In this season, I want to be a noticer.

I don’t want to be noticed. I want to do the noticing.

Noticing: to pay attention to or take notice of; to perceive, become aware of.

I want to notice how many eggs my chickens provide for me every day. What a miracle?

I want to notice the way the little boys build ramps on the coffee table out of the library books. So cute!

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I want to notice his favorite trucks that he leaves lying around because he’ll be coming back to them in the morning. When someone notices your favorites, doesn’t that make you feel special?

As a mom who came of age with the invention of the internet, I feel like I’ve lost the art of noticing.

Because there’s just too much vying for my attention. Too much just at my fingertips. Heck, as I write this there are 296 tabs open on my phone. Can you relate? How many are open on yours?

The internet is on my phone—a device smaller than the graphing calculator my parents scrimped and saved for my senior year of high school. I remember that being the most technical thing I had ever owned and the instructions gave me a headache.

Now the internet is at my fingertips. All the information is literally at my fingertips. And that is a blessing and a curse.

Some time ago, maybe right after my daughter Alivea was born, I stopped noticing because there was just too much. Too much information. Too many ideas. Who has time to notice the weather or their neighbor when the music is loud on my phone, and there’s a new course on “how to build your following,” and there’s a“3 days to firmer abs” email in my inbox, and there’s a new homeschool seasonal curriculum that will surely bring joy to my days?

So much information. It literally rushes at us. And rushes us. 

In the rush of life, I got rushed.

And so did my children. And then I remembered I have a choice. So I’ve become quiet and set timers on my phone and started noticing.

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I’ve started tracking my chickens and their eggs on my calendar. What does that accomplish? Nothing. Except noticing. I mean there are chickens in my backyard that I feed and water every day, and every day by a miracle, they give me eggs. I feel like just taking notice of that is an offering of thankfulness to the Creator of chickens and eggs and humans who eat the eggs.

Maybe that’s the whole point.

Maybe the noticing isn’t accomplishing anything except positioning my heart in the right place.

Instead of searching for something to change or for the newest thing (because there is always the newest thing), maybe it’s just that I’m taking the time to slow down, acknowledge and position my heart toward something else instead of the striving.

We’re coming into one of the busiest seasons and one of the seasons when our hearts will be pulled in so many directions. I’m taking this season to slow down, reprioritize, and reposition my heart toward noticing. And I think noticing will lead to thankfulness and thankfulness will lead to me witnessing miracles.

The miracle won’t necessarily be something I accomplish—it will be something small. And that’s worthwhile. Remember our Savior came in the smallest package, and He wasn’t what people were expecting either.

Originally published on the author’s blog