The Ordinary

Some moments don’t announce themselves. They arrive without a trumpet blast or a caption-worthy glow. They simply are — and only later do we realise they mattered.

Today felt a little like that.

Nothing extraordinary happened on paper. Time moved as it always does. The world kept spinning at its usual pace. And yet — there was a softness to the day, as if it had been padded with grace.

I noticed it in small things.
In pauses that didn’t need filling.
In conversations that didn’t rush to be clever.
In the way my shoulders dropped when I wasn’t watching.

There are days when faith feels like effort — a reaching, a striving, a remembering. And then there are days when it feels more like being held. As if God isn’t asking for anything at all, only inviting us to notice that He is already here.

I’m learning that wonder often lives in the ordinary.
That joy doesn’t always sparkle — sometimes it hums.
That peace doesn’t insist on being felt; it settles quietly, like light through a window you forgot was open.

So today I’m not gathering answers. I’m gathering moments.
Letting them rest in my hands without explanation.

If this season has taught me anything, it’s this:

Not every gift arrives wrapped.
Some come disguised as “just a day.”

And that is more than enough.