My friend Kate Bowler has written a really beautiful new book of daily meditations called Have A Beautiful, Terrible Day, and it comes out TOMORROW!
You probably know Kate from her podcast, or her earlier (wonderful!) books. You probably know she’s a professor at Duke and a brilliant writer.
What you might not know about her is that she’s been a really good friend to me and—this sounds weird, maybe, but is really special and important to me—one time, when we didn’t know each other well, she invited me to be a good friend to her when she was going through something hard, and it meant the world to me.
I have lots of writer friends, and I love that—it’s genuinely one of my favorite parts of being a writer. But sometimes those writer-to-writer conversations can get a little like “Your book stuff is going great? Yeah, same, mine’s also going great!” “Cool cool cool, and everything else in your life is going great? Yep, same!”
You know what I mean? Like we see each other very rarely and when we do we talk about all the easy-surface-cool stuff, the highlight reel—what’s coming, what’s exciting, what’s easy to share.
Kate reached out in entirely the opposite way—she told me she was really sad about a couple things, and she wanted to eat great food and see a funny show and asked if I’d join her for both. We went to lunch together and to a great show, and we took a long walk around the city, and 100% there were tears on both sides, but also we laughed a lot, and at the end of our day together I felt so honored that she allowed me to walk alongside her, literally and figuratively, on a sad day.
It meant so much to me to be asked for help. Lots of times when we want to feel close to someone, our impulse is to offer help. But what Kate taught me is that another way to really grow in connection and love is to ask for help, and I’ve never forgotten it.
All that to say, Kate is a both a beautifully talented writer and a human person I love, and today she’s generously sharing an excerpt from her newest book of daily meditations—perfect for your nightstand, for the first couple or last couple moments of your day, a grounding collection of hope and healing words. Of course I 100% think you should buy it immediately, and all the info you need is here.
To Enjoy the Fullness of the Day
“Consider the lilies how they grow: they toil not, they spin not; and yet I say unto you, that Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.”
–Matthew 6:28-29 (KJV)
There’s a lot of pressure nowadays to live in the moment. WOULDN’T THAT BE NICE. It’s a very “consider the lilies” mindset when we can stay in the present without skipping to the future or drifting back to the past.
The truth is that sometimes enjoying the fullness of the day feels easy and sometimes it feels impossible. Perhaps the speed of your life is set to hyperdrive. Perhaps the burdens you are carrying make it painful to live in the moment. When I was in the thick of chemotherapy, I wanted to do anything but live in the present… the present was fluorescent lights and sticky floors and bloodwork. So let’s be wonderfully realistic and try to carve out a little possibility in whatever day or night you’re having.
This bounded space that is today
is the gift I gently hold with my two hands,
like a familiar, cherished face.
Oh God let my thoughts be kind
as my mind sweeps over the hours in front of me.
The sights and sounds of all who will greet me,
my ridiculous, favorite people.
The sound of each voice and sigh.
That shoulder slouch, that grin.
Let me squirrel every image away
as a treasured possibility.
It’s a little trick I learned when I am sad.
Steal from the future
and make it mine now.
All I have to do is feel every imaginable love
to close the gap between time and space.
Look, if I don’t keep my gaze soft
I will probably notice all this laundry.
I will remember that there were 34 tasks
already promised and undelivered.
But I see and hold it all now,
as if my life had been cleaned, polished,
then suddenly returned to me.
Lord, fill me with happiness
because these hours and minutes
are so inconceivably, astonishingly precious.
And as I begin the day,
translate all things ordinary and commonplace,
stupid or boring, funny or profound,
into yet another reminder
that each is somehow shimmering.
Reflection prompt: Look at where the light has fallen in the room. The sunlight. The fluorescent bulb. Wherever you are, chaotic or calm, look again at the light and the shadows. Notice anything, anything, anything that strikes you as beautiful. And be happy for a second, just because.