Holy Noticing
Holy Noticing
Kristen Bender
Huòrán kāilǎng (豁然开朗) A Chinese idiom that speaks to me often—you say this when something suddenly opens up, when you “see the light.”
As an American, this occurs regularly for me while living and adapting my western worldview to the eastern context I currently inhabit. Everything feels unfamilar—I’m constantly engulfed with new sights, fragrances, social norms, and a new language. Wading through the current of Shanghai allows for constant, crystal clear experiences of huòrán kāilǎng.
My first moment of “opening up” came as I approached the city’s famous skyline for the first time. As I stepped through the elevated buildings of East Nanjing, magnificent structures peered at me through the gaps in the buildings. The sky opened up as I reached the end of the street—there it was, one of the most spectacular skylines I had ever laid eyes upon. I stepped up each stair to the raised lookout platform and could not take my eyes off of it; hundreds of other people did the same thing as they stood and stared. I advanced to the edge of the lookout where a river spread out in front of me, winding for miles below. Nestled on the other bank stood great steel giants of economy and structure. For a second I forgot that I was still on earth; the sights felt otherworldly. I wondered about the sky—how was it so large as to fit these structures within it? I couldn’t help but pause and let this expanse wash over me.
*
As the years have gone by, these moments of huòrán kāilǎng have shifted. A thrumming rhythm and flow make its way through the streets of Shanghai and if you don’t adapt quickly, it can feel like you will get swept away. There are over 24 million people in this city. With so many people swarming into the subway or lining up in waves for lunch, it can be smothering at times. Shanghai is a fast-moving river that carries you along with millions of others riding the waves, bumping and pushing your way through because if you don’t, you’ll never get to where you need to go. It’s not rude, per say, it’s life as one amongst millions.
Shanghai itself means “on the sea”. Nestled near the East China Sea and intersected by the Huangpu River, the very geography gives beat to the heart of the biggest port city in the world. The cadence is chaotic, organic, and there appears to be no controlling it, and though I am sometimes unable to comprehend it, there is a distinct purpose in the movement. Beauty arises when I take the time to step aside and let the river pass. I climb on the shore, have a seat, and really look at the faces going by, allowing my spirit to calm and my eyes to open as I take the time to pause and truly notice.
*
This calm that I have found during the past four years of living in one of the biggest cities in the world is my real huòrán kāilǎng. Amidst so much noise, this stillness is a gift that God has given me. The book Sacred Rhythms by Ruth Haley Barton, with its profound insight and beautiful writing, has inspired me to attend to the rhythms in my life, allowing me to open my eyes to the people around me and the special moments they create. Barton’s book teaches what she calls sacred rhythms, more commonly known as spiritual disciplines, that allow one to “create the condition in which spiritual transformation can take place, by developing and maintaining a rhythm of spiritual practices that keep me open and available to God.” Practices and rhythms that I have created in light of her words have allowed me to slow down, sit aside, and see God in ordinary moments.
*
I was walking outside, not paying much attention, on my way to grab a coffee at the local café on Monday morning. It wasn’t a particularly nice day and the streets had calmed themselves, recouping from rush hour. The sky was overcast and a slight breeze let me know that fall would be ending as soon as the damp, cold Shanghai winter began icing my bones. Something was different and it had been building up for the past few months, maybe even years. I had felt an urge to keep my earbuds in my pocket this day and my phone out of my hand, I felt the Spirit telling me to just breathe and look around at this place I call home. A reminder from barton’s writings one again rung in my ear: “If we are not careful, technology has a way of compromising our ability to be present to ourselves, to God and to each other—all of which are fundamental elements of the spiritual life.” As I breathed in the crisp air, I pulled out my key card and swiped out of the entrance gate to my complex.
Looking up toward a gathering on the corner of the street, I was struck for the first time by the beauty in the lines on their faces. The warmth in their being. Unstable waddles as the children played. Smiles, cries, and giggles. An overwhelming sense of community and togetherness washed over me. They gathered, argued, laughed, and let the sun that started peeking out behind the clouds bathe their faces. In this moment, I felt so grateful to see the joy of these people and the love they shared. Some of the children lay napping in their strollers as the grandparents and aunties made sure they were comfortable. Others played with the children or chased after them so they wouldn’t stray too far. Children were held as the elderly spoke with one another. It didn’t seem planned or forced—just a small group that naturally gathered to let their children enjoy the fresh air. After soaking it in for a minute, I smiled and kept walking to the café. My heart a little fuller having had another huòrán kāilǎng moment.
As Ruth Barton said, “This is my life. This is what it’s like to be all the way here now rather than always longing for something else. This is my life as it is meant to be lived in God.” These moments occur when I am fully present and satisfied with where I am now, awake to the beauty of the small moments. I find myself praying for more of these moments, when I am connected with what is purest and most authentic within me and able to respond to His presence in that place.
