I’ve been into moons lately, catching their pulse points of light streaming through the dark scratches of tree limbs either in the evenings around dinnertime or upon waking in the morning. My attention is directed to the light of any darkness, or even a suggestion of it as the form of shadows interrupting its direct route to earth.

For now, my moon observances have replaced my sun followings. The sun is more elusive during the gray and darker days of winter. I look for light to hold my hand until spring arrives and the sun blooms taller and stronger.

I’d say that looking to the heavens for light has become a devotion as I look to light as hope when navigating an unbalanced world and an unbalanced me.

By definition, devotion is a steady commitment. It is loyal; it is dedication to a belief or a practice. It is constant, and it cares. It is not just one strong moment, but lasts.

I first thought of the word devotion to be synonymous with my Catholic school girl upbringing—Mass, confession, daily prayer, novenas, and the rosary. Thinking about it now, the word back then carried a tone of heaviness, obligatory than optional.

But I’ve recently considered devotion to be none of these things, neither with a religious implication nor required.

Lately, I’ve considered devotion to be quiet and gentle and unobtrusive.

And . . . as part of our daily living.

I think of the poet Mary Oliver who said, “Attention is the beginning of devotion.”

I consider the changing seasons here in the Midwest, specifically fall, as the natural world calling for our attention. Creatures relocate when the air chills and daylight hours dim. They instinctively seek refuge in a warm place to huddle. A mouse would slip through the pavers between the slimmest of openings behind an outside wall, its loud scratching on the inside sounding like a lion’s paw. A larger, yet still small hole made possible by a chipmunk working his way parallel to the garage’s siding, slipping underneath, escaping through the forest of vines that carpet the earth. And inside, I spot a plump spider, his legs as short as his body is round. He holds himself in a dusty corner just above the baseboard in a hole the size of a whisper.

How could I not notice newly dug holes along the perimeter of my garage, a dash of movement that quickly disappears, or a dot of color against a white background?

When I pay attention to the effects the changing seasons have on our smallest creatures, I am more attuned to the plight of another.

Devotion is an awakening; it sharpens our attention.

Our lives are distracted. We live in abbreviated segments that beg for clarity and length and space. Devotion looks to recover a coherence that was once uncertain and unclear and condensed.

Seeing an ant busy at work carrying a morsel twice as big as it is, or a daisy’s head leaning to its light source brings ourselves inward—a devotion that renews humility and gratitude for the workings of the natural world that otherwise might have gone unnoticed.

. . . and is a way of living.

Best illustrated by Thoreau with his statement of devotion to deliberate living.

From Walden:

“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life…”

I have learned that devotion teaches us how to navigate our relationships with the world, with ourselves and with others rather than rushing inattentively past them.

Perhaps this is where devotion comes through for us. It is not only practicing attention to something beyond ourselves, but is also turning inward with the purpose of understanding ourselves.

Devotion is being constant and showing up.

I suppose my Catholic upbringing planted those roots to understand the meaning of devotion. It’s a constant in our lives where we show up, applying with passion in what can be learned about ourselves and our daily living, and even what a creature in the wee corner of my house can tell. All I have to do is listen.

Annie Dillard, American author, essayist, and poet says, “How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives.”

Devotion is from the heart and from the mind.

When my practice of looking to the heavens becomes a way of life.

“There is only one question:
how to love this world.” ― Mary Oliver