The nature of black paint however is that it almost never looks clean. Any spot of water, dirt, or pollen (of which there has been plenty lately) seems to be accentuated on a black canvas, and frankly is a glaring sore to my eye.

That’s just me, that’s how I’m wired. You likely don’t care too much if your car is spotless or not and that’s good for you - sincerely, it’s good for you. I’m wired differently though, but thankfully I’m also inclined to enjoy washing my car by hand.

So I took a look at the forecast to see how long my labour would be worth, and with nothing but clear skies in sight I set out to wash the car. Braiden was asleep, the evening was clear and cool, it was serene. With supplies in hand I made my move towards the driveway and there was God, waiting to met me.

There’s a monkish way of moving through the world called liber mundi - “the world as a book”. It’s a way of living that moves slowly through the created cosmos, with eyes and ears open and attentive to see a story revealed through creation, as if it were a book to read. For us Christians, we believe that the world is the Lord’s, and it is a very reflection of his image. A revelation of sorts.

God met me in the driveway in the stillness of being dedicated to one singular task, outside of the office and the home, and in the quiet of the evening. Without any external output or stimulus (and even without my AirPods in my ears plugging up my senses from the world around me), I was able to perceive and receive the peace of God while kneeling in soapy water on the tarmac.

I’m not great at this way of living, and I wouldn’t even go as far as suggest that I’m good at it - but I’m trying. I’m trying to see glory in potato flowers and dandelions. I’m hoping to move on my feet and my pedals more often than I do on rubber powered by cylinders. I’m attempting to listen to less information (podcasts, sermons, etc.) and listen more to friends, family, and foes. I’m learning that the world is a book. I want to read it.

Grace and peace,

Pastor Greg