*
Weeks passed by quickly as I discerned my next steps. I understood discernment as a way of stepping closely behind the Holy Spirit. Barton expands, “it is a way of looking at all of life with a view of sensing the movement of God’s Spirit and abandoning ourselves to it just as we might give ourselves the experience of floating down a river.” I stepped in line to get a jīdàn bǐng—a Chinese crepe—from a small cart on the side of the road. Steam billowed into the air when the batter hit the well-used griddle. A blur of hands swept back and forth sprinkling on egg, spices, green onions, and more. The smells of heating batter and spices were pleasing as they wafted from the cart. Four people stood ahead of me waiting for their turn to place an order as more gathered impatiently behind me. Everyone was eager to get their bellies full of a hot breakfast before going off to work. I felt a nervous stillness wash over me as I stood in line. This happened often when my brain was trying to remember the right phrases to properly place my order and not hold up the increasingly long line behind me. Then, another stillness flooded in— one of joy and interest as I looked at the hard-pressed cook and thought of how many people she must serve in a day. The strenuous work of making the batter, chopping the vegetables, and pouring sauces, early in the morning to be primed for the day’s customers. I was overcome with how thankful I was that she put in that work so that I could be one of these people standing in line for a hot delicious breakfast.
My eyes began to wander to those in front of me; questions began to pop in my head like the bubbles of dough bursting from the rise in temperature. Where does he work? Do she eat at this cart regularly? Is that couple in a hurry or do they have time to spare? It’s easy to feel detached from the locals here with my broken and limited vocabulary, but in that moment of huòrán kāilǎng—a widening of my perspective—I felt a part of something bigger as we waited together for the same purpose. A hot jīdàn bǐng— a commonality between us.
*
The sun had fallen and the streets were beginning to steady. A few weeks had passed. Most workers had made it home after a long day of work. I labored out of my apartment and made my way toward the nearby fruit store. There is a store for everything. As I meander toward the shop, I pass a hardware store, a liquor store, a stationary store, a vegetable store, a scooter repair shop, a tailor, and the list goes on. Whatever you need there’s a specific place for it. The fruit store is filled with bright light and a great flood of vibrant colors hit me as I step through the doorway flaps that protect the cold air from making its way in. I gather bananas, blueberries, delicious mangos, apples, and pineapple. As I set them down by the cashier, she grabs each bundle to weigh and price them—she seems happy that I came for an exceptionally large amount of fruit today, though she tends to always have a smile beaming brightly.
With the bags weighing my arms down, I follow the same path home, passing by the specialty shops once again. This time, however, I was given a new vantage point as I traced each step. The lights were on in the Sichuan restaurant. It was one of their peak hours. A handful of men were circling a table overlayed with a velvet crimson cloth. Spinning in the center of the table was a glass Lazy Susan as one of the men hunted for a helping of green beans to add to his plate. Way too many dishes were packed on the spinning disk; the plates pressed together and portions of food spilled onto the table as they cautiously grasped rice and dumplings with their chopsticks.
Their already round bellies looked like they were expanding even more. Empty beer bottles sat to the side while the full ones got a front row seat by the drinker. Steam from the scorching metal teapot spun round with the food. Their faces were flushed, their voices carried through the glass windows, and their laughter boomed. My gaze was fixed on the scene. Were they friends? Coworkers? Were their wives home caring for their children as they communed with each other? Whatever the reason, they were satisfied. Happy—even if it was only for this moment. They were fully present with one another, no distractions, nowhere to go, simply immersed in that moment. Huòrán kāilǎng came again and I continued walking by, bags of fruit in hand, stepping through the warm night back home.
*
These moments continue; they don’t end with these few instances. From people renting bikes on the street, to families tenting for hours in the parks on a warm day, almost every time I set foot outside, I experience one of these moments of an inward opening up. I felt God calling me to tend to an inward stillness even when in motion—to notice more, put distraction aside and breathe deeply of the world around me.
He wants this for us, to be quick to notice the good in others as those made in the Imago Dei; deeply understanding the beauty in our neighbors and how profoundly they are loved by Him. This practice of noticing turns into the blessing of a plethora of huòrán kāilǎng moments when we are truly able to see, when we are enlightened in the best of ways, things open up in front of us and we really see another as a brother or sister.
Do you see the beauty in humanness, the mundane, the frustrating moments of the day? Stop, breathe, and seek this vision that God is sharing. Being able to examine ourselves and, as Barton describes, “…move from seeing God more clearly to seeing ourselves more clearly in the light of God’s presence.” allows us to see others more clearly in God’s light. When we tap into a holy noticing, we are able to swim to the shore, out of the rush, and rest our weary bodies on the warm sunbathed bank.
Kristen Bender
Writer & Holistic Health Coach
Photography by Clay Banks