Life instructions: ‘Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it’

School days start early at our house, perhaps earlier than they should, given the growing body of research that shows teens get too little sleep.

But we don’t like to rush.

I like to sip my coffee slowly and read the paper before my morning shower. Hannah does the Jumble over her bowl of oatmeal. Jack needs time to gather his things and make sure he doesn’t forget his lunch again.

We head out of the house with plenty of time to pick up a neighbor and get everyone to school long before the morning bell and well ahead of crazy morning traffic.

“Why do we get here so early?” Jack asked me one day.

“Because it’s better than getting here late,” I answered. “Have a great day!”

We were grateful for that cushion of time one recent morning, when we turned out of our neighborhood and noticed one of the most incredible sunrises we had ever seen.

It stretched across the eastern sky in layer upon layer of vivid reds, oranges, pinks and purples, like the sand-art bottles the kids made in preschool. The rising sun shone dazzling yellow just on the horizon. Upper-level clouds drifted lazily from night to morning, a little hazy and charcoal gray.

We stared. I half expected the skies to broadcast the “Lion King” intro: “Ahhhhhhh zabenya!...”

“Wow,” we said almost in unison.

Then, my executive decision: “We’re pulling over.”

I turned into a nearby empty parking lot and pointed the car toward the east. We sat there for a minute, marveling as the colors filled the windshield. We grabbed for our phones, knowing even the best professional lenses couldn’t capture what we were witnessing. So I got out of the car, stood there staring, and just breathed.

Poet Mary Oliver once proffered three simple “Instructions for living a life”:

“Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it.”

It’s easy to do none of that. We drive without thinking, look without seeing, live without realizing the power of the present. And while we’re busy searching or waiting for perfect moments, we miss the best parts.

I’m not going to lie. The kids found that morning’s sojourn a little silly. They’re teenagers, after all, and Mom pulling off the road to gasp at a sunrise and shout, “Would you look at that? I mean, seriously: Look at that!” was one more thing to shake their heads about.

But I didn’t care. We stopped to watch the sky awaken like a prayer, solemn and joyful, a glowing example that life isn’t black-and-white.

Jack used the opportunity to explain the scientific principles behind colorful sunrises and sunsets – something about airborne particulates, angles and refracted light. I nodded like I knew what he meant.

I appreciate the beauty and magic of science. But I also like to imagine someone whispering from heaven: “Here’s a whole new morning I made for you. Pretty cool, huh? Make it count.”

We got back in the car, buckled our seat belts and turned west, toward the rest of the day.

This story was originally published September 30, 2014 at 4:44 PM with the headline "Life instructions: ‘Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it’."