Learning to Be Present

Learning to Be Present
July 2026

Learning to be fully present in my everyday life has often felt surprisingly elusive. Most mornings, I wake up already feeling behind. Have you ever felt that way?

My to-do list seems endless. I rush out of bed to start the day. Often, I make breakfast for my husband, then it's into the shower, getting ready for the day, and out the door to run errands. When I get home, there's laundry to wash, fold, and put away, dishes to wash, dinner to prepare, and a dozen other tasks waiting for me. Before I know it, the day is over, and I find myself wondering, Where did the day go?

I have recently spent some time on the Oregon Coast, and I've been practicing something that doesn't come naturally to me: stillness.

I'm practicing being fully present and noticing what is right in front of me.

Outside the window of the bed-and-breakfast where we were staying, tall pine trees stand rooted and grounded. The coastal winds are strong, yet their branches don't resist. They sway gracefully, almost as if they're whispering, "Hello, friend. Welcome. We're so glad you're here."

The beach doesn't hurry away as the tide rolls in. It simply remains, allowing the cool ocean water to wash over the sand—patiently receiving the constant ebb and flow that slowly reshapes the shoreline.

One morning, we visited a tide pool alongside dozens of other people. Everyone was searching for signs of life—a tiny hermit crab, a starfish, a cluster of mussels.

As we slowed down and carefully watched where we stepped, something beautiful happened. We began to notice what had been there all along. Delicate sea anemones swayed gently beneath the water. Brilliant red starfish clung to the rocks. Tiny hermit crabs scurried across the sandy bottom, going about their quiet little lives. None of these wonders appeared in the water because we were looking for something extraordinary. They were always there. We simply had to stop long enough to notice.

If the wonders in the tide pools were there all along, I wonder if the same is true of our lives. What sacred moments are waiting to be noticed because we're so busy rushing from one important thing to the next? How many quiet moments with God, meaningful conversations, unexpected blessings, or simple joys pass by unnoticed because I'm consumed with doing?

There have even been evenings when I've climbed into bed and realized I never paused long enough to pray—not because I didn't love God, but because I had hurried through an entire day without ever becoming fully present. Perhaps the richest parts of life aren't found by doing more. Perhaps they're found by being fully present in the life we're already living.

Maybe today, we don't need to check one more thing off our long to-do list. Maybe we simply need to notice what has been here all along.