It’s been a mild winter and cool spring in Virginia, so it seems like the geese in our area took their time departing and returning. Geese in Colorado do not have that luxury. My friend Margo caught the geese as they departed McIntosh Lake in Longmont. All winter and spring I have been contemplating this image. You might expect I am tired of it by now. Instead, my sense of wonder has increased over time. Each of these geese is caught in a different wing position. They are all leaving together in formation, all going to the same place, yet each is not quite the same. As I pondered this image, I thought back to my work over the years. The assignments I cherish most involved teams like these geese. Each of us contributed what we knew best, all working together toward the same goal. We were not in mindless lockstep, all doing the same thing at the same time. Each of our contributions was unique. We respected the expertise of others, precisely because their work was amazing to us. They offered what we could not do, often what we would never be able to do. The result was far greater than the sum of the parts.
Yet there is another similarity to how these geese work together. The geese do not have a set position in the formation. The goose on point is not always the same goose. They take turns leading as one needs a break or perhaps knows a better way. Migrating geese stop at the same places along their journey, just as we chose a place to stop for the night on a long trip. I imagine an older goose taking the lead to find a choice spot for the night, a sheltered and safe place that offers a decent meal and sound sleep. I recall the best leaders invited the experts to take the lead in difficult situations. I particularly recall one general who would walk around the conference room and look each of us in the eye, asking if we were good with the result, asking if we had anything to add.
I have traded conference rooms for a home nestled in a forest. I have gone from being an engineer working on large teams to spending the majority of my time at home alone, praying over the view from my windows, praying over images that stop me in my tracks. Prayer is about this sense of wonder, amazement at the surprising and unexpected ways God finds us. Sometimes there are words, but often words cannot express what our heart pours out in prayer. The most difficult prayers for me involve letting go of what I can do, letting go of my answer, making room for God’s grace and mercy.
Make time today to simply open your eyes and ears to what God places before you .Allow your analytical mind to rest. Let wonder and awe take the point. Let go of whatever overwhelms you to make room for God’s answer. And always remember let go of expectations to make room for hope and faith.
Text by Connie Chintall ©2023, All Rights Reserved
Photo entitled ‘Morning Sunrise at McIntosh Lake’, taken in Longmont, CO by Margot Anthony©2022, used with her permission, All Rights Reserved.
Easter has come and gone and our yard is full of blooms. I find myself noticing familiar bulbs and volunteers transplanted by the wind as I walk the dog in the early morning. Yet I discover the unexpected under my feet more often than above my head. I wonder if I would have noticed this extravagant flower arrangement over the entrance to Christ’s Church in Georgetown on Easter Sunday. Fortunately my good friend took this photo, most likely while carrying her new baby Lily. How often do we find ourselves in a rush, charging forward with our heads down, focused only on our destination? How much beauty escapes our gaze as we strain to look ahead? Even my grocery shopping can be fraught with folks in a hurry. Every time I shop at the grocery store on the DC side of town, someone runs into the back of my heels with their cart. Now I know I am a very slow shopper, stopping to read labels and check prices. Yet I still amazed at how often folks are shocked to have run into me, only noticing I am there when we collide. What does it take for us to notice where we are going? To notice if someone is ahead of us or in the way? Notice is something we can give or take. To take notice means ‘to immerse oneself into the experience’. Do we take only what serves our purposes at the time, or do we soak in the context offered by the whole scene? Then there is the notice we give when we quit a job or leave a position. I wonder if we quit when we are no longer noticed, no longer particular. Do we leave when we become lost in the sea of sameness? Do we look for something new when we lose our sense of being unique? Last but not least, there are things we do and do not notice in our personal lives. All too often arguments arise when I fail to notice something that is important to a loved one, focusing on only what is important to me. If I cannot see past my own nose, I surely cannot open my heart beyond my own interests. Make time today to look up and around. Take notice of what crosses your path and touches your heart. Enjoy the beauty along the way, rather than simply focusing on your destination. Slow down enough to soak in the entire situation, allowing God to draw your eyes and ears to the wonder and awe of His creation. Most of all, be present to those you love, taking the time to look and listen with your heart in the only and eternal now. Text by Connie Chintall ©2017, photo entitled ‘Lilies Above’ by Jen Ayers©2017, used with her permission, All Rights Reserved. To learn more about Jen’s creative work, go to 
There are days when I wonder who I am. How do I define myself? How do I hold on to who I am in the face of daily personal challenges and bewildering news stories? I keep going back to this intriguing image of an old, rusted Ford Fairlane. The sedan is long past its prime and even the vine attached to it seems to lack life. I joined the military almost forty years ago after a series of poor decisions. I walked away from a full scholarship at the University of Virginia, or perhaps it is better to say I ran away with a truck driver. I chose my heart over my head, for a relationship I thought would last the rest of my life. Instead, I found myself back home with my parents, without that relationship, without my education, without a job. I took a few jobs that paid well and was promoted quickly, only to find I had topped out since I lacked a college education. So I enlisted in the Air Force and headed off to basic training. Fifty women were housed in an open bay barracks. Each of us had a bed, a chair, a narrow closet and two dresser drawers. A corner of the bottom drawer was allotted for ‘personal effects’. Everything else I had brought with me was stored away under lock and key. I kept a box of stationery with family pictures tucked inside. I kept my prayer book. And I kept a favorite cotton shirt I had sewn and embroidered. Over the next six weeks, every waking hour was spent in training. We learned how to dress, how to march, how to fold our clothes. On Sunday morning we could go to church or stay in the barracks and clean. Most gals went to the generic Protestant service. I chose to walk across the post to the Episcopal service, risky business since new recruits were subject to spot inspections and dreaded demerits. By the time I sunk into the pew, soaked with sweat, I wondered what I had been thinking. The first half of that service was a blur. Then they played the communion hymn, ‘Humbly I Adore Thee’. This hymn was the summer favorite at St. Mary’s in Burlington, NJ. My bones know the words to this hymn and I felt an immediate sense of God’s love. I walked back to the barracks humming it. Over the next few days I found myself again, the me I traded away when leaving college. As I became more myself, I found it easier to connect with the fifty women in my unit. We scrubbed the floors singing that hymn, then a country western tune, then a Motown hit. We stopped being fifty separate women and became a single unit. We shared who we were and became more than the sum of our parts. As individuals we were like this rusted out car. Even the vines they tried to lay over us failed to offer connection. It was singing as we worked that brought us together. There are two pieces to the cross. The upright connects us to God. The horizontal connects us to one another. The essence of our humanity is the divine spark in each of us. Yet without connection we simply sputter out and fade away. Make time today to connect with the Holy of Holies. Lay the weariness of the world at God’s feet, then crawl into God’s lap and rest in unending love. Share what feeds your soul with a friend over a cup of coffee or simple lunch. Let go of canned expectations and sensational news. Look beyond the surface and listen to the hearts of those you meet, even when what you hear is uncomfortable. God does not expect us to all be the same yet God loves us all the same. May God grant us the courage to open our hearts and be vulnerable to one another so that we may we love one other just as God loves us. Text by Connie Chintall©2016, Photo entitled ’55 & Vine’ by Rick Martin©2016, All Rights Reserved. To see more of Rick’s work, go to 
Seek the Sacred Amidst the Ordinary 