There is much to be said for rest. In truth, rest may be one of the most fruitful ways we spend our time. Constant activity pulls us into a whirlwind of doing, but rest draws us out of that vortex. It releases us from relentless distractions, deadlines, worries, pursuits of our desires, and mental preoccupations. In rest, our emotions settle, and our bodies remember ease.

Imagine waking up tomorrow in a world without friends. Now imagine a lifetime without them. Something essential would be missing… not simply companionship, but Sacred Kinship. Some of the most meaningful time we will ever spend is time spent in sacred kinship, for friends are not merely companions on the journey; they are part of the journey itself.

I have looked into eyes where no one is home; they were vacant, dazed, emptied of light. I have seen spirits broken like trees struck by lightning or extinguished like a match in the wind. This is what can happen when sudden misfortune meets us.

I once met someone who joins the circus every summer. That single confession opened a door I didn’t know existed.

I was never supposed to become the person I am today. That person was buried somewhere around age seven, covered over by school schedules, adult expectations, and the relentless push to grow up. But this morning, sitting with my coffee and journal, I realized something: I’ve spent the last forty years trying to find my way back to that child—and the hours I’ve given to that search are time well spent.

I woke up thinking how beautiful the day was. Then I remembered: it’s already disappearing. Like sand through an hourglass, time doesn’t pause. It does not listen to our pleas to stop, even for a moment. 

The man fixing my air conditioner looked up from his toolbox and said something I didn’t expect: “I love what I do. Even when I was a boy, I liked to help. It began with my finding beehives in trees, collecting the honey, and giving it to family and neighbors. Then, when I grew up, my interest turned to machines. I could have been a doctor or a nurse, but I chose to help people by fixing their air conditioning and heating. If they need cool air, I want to bring it, and if they need warmth, I want them to make sure they have it.” 

When a very busy professor took time with me, it taught me a new way to view self-esteem. It became clear that receiving sincere regard doesn’t just build our own self-worth but teaches us how to build it in others. When someone values us and really listens, we absorb that attention. And we learn what it requires, what it costs in terms of intention, time, and presence. And we can ask ourselves, “Will I extend myself for the betterment of others?” 

You can see it in their eyes every time. It is that flicker of surprise when you actually stop and listen. It happens with the grocery store cashier who expects you to stare at your phone. It happens with the cleaning people who are used to being invisible. It happens with the neighbor who assumes you’re too busy to care. They’re so used to being overlooked that they are caught off guard by genuine attention. After the initial shock, however, they respond in kind. And in that moment of connection, something profound happens: their self-esteem increases simply because you noticed they were there and that they mean something to you. 

She believed she deserved the abuse, until a room full of strangers taught her otherwise.

We wait breathlessly for the expert to tell us what our heirloom is worth, yet we’ve never asked the ultimate authority what we are worth.

Before speaking our first words, the world was already teaching us when to silence ourselves. 

Some people get private tours of the Vatican. The rest of us wonder: does that make them more valuable than we are? “The worth of our self … what is that, and how can it be determined?”

The greatest miracle in the world is being held in love.

Imagine a world without caring, empathy, or connection; it would be a place of unraveling, spiraling into self-involvement, conflict, and despair. At times, it may feel as though we are inching toward that world. We see periods of regression, fear, and hatred. 

A miraculous thing happened to me today at my floor class at the City Recreation center. Taught by a gifted African American woman, this Zumba class primarily uses a mixture of jazz and blues called Southern Soul. Most of the people in the class are African American. We, the participants, have bonded.

How do we find the miraculous? Most days feel fairly typical, don’t they? And even on unusual days, our attention is captured by whatever demands the most of us. Most inner radars rarely pick up the miraculous, but our radar’s alertness to the miraculous can be sensitized. 

In 1986, I asked Sister Maria Beesing, one of my Enneagram teachers, whether there was any other written material on this fascinating subject besides the book she co-authored with Patrick O’Leary, The Enneagram: A Journey of Self-Discovery. I wanted more… much more. At the time, the only book on the Enneagram was theirs. 

Sometimes, we open the treasury of our soul, and a memory comes to us again, but from a different perspective. This reflection is one of those. Though this story is the subject of another Daily Reflection some time ago, it came back to me recently but with a different focus.