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“Surely the Lord is in this place, and I wasn’t even aware of it!” — Genesis 28:16, NLT
There’s a hush that lingers between breaths. A whisper beneath the noise. A flicker of divinity hidden in the ordinary fabric of daily life. And if we’re not careful, we’ll miss it.
This series is an invitation. Not to look harder, but to look differently.
Jacob was fleeing family conflict and sleeping on a stone pillow when he uttered those now-famous words: “Surely the Lord is in this place, and I wasn’t even aware of it!” (Gen. 28:16). The place didn’t look holy. It didn’t feel sacred. But God was there. The ladder between heaven and earth was set up in what looked like nowhere. That story in Genesis is more than ancient narrative—it’s a lens for us.
God is not only present in revival tents and mountaintop miracles. God is near in kitchens, commutes, waiting rooms, and wildernesses. We just need eyes to see.
This blog series is about cultivating those eyes—about rediscovering the presence of God in places we often overlook:
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Small moments.
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Silent spaces.
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Long waits.
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Ordinary days.
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Hidden seasons.
These are the places where our hurried, performance-driven lives often miss what the Spirit is doing. But if we allow ourselves to slow down, to pay attention—to notice—we may find that God has been there all along.
Each post in this series will explore one posture of sacred attentiveness. Each will be:
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Rooted in Scripture.
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Lit by story and personal reflection.
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Formative through a spiritual practice.
We’ll explore how a mustard seed can reveal the Kingdom. How Sabbath becomes resistance. How silence speaks, and suffering sanctifies. We’ll journey through the shadows of doubt, the discomfort of waiting, the obscurity of anonymity—and we’ll find God in each.
This is not just a call to mindfulness. It’s a call to faithful awareness, the kind of attentiveness that shifts the soul. A call to be present to the presence of God.
The 10 Postures of Sacred Noticing
Here’s where we’re headed in the weeks to come:
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In the Small – Where the mustard seed becomes the Kingdom.
What feels insignificant may actually be the birthplace of something eternal. -
In the Pause – Where rest becomes a form of resistance.
Sabbath and stillness speak against a world of hustle and hurry. -
In the Preparation – Where wilderness becomes womb.
Seasons of obscurity are often the sacred groundwork for new beginnings. -
In the Ordinary – Where breakfast and broom closets are holy.
God is present in the rhythms of daily life—if we have the eyes to see. -
In the Suffering – Where wounds become altars.
Pain isn’t the end of the story; it’s often the beginning of deeper communion. -
In the Hidden – Where anonymity becomes intimacy.
The unseen life is often the holiest life. -
In the Waiting – Where time becomes teacher.
Delay does not equal absence. God forms us in the waiting. -
In the Margins – Where the Kingdom breaks in from below.
God’s work often begins not at the center, but at the edge. -
In the Questions – Where doubt becomes doorway.
Faith is not the absence of questions but the posture of wrestling with God. -
In the Silence – Where the whisper of God still speaks.
Even when God feels quiet, God is not absent.
What This Series is For
This blog series is for anyone who feels spiritually dry, emotionally stretched, or soul-weary.
It’s for the caregiver who feels unseen, the leader caught in transition, the student in the hallway between callings, and the believer longing for more but unsure where to start.
It’s for those learning that spiritual formation isn’t always loud, fast, or linear.
It’s for those who need to hear that they are not behind—just being formed.
It’s for the person who wonders, like Jacob did, if God could really be in this place.
What to Expect Each Week
Every post will include:
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A Scriptural reflection to ground us in truth.
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A spiritual practice or posture to try out in your daily rhythm.
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A story or image to stir imagination.
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A few questions to reflect on or journal through.
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A benediction or prayer to close with sacred intention.
A Blessing for the Journey
As we begin, may you slow down enough to see.
May your eyes be opened to the sacred woven through your life.
May the overlooked become obvious.
May the hidden become holy.
And may you, like Jacob, wake up to the wonder that God is here. Now. Always.
“Surely the Lord is in this place, and I wasn’t even aware of it.”
May that become not just your realization—but your rhythm.
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