A Toy Bear, a School Run, and a Moment of Heaven
A toy bear on the school run became a reminder that the sacred often slips quietly into the ordinary.
Welcome to today’s reflection.
During Lent, we are often encouraged to slow down, pay attention, and notice what is really happening beneath the surface of our lives.
Sometimes the sacred appears in church, prayer, or silence.
Sometimes it appears in a far more ordinary place.
Recently, my teenage daughter has been cold and distant with me. This is not news. Having already brought up teenagers, it doesn’t overly concern me anymore.
Teenagers today face an overwhelming number of pressures, and when you add the intensity of hormones into the mix, it could be anything from something tiny to something huge. I’ve learned along the way not to force a conversation because it rarely helps. Usually, things bubble up to the surface when they’re ready.
Sometimes I never find out what was weighing on her. One evening, she might be withdrawn, and by morning, she’s back to her usual chatty self. Other times, it will spill out in the car or while playing with our dogs. As a parent of teenagers, I’ve learned that there is no such thing as a casual conversation, only moments you need to be awake to, in case they decide to trust you with a tiny corner of their complicated world.
My daughter finds school exhausting. She is almost certainly neurodivergent, and I see daily the courage and energy it takes her simply to get through the day. She masks, she manages, and when she comes home, that mask sometimes falls off dramatically. Grumpy and silent is sometimes the only language she has left. I just tell her I love her and carry on as normal.
Lent is often described as a season of paying attention. A time when we slow down enough to notice what is really going on inside our lives.
One morning last week, something tiny happened that reminded me why that matters.
We were on the school run. I was half listening to the radio and already three steps ahead in my plans for the day when suddenly she appeared. Not the guarded teenager, but the eight-year-old I sometimes miss.
She had brought a toy bear into the car.
We laughed, we teased, and I made the bear wave her off at the school gates. It lasted fifteen minutes, then it was over. But in that short time, something beautiful slipped quietly into the car between us.
Joy.
I’ve been writing recently about heaven being less a place we escape to and more a reality that sometimes breaks through into ordinary life. And for a moment that morning, it felt exactly like that.
The kingdom of heaven broke through into my small, slightly messy car.
And I noticed.
Sacred and Secular is about moments like that. A cup of coffee. A warm dog pressed against your leg. The trees turning green once again. Toast landing butter side up for once. Tiny, undeserved moments that carry more joy than we realise.
The challenge is noticing them.
Lent is not only about giving things up or trying harder spiritually. At its best, it teaches us to become more attentive. More aware of the quiet ways grace slips into our ordinary days.
Sometimes it arrives in church.
Sometimes it arrives in silence.
And sometimes it arrives in the front seat of a car holding a toy bear.
Later that day, my daughter came home tired and grumpy once again. That is part of parenting teenagers. Their moods change as quickly as the British weather.
But I caught a moment of joy.
And I wanted to share it with you in case you are waiting for one too.
Lent reminds us that God does not only meet us in dramatic moments or spiritual breakthroughs. More often, he arrives quietly, hidden among the small, ordinary details of our lives.
A conversation in the car.
A burst of laughter.
A glimpse of the child someone once was.
So today, wherever you are, may you notice at least one small sacred moment. The kind that arrives without warning and quietly reminds you that heaven may be far closer than you thought.
Thank you for reading Sacred & Secular.
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