Two weeks ago I was locked out of the Chaplain’s Office. I left my Yale ID in my office after walking a colleague out of Old Campus to help her find her way. When I returned to the entrance of Bingham D I discovered my mistake. It is an easy mistake to fix – our Senior Admin, Ben, is just a phone call away. But before calling him and asking for help, I decided to linger a bit and wait and see if someone walked by who could scan me into the building.
While I was waiting my eye suddenly noticed a spider web that stretched from the top of the lamppost to the edge of the bench. You can’t see it in this picture, but it is there. Each strand of the web glistened with the raindrops it had collected. Though the strands were thin, they remained steadfast even with the weight of the water. As I lingered, I thought about the spider who made her way from the top of the lamppost to the edge of the bench. It is quite a leap! How did she do it?
The more I lingered, the more my chest and lungs seemed to open. I smelled the rain. A sense of wonder filled me up. A sense of appreciation visited me (even as I usually would rather keep my distance from our eight-legged friends.) Time felt slower and I felt lighter.
How often is there an invitation to pause and sit in wonder, yet we don’t take it? How often is something or someone spectacular right next to us, but we are so wrapped up in our own narratives we don’t notice? Who knew a locked door and spider web could be such an invitation.
This year, as our to-do lists grow and our calendars become full, may we carve out time to linger. Nothing is so urgent we cannot pause and take a deep breath. Nothing is so all consuming we cannot step outside and feel the sun at our face or rain at our fingertips. If you want a companion to linger with, make your way down to Bingham D. That spider and her web may not be there anymore, but we are here, ready to meet with you to talk, to linger, and to notice the beauty within and around each of us.