Years ago, our family of five moved into a tiny rental for one year while the older home we had purchased underwent a major renovation. Little did I know that those casual conversations with our temporary neighbors while getting the mail or watching the kids play in the front yard would become deep friendships that would last much longer than the one-year rental agreement.
Interesting how the smallest things — a question asked at the right moment, a meal shared on a patio, a neighbor you finally bump into at the mailbox or grocery store — can grow into something you never would have predicted. Nothing dramatic. Just a tiny seed of connection dropping into fertile soil.
There’s an ancient teaching of Jesus where he compares God’s work in the world to the tiniest seed you could hold in your hand. You plant it, and somehow it becomes this enormous, sprawling thing where others find shelter. The point isn’t the spectacle at the end. It’s that you almost couldn’t see it at the start.
Columbia is good at this, I think. We’re a town familiar with front porches, farmers markets, and friendly banter about sports teams and PTA meetings. But I wonder whether we always notice what’s happening in those moments. Those tiny seeds of connection we don’t see because we tend to focus more on the task at hand, the obvious objective, or the game going on. We often walk right past what might be underway, beneath the surface, in the ordinary soil of everyday life.
Here’s what I mean. Jesus had this habit of using the most common, everyday stuff — seeds, lamps, soil, bread — to point people toward realities they couldn’t see yet. He’d basically say, “That thing you look at every single day and think nothing of? Pay attention. Something’s happening there.” And then he wouldn’t explain it. He’d just let people sit in the tension of not having the quick answer. For a town full of people trained to analyze and master information, that might be the most countercultural invitation we could receive: Stop trying to figure it all out and just listen for a minute.
I don’t mean listen for something mystical. I mean the kind of listening where you’re actually present — at the party, on the trail, across the table — and you’re paying attention to what’s stirring. Where is something good trying to break through? Where is a conversation going deeper than surface level? Where is someone finding shelter they didn’t know they needed?
Because here’s the thing Jesus kept pressing on: Growth happens whether or not we’re watching. The seed sprouts while the farmer sleeps. The people who notice — who slow down enough to see it — are the ones who get to participate in what’s already underway.
So this is my invitation as summer stretches out, and we’re all looking for reasons to get outside: Go out on the town, yes. But go out with your eyes open. Ask the extra question. Stay for the second cup. Notice the tiny thing that doesn’t look like much yet.
You might be standing in the middle of something that’s about to grow beyond what you could imagine.
You only need to pay attention.
