m the one looking at the numbers and wondering if they are enough. If I am enough.

But we are invited into more—into a life of meaning woven together by quiet moments. Into a liturgy of little things that together create a rich tapestry of goodness and beauty, truth and love.

Embedded in the small, often-unseen elements of our lives are daily invitations into the vastness of God.

And I don’t know about you, but I want THAT. I don’t want a smile that fades but a love so large my mind cannot contain it. The universe cannot contain it.

That is why—for the month of November—I invite us into the Liturgy of the Little Things. For 30 days, we turn our eyes toward what is small as a way to pay attention to the fullness of God right where we are. We resist the urge toward bigger and better, but rather shrink our search for significance, knowing that the kingdom of God is made of little things. Of mustard seeds and tiny hands. A few coins or a drop of oil.

Joining Liturgy of the Little Things is simple:

• Notice. Be on the lookout for small things that capture your attention—wherever you find beauty, joy, or goodness in your everyday life. (Take a picture if you want to return to it later or if you plan to participate in the Instagram challenge. More on that in a sec.)
• Write. Whether you write one sentence or one hundred, put the moment into words. Find a way to name the little thing as an act of remembrance and solidify its significance.
• Share. Not everyone is on Instagram. I get it. No worries. But if you are, one of my favorite parts of Liturgy of the Little Things is seeing the beauty others share and the stories that emerge. If you want to participate, all you have to do is post on Instagram (using #liturgyofthelittlethings so others can find you). You can post daily or as you can.

The lure of self-importance is lusty, always leaving us with a dry mouth for more, but perhaps as we turn our eyes toward what is small, we can allow our desire for meaning to draw us deeper into the Divine and closer to one another.

I hope you join us.

grace + peace,
Sarah