It was the sweetest little wooden Noah’s ark set that I snagged for a few bucks at a thrift sale. I couldn’t wait to bring it home, give it a good cleaning and present to my daughter for endless hours of imaginary play. But it wasn’t long until I discovered that the only piece she was interested in was the little rectangular ramp for the animals to march into the ark two by two.
The reason? Because it resembled a cellphone.
The first time I saw her hold it to her ear to call her cousin, I was amused, but the more she clung to it and held it up to her face to press imaginary buttons, I cringed at the mirror image of myself. As embarrassing as it is to admit that I sometimes struggle to balance my phone usage with motherhood, I’m also willing to bet that I’m not the only one.
I’m constantly reminded of the reality that I live in a time where these little rectangles dominate much of society, in both useful and harmful ways. I’m not here to tell you how to find that perfect balance of using your phone and being a good mom. I don’t know exactly what that looks like, though I’m learning more every day. I do however, recommend checking out this piece here for some tips on unplugging, along with this fresh perspective as well.
What I want to talk about is the antidote to that attention sucking social media scroll that leaves you in a heap of comparison, yearning for far more connection than a like or a comment can give. I believe that antidote is presence.
I have been thinking a lot about presence. Presence with my kids. Presence in the home. Being present to the people around you. But if someone asked me to define it, I’m not sure I could really do it justice. I know it’s important, and man do I want it, but what’s the formula? How do I get some? What does it mean to be present beyond the pure fact of existing?
Flashback to my freshman year in college. I’m feeling adventurous and shy, butterflies tumbling in my stomach as I enter a brightly lit classroom. I joined a theatre troupe, well, let me rephrase that, a Shakespearean theatre troupe. Maximum nerd level achieved, right? During one of the first classes, we warm up with improv activities. Potentially cringy, always entertaining, and I am terrified the entire time. My director calls me up for an exercise. Somewhere along the line, I’m tasked with the role of searching for a hidden object as fast as I can. Mustering all my dramatic gusto, I begin to rush about the room, peering under chairs and shifting backpacks. The scene overall mimics the frenzied rush of a teenager who is late for school and has lost their homework. My director finally stops me, and I’m relieved to catch my breath. I thought I had accomplished the task but being the tough-loving mentor that he is, he explains that, while I had mimed the act of looking for something, I had failed to actually look. To me this translates: “Nice try, but you got it all wrong.” Initially disappointed in myself, I eventually understand.
Presence means knowing your why and genuinely committing to it. It implies wholehearted focus and the freedom that comes from accepting the fact that you can’t do everything at once, but you can give your everything to one task.
Good acting requires the right mixture of presence and imagination. The stories written on stage aren’t actual, but to make them believable, actors have to inject serious presence into their performance so they can draw the audience behind the curtain of the imaginary world. To capture an audience, actors have to be present. To mean their words. To think the thoughts of their characters. To be fully connected in mind and body.
When I graduated from college and left my beloved theatre troupe, I mourned the loss of acting in my life, and the unique community it had gifted me. But I’ll never forget what my director said to me not long after my final senior performance. He told me that I knew about presence, and that this skill would serve me anywhere I went. Yet now, as I fumble over dirty laundry and push strollers in the park, it’s hard to see the connection between the glamor of the stage and the hidden life that is now mine.
To act, you have to know your story. Understand your motives. Envision your end goal. Channeling your body and mind to don a character requires intense focus. I think it’s the same in life. We aren’t meant to wander around wondering why we’re here or where we’re going. We’re here to get somewhere, and work for that goal. (Spoiler alert: Its Heaven!) Whether I’m waking up to a crying baby in the night or chasing a toddler who needs a diaper change, I can infuse presence into the scene by knowing why I’m doing it and committing myself wholeheartedly. By seeing the grand picture and the tiny brushstroke all at once. The magnificent and the minute, wrapped together in a tangle of meaning.
While I still don’t know how to define presence neatly, I can tell you this. Presence means engaging with the loveliness of life and facing the places where I need growth with vigor rather than drudgery. It means embracing my role of mother in the thick of yogurt messes and post nap toddler blues, but also peaceful read alouds and little arms around my neck.
I read somewhere once that a mother is to the home like a tabernacle is to a church. She is the heartbeat that permeates the space, quiet, and sometimes unnoticed, but without which the place would be empty and barren. Just as the presence of Christ in the tabernacle touches us with His silent tenderness, so the love of a woman can, with her presence, mark a home with profound peace.
