Liturgy of the Little Things

an invitation to turn our attention toward what is small

I too have been watching the news. And I don’t know about you, but I often find it hard to know how to walk the way of love when all I see is a sandstorm of blatant hate and insurmountable grief. My entire body wants to go into hibernation, to shut down and shrink back.

The love required to undo such suffering seems overwhelming at best. “Who am I?” and “What do I know?” echo in my ears like an old, familiar song I can’t quite shake. Aware of my smallness, I am tempted to do nothing. I am inclined to shut my eyes, wrap my arms around folded legs, and find a corner in which to rock back and forth. I want to hide.

But maybe small is not such a bad thing.
Maybe small is exactly where we need to begin.

Love often begins little. Instead of knocking down walls and breaking down doors, love works its way into the seemingly unseen, unnoticed corners of our lives, a kingdom of yeast and mustard seeds barely noticeable even when held in the human hand. Love comes gently, stepping into the brokenness not as a conquering king but as a fleshy baby. Often quietly rather than all at once.

And so, these days, I find myself thinking: If Love comes little, then so can I.

I can love by sharing soups and wiping noses, doing laundry and bandaging knees. I can love by taking an extra moment to look my grocer in the eye and smile, to ask, “How are you?” and mean it. I can love by sending emails, mailing notecards, texting friends who have gone quiet, and saying “thank you!” to my boys teachers for the endless hours they’ve invested in their lives. I can love in a thousand little ways.

And maybe no one will know. Maybe the little ripples will never grow into a wave. But in my gut, I sense that these little things matter. Loving little matters, even if I will never know how or why or in what way.

During the month of November, I’m hosting Liturgy of the Little Things, an invitation to pay attention to the good in the smallness of our lives. The practice is pretty simple, and all participants are welcome to join in whatever way works best for them. But the basic premise is to cultivate rhythms of noticing and sharing in what we find. You might decide to write and share all thirty days, or you may silently journal your reflections in private. I leave those details up to you.

But if you choose to join, you can participate over on Instagram and follow along with the #liturgyofthelittlethings hashtag, or (because Substack is my preferred online space these days) I have also created a new section within Human Together called Little Things, where starting November 1 I will post daily prompts and invite you to share your reflections in the comments (no pressure to include an image). This Substack piece is new, so we will see how it goes!

I hope you will consider joining us or following along, not to turn away from the hurt nearby and at home, but to look for light as a means to find our way through. To let little things lead us further in to Love.

grace + peace,

Sarah

PS: If you’re participating in book club this fall, we will meet to discuss Touch the Earth by Drew Jackson on Friday, November 3 at noon ET (discussion guide and Zoom link to come!), and a quick reminder that in November, we will read one of my favorites, Wintering by Katherine May. It will be a good companion to our month of Little Things. (Book club is part of being a paid subscriber, but if you want to join us at no cost for one month to try it out, feel free to email sarah@sarahewestfall.com to request complimentary access, no questions asked.)