Prompt: Nothing is neglected.*

Pen & Mend Journal Prompt (No. 72) Inspired by Mary Oliver’s reminder to notice everything—especially the goodness

Upcoming Events // Save-the-Dates

Before I invite you to try this month’s Pen & Mend prompt, please take a moment to note our upcoming virtual events and add them to your calendars!

• August’s Pen & Mend Writing Room and AfterWords Conversation, Friday, August 22nd at 9 AM PT

• September’s Write Your Grief Journaling Session, Wednesday, September 10th at 9 AM PT

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On Noticing and Neglecting to Notice

This week, while clearing a stack of papers on my desk and tidying my creative workspace, my eyes fell on a familiar piece of brown cardstock I keep on display. Printed in black ink is Mary Oliver’s poem Everything.¹

As I reread it this week, a single phrase seemed to glimmer on the page: nothing is neglected. The words continue to glimmer and glow, convicting and inspiring me—and I hope they’ll do the same for you.

It’s important to note where these words sit in the poem:

I want to make poems while thinking of
the bread of heaven and the
cup of astonishment; let them be

songs in which nothing is neglected,
not a hope, not a promise. I want to make poems
that look into the earth and the heavens
and see the unseeable. I want them to honor
both the heart of faith, and the light of the world;
the gladness that says, without any words, everything.

—excerpt from Mary Oliver’s poem “Everything”²

I love that Mary Oliver is specifically talking about writing here (and putting words to wordless things). The words we write, just like the thoughts we think, are powerful—whether they’re poems we pen or messy prose that spills out privately on our journal page. Her words gave me pause to reflect on what I’ve been noticing and what I’ve been neglecting lately—in the stories I’ve been telling myself and in the ones that make it onto the page.

Having just returned from Costa Rica, I thought of all the noticing that happened, especially during our time in the jungle. I was reminded of the moment I photographed my son watching a howler monkey through his binoculars, immersed in complete awe (see image below).

I thought about all that can be missed when we’re hurried, when we don’t know what we’re looking for, when our vantage point is too far away or even too close up.

Does anyone else sometimes feel like goodness is camouflaged, hidden in plain sight?

Maybe it’s not hiding from us. Maybe it’s waiting for us to pause and notice it.

The call to notice and not neglect (especially the good stuff) felt like a motherly hand on my shoulder, gently guiding me toward something my heart has been needing. My thoughts can become hyper-focused on what’s wrong, painful, or hard—but what else is there to notice?