Head in the clouds

When I was a child, I was often the one with my head in the clouds, daydreaming quietly. I would sit at my desk, staring out the classroom window, watching the trees sway or the clouds drift by, imagining other places I would rather be. More than once, I missed recess because I hadn’t finished my work. While everyone else ran outside to play, I sat at my desk completing assignments I could have done earlier — if only I had stayed focused instead of dreaming about recess. It’s funny how some things follow us into adulthood, and I have to admit, there are moments when I feel a twinge of envy toward people who work from home so efficiently.
Not because the opportunity isn’t available to me — I have everything I need: books, a computer, notes, a quiet desk. The tools themselves are not the problem; it’s the mindset. Home is full of distractions — laundry waiting to be folded, dishes calling from the sink, floors in desperate need of cleaning. And there are still those windows, whispering that spring is coming soon. It isn’t laziness; it’s drift — the same drift that once carried my eyes out a classroom window. I don’t mean to envy those who work from home, but I sometimes admire their ability to remain attentive while life hums around them. Productivity isn’t about the setting; it’s about the staying.
Perhaps that is the lesson I am still learning. Focus is not about having the right tools. It is about deciding that the task before you matters enough to resist the noise around you. In many ways, it mirrors the spiritual life. We can have access to Scripture, prayer, quiet time — all the tools — and still find our minds wandering to everything else that seems urgent or easier.
Jesus once told a parable about seeds scattered on different kinds of soil. Some grew quickly but were choked by thorns, which he explained represented “the worries of this life” — the everyday concerns that quietly crowd out what is trying to grow. It wasn’t rebellion that stopped the growth; it was distraction (Matthew 13:22). I recognize those thorns. They look like laundry baskets and blinking notifications. They sound like “just one more thing” before I sit down to write or study. The thorns are the wandering thoughts that creep in when I try to pray. They whisper that everything else deserves attention first.
It isn’t that the soil is bad. It is the overcrowding of everyday distractions that hampers growth. Slowly, quietly, what matters most gets pushed to the edge. Perhaps that is why Jesus tells the parable — not to condemn the soil, but to invite tending, to ask us gently what we have allowed to take root and what we have neglected. Growth happens not in grand gestures, but in quiet, careful attention. What is crowding our hearts? What have we been seeking first? What small thorns have we learned to live with?
When I think about the child who once stared out classroom windows, I find comfort: she was not incapable of learning, only still learning how to focus and what truly mattered in the moment. Perhaps that is where grace meets us now — not as finished disciples, but as learners. Still growing. Still tending the soil. Still choosing, again and again, to seek first the Kingdom of God, trusting that when we do, the rest will fall into its rightful place (Matthew 6:33).
Teach me your way, O Lord, that I may walk in your truth; give me an undivided heart to fear your name. Psalm 86:11

Cheryl Mixon-Cruce is Pastor of Ochlockonee Bay United Methodist Church and Sopchoppy United Methodist Church.