Only Moments Matter

Only Moments Matter

Only moments matter—not some

distant future or glittering destination.

Not the swollen bank account,

a lake house, or the perfect spouse.

Only this instant spinning toward you

today while you sit on a bench

in the mudroom, taking off your shoes

and watching the lit-up planets

of dust dance in the air, each mote

a moment from your life you hope

to hold onto, all of them now

revolving around you—their sun,

their center, their blazing source.

Jewish philosopher Abraham Heschel once wrote: “The higher goal of spiritual living is not to amass a wealth of information, but to face sacred moments.” In other words, we can wait for moments to arise in our lives that have the outer appearance of holiness, or we can stay open enough that even the most ordinary moments can shimmer with depth and possibility. The purpose of a life well-lived is not just to gather status symbols and actual wealth, or to create formulas for how we must spend our days. Having lost both of my parents earlier than most, I now know—and do my best to remember—that only moments matter. Given our own mortality and the fragility of all human life, why not make it a practice to face each sacred instant when it comes, not turning quickly away toward busyness or the pursuit of worldly things. We still have to pay the bills and change the tires, but we can make of even the plainest hour a paradise, if we give ourselves to it. We may not be able to explain why a certain moment feels transcendent to us, just as I can’t quite capture why the moment I describe in this poem should stay with me long after it passed. I was just sitting in the mudroom, with rugs strewn with bits of gravel and grass clippings, when suddenly, I looked up to see a galaxy of dust, loose hair, and even the squiggle of a tiny blue thread all spinning around me. Because I was not in a hurry to do anything else, I just sat there and watched as my breath stirred all those bright motes in the air. What if our most sacred moments follow us like this, caught in our orbit, lit by the quiet reverence that makes them come alive again?

Invitation for Writing & Reflection: Write your own “only moments matter” poem, beginning with what you know does not matter to you. Can you think back to a moment that became more sacred the longer you paid attention to it?

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