I know some people don’t like the fact that Instagram can sort of make everything look better than it is, but I’m pretty okay with it. I mean, we’re all living the same life. We KNOW life isn’t always as sticky sweet as it appears in some of our photos, but I don’t have a problem with framing anything in it’s best possible light.

I’ve read this about writing non-fiction (memoir specifically), that sometimes a writer embellishes the the story a little to make it read as dramatically as it felt. We’ve all done this, right? I’m not sure if I tell the story in it’s bare bones if it will convey the emotion I felt at the time, so I add a pause or a word or something. You’ve done this, right? Not to lie but to make sure the listener is hit with the same kind of emotion that you felt.

That’s Instagram for me. In the photo above, Macy had been playing outside literally all day. Under a tree. In flip flops and a sun dress. Oso (our emotionally challenged dog) and I met up with her at the park just down the hill from our backyard. Her face looked like a child who had worked the coal mines all day. Her hair was sticky, sweaty mess. But when she and Oso walked ahead of me on our neighborhood path and they were parallel to a wall of old fashioned lilac bushes, I wanted to capture it in the way it felt.

So I added a filter.

There are times for gritty, real-life photo journalism and there are times for Instagram filters. The truth is, my phone camera is better at capturing the general idea and then I add a filter that organizes the shapes and light into the moment I wanted to save. It works for me.

I figured out one of the things I love most about poetry, and it’s pretty much summed up by this photo I took with my phone last week.

There was something awesome about coming out of my late class and finding this car in the space next to mine. Somehow the fact that that car exists made me happier. Kind of like the feeling I had on Mother’s Day afternoon when I watched the Kid President tribute video. I mean, really, the person who had the idea for Kid President has to be so satisfied with the amount of happy he or she has brought to the world just by creating that persona.

In a much more eloquently spiritual way, the French monk Jean Pierre de Caussade called this “The Sacrament of the Present Moment.” And I’ve recently been so drawn to the way poetry does this: illuminates the holiness in a single image or slice of time. Jane Kenyon does it here in “Let Evening Come”:

To the bottle in the ditch, to the scoop

in the oats, to the air in the lung

let evening come.

I can’t explain it, but, the scoop in the oats? That line slays me! Can’t you hear that scoop sink into the bag of oats? Can’t you smell it’s hearty barn-ness?

There’s just something calming and comforting about living right there with that scoop. Or in the parking lot with a car that shade of blue. Or on a hot pink plastic stool next to a bathtub overflowing with two little girls scrubbing away the grime of the first hot afternoon of their summer.

It just feels right to acknowledge the holy in these moments, right? I think it has to do with that advice Jesus gave: “Don’t worry about tomorrow.” Just experience the sacrament of right now.

————————–

Notes: I wrote this after reading the poem “Saints” by Amy Gerstler. That’s why after the title it says “After Gerstler” – something I learned to do in my poetry class this semester. I give Gerstler credit because it is modeled after her theme as well as her style. This is a prose poem, meaning it isn’t written in stanzas. In terms of theme, I was trying to argue with the idea that to be considered a saint (in the Catholic tradition) a person has to have lived an exemplary life but also have certain miracles attributed to their name. I think miracles should have a broader definition, and I mention some of that in this poem. It was a fun exercise, and I’m thrilled that the magazine chose to publish it.

When you entered the Holy City triumphant. Our

trouble was with the government, didn’t you know?

We expected swords and hammered shields, or at least

a Warrior King on a regal steed. Rescue! we cried.

Save us! we chanted. Our Liberator would ride

in our defense and mount a brave battle against

our captors, a clash of blood. We did not expect

a donkey. Gentle beast of burden, slow enough

for a child, round hooves on palm branch carpet.

We did not expect surrender. We did not expect

your blood. But now, remembering, we are grateful.

For You, on a donkey.

I thought I’d be better at Lent this year. After all, nearly every day I am lucky enough to walk past one of the most beautiful cathedrals ever (St. John’s at Creighton University). It’s also my first year here in Omaha which is rich in Catholic traditions. Every bar and restaurant sign has fish advertisements this month!

But I’m not being nearly as innovative as I was last year in observance of Lent. My Lent this year is quieter and more personal, but I think it’s working just the same. This year I decided to commit myself to reading a small devotion (from N. T. Wright) and a selection from Matthew’s Gospel (see YouVersion for the Bible reading app I use – it even sends friendly reminders before the day escapes you). It’s been a gift.

As I am fully entrenched in a graduate program in English (literature and creative writing), I take in a lot of words. Hundreds of pages a week usually. Some of it fascinating; some of it just plain old work.

But the words I read in that short section of the Bible each night are different. There’s no denying it. And even as spiritually-bent as I have always been, I’ve never made Bible reading a daily habit. So I decided it was time. In the middle of all these words, I thought I actually needed a few more of a very specific kind.

What I realized about myself was that I made time for certain things almost each night and each morning: As I lay in bed, either waking up or winding down, I’d scroll through facebook and twitter for 10-15 minutes. I didn’t intend to make this a habit, it just became one because I wanted to stay in touch with my friends, family, and non-related but still interesting strangers. I had time for that. So I knew I had time for the Bible app.

This new habit hasn’t required much from me (again, seriously, YouVersion makes it so easy) but it has added greatly to my sense of wellness in my soul.

A person needs that when they find themselves swimming around in the word oceans of philosophers, literary critics, poets, and short fiction writers.

I like the ocean, but it can be tiring if you don’t have a raft to hang onto where you can catch your breath now and then.

*photo: clarkmaxwell