The intensity due a pinnacle of science and engineering’s juncture emerges in my grandson’s furrowed brow and pursed lips. Although only advising, I am as determined for him to succeed as he is to complete the eight stages of the NASA project—eight bags of Lego chaos and eight books of how to overcome it. Sometime between snapping solar panels onto the satellite telescope and Buzz into the command module, a distraction turns our heads to the open window. The sound of the surging rustle and the sight of red, yellow, and brown confetti spiral-sinking below the trees commands us to relax. “That happens a lot,” quoth the 7-year-old, only multiplying the assurance provided by time away and autumn’s leaves.

Marching through David’s balsams in a whispered breeze or removing the world’s chaff with heaven’s gust, God’s Spirit invites—really, orders—David and us to turn away from time-devouring, attention-controlling, anxiety-building occupations, toward heaven, faith, and peace.

Scripture’s truth; prayer’s utterance; reflection’s silence; our faithful friends’ love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, and temperance—they swirl just outside the window distracting us from our preoccupation, just as his Spirit moves over us to attract the attention of others.

To a week of wills open to see and be God’s distractions,