I met God the other night

Alexander MillsPastor
June 5, 2023

3 Minute Read

I met God the other night while I was washing my car.

I made the mistake of buying a black car. In fact, we have two black cars. It’s not an objective mistake in the sense that black cars are worse than any other colour car by any meaningful metric. 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. Asher 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.

Avarie, Anugraha, and Vienna begin their journey home from Nepal today. Pray for them whenever you remember them, and look forward to welcoming them home on Sunday!

Grace and peace,
Pastor Alexander

Up Next
From this Tag: mindfulness
April 21, 20263 Minute Read
How to see God
My dad takes a conservative approach to giving and using nicknames. For the most part, he’ll call you by your given name. That was my experience as a child with one exception – he affectionately called me Farsight. Born from the imagination of C.S. Lewis into the land of Narnia, Farsight was a talking eagle who served as a messenger to the King. True to his nature and name, his eyesight was spectacular. He saw what others couldn’t. I guess I garnered the name thanks to my ability to notice. The deer on the field edge, the chickadee perched, the missing lego over there. By nature it seems, I’m often able to see what others can’t. Yet here’s the truth – I’m not eagle-eyed. My ability to see is no more than 20/20, in fact without my glasses, it’s much less than that. I’m convinced, however, that seeing—and more importantly, noticing—is a nurtured ability. It’s practiced and perfected. It’s work. The poet says, “to pay attention is our endless and proper work.” The priest agrees: “My only prayer practice is attention.” There’s a sacred discipline to the art of noticing. Paying attention to the budding branch, the singing bird, the forming storm, is no doubt an act of spiritual practice. This act of noticing makes an opportunity to at least acknowledge God, and at best encounter him. Worship him. See him, hear him, smell him, touch him, taste him. Worship him. And yes, this takes practice. It’s not hyperbole to say that there are more voices and visions vying for our attention now more than there ever have been, so this work may be more difficult than ever as well. Hard work is good work, beloved. Begin here with an intentional choice today: go for a walk, get a house plant, look up from your phone. gaze at the gluten structure of a piece of bread, think about your fingerprints, look up from your phone. listen to a bird song, listen to a secular song, look up from your phone. Look up, look around, look above and below. Open your eyes to see that there’s evidence of resurrection everywhere you look. But you have to look. God can be and is revealed in all manner of ordinary things, especially created things. There are reflections of his goodness in just about every corner, crack, and crevasse if you’re looking for him. May we be formed into a people who are always looking, noticing, and behold God wherever he may be found. Grace and peace, Pastor Alexander
Currently Reading
June 5, 20233 Minute Read
I met God the other night
I met God the other night while I was washing my car. I made the mistake of buying a black car. In fact, we have two black cars. It’s not an objective mistake in the sense that black cars are worse than any other colour car by any meaningful metric. 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. Asher 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. Avarie, Anugraha, and Vienna begin their journey home from Nepal today. Pray for them whenever you remember them, and look forward to welcoming them home on Sunday! Grace and peace, Pastor Alexander