|
We went to the Dalton Farms Tulip Festival in Swedesboro, New Jersey It was, by all accounts, a simple outing. Rows of tulips stretching further than seemed necessary, people scattered throughout the fields, taking pictures, walking slowly, occasionally stopping without much reason at all. It is the sort of environment that invites a kind of pace that feels unfamiliar—unhurried, unstructured, almost resistant to productivity. Which, in itself, is somewhat disorienting.
There is something about spaces like that—wide, open, and intentionally unproductive—that expose how accustomed we have become to moving quickly. Even when there is nothing pressing to do, we still feel the impulse to move on, to progress, to extract something from the moment that justifies our time. But a field of tulips does not really allow for that.
It does not offer anything to accomplish. It simply exists. And the only way to experience it properly is to do the same. To walk. To stop. To notice. And even that, I am realizing, is not as natural as it should be. Joy is a peculiar thing.
It is not entirely clear that we ever really know where it resides. We assume that it is located somewhere ahead of us—attached to an outcome, a moment, or a circumstance that has yet to arrive. And so, we move toward it, often with a great deal of intention, believing that if we can just arrange things properly, we will eventually encounter it in a more permanent or sustainable form. |
AuthorDevin Peterson is a pastor and writer whose work is contemplative, lyrical, and rooted in grace. His writing lingers on the sacred woven through ordinary life — honest, reflective, and quietly alive with beauty and depth. ArchivesCategories |
RSS Feed