Yesterday morning I sat in a high school gym surrounded by teenagers. The Veteran’s Day Assembly. I wasn’t there because of what was being commemorated (though that was worthwhile). I was there because my youngest, Abby, was singing in the choir and I wanted to hear her. It was, she was, as I expected: fabulous.

Something happens to me, within me, when I hear choral music – the haunting harmonies, the familiar melodies, beauty that causes my heart to catch in my throat. I cannot help but cry. Today was no different. What I hadn’t expected was to see my oldest, Emma. She moved all over that same gym, wearing a “School Photographer” badge and wielding her camera. One moment she was taking pictures of a line of U.S. flags, the next a Veteran who stood alone and proud while the rest of us applauded, and in the midst, the faces of her peers who made up the bulk of the audience. Something happened to me, within me, as I watched her see and capture beauty. It caused my heart to catch in my throat. I could not help but cry.

Just for a moment, sitting on that folding chair, I realized that this was the Sacred: two young women, my daughters, their felt/heard/seen presence in the world, their voices and talents shared. Just for a moment, I took a deep, raggedy breath and gave thanks. And then I cried some more.

It wasn’t about them (though of course it was). It was about just that moment. Right then, right there, and completely unexpected, I was part of something Bigger than me, beyond me, and smack in the center of me. The Sacred.

Truth-be-told, I rarely notice these moments. That could be probably is because I am more often, longing for, praying for, working for deep, wide, and ongoing ways in which I can endlessly, consistently feel connected to something of Meaning, of Beauty, of God. And yet, all along, the Sacred is showing up. Today especially. And apparently, exclusively, perfectly, powerfully, tenderly, amazingly – just for me.

That’s grace. That’s God. That’s enough.

May it be so.

If my writing resonates, I’d be honored if you’d subscribe to A Sunday Letter. Long-form, from me to you, every week. Learn more.