If you know any part of my childhood, you know that Mary Poppins was my movie growing up. Much like Jane and Michael Banks, I was mesmerized by the way this nanny floated into a small British home, brought out the spoonful of sugar to make life’s medicine go down, and danced with cartoon penguins like a poised princess. In her practically perfect way, Mary Poppins left a few golden nugget phrases for the Banks children to remember as they grew; phrases that have also followed my own childhood into adulthood. Perhaps you’ll recognize this gem?

“Sometimes a person we love, through no fault of his own, can’t see past the end of his nose.”

(Now say it again in a British accent – it’s so much better that way!)

This was the advice Mary Poppins gave the children as they wondered why their father seemed too consumed with the cares of a grey world to notice the colorful joy and love his children needed – and were eager to give.

As I grew, the weight of this sentence grew with me. It applied to relationships, family struggles, a child’s rebellion, persistence in sports – the list goes on. I can think of a million ways this sentence still applies to these things and more, even to my spiritual life. I’m sure God shakes his head when I am blinded by my own self will and stubbornness.

One could say that it’s easy to lose sight of the big picture. But this, my friends, isn’t just missing the big picture – it’s missing the basic! I’m officially proclaiming a break away from this nearsighted vision because the missed opportunities are not worth it!

Take my pilgrimage, for instance – the time I went on a 2.5 day 65 miles pilgrimage through the Adirondack Mountains in upstate New York one September. I’ll never forget a certain moment on the trail as we approached the peak of another small mountain. In that moment, I had lifted up my eyes to a clump of birch trees – glowing in brilliant autumn reds, yellows, and oranges. I remember singling out one of them and thinking, “that tree is beautiful” as if I had never seen a tree before.

That realization occurred, my friends – I’m ashamed to say – at mile marker 57 as we neared the end of our trail. It took me THAT long to appreciate the simple beauty that had surrounded me for days.

I had been too consumed with the people, the cars passing by, my spiritual journey, the aches and pains of my body, and the blisters on my toes – far too consumed with everything else to notice the simple and lasting beauty surrounding me.

While focusing on all of the things I thought important and big, I was actually making my world smaller.

And I’m still doing that to this day.

How many times do I notice the stars? Thank God for the sunrise (instead of grumble my way through the buzzing alarm)? Stop whatever I’m doing to watch a goose land her “plie” on a silver pond? These wonders of nature happen every day and I often miss them in short-sighted misplacement of priorities.

Instead, my eyes scan the horizon feverishly for the “next” thing, look dolefully at the rhythm of the lines in the road, scan my phone for news and updates on others’ lives… the list goes on.

The loss could be worse – and better. Yesterday, as I was running errands, I looked up and saw a local Catholic Church a few blocks up from where I sat at a stop light. I vaguely remembered there being an evening weekday Mass offered at this parish and steered my way quite suddenly into the parking lot. Sure enough – Mass was just beginning. I decided to stay.

It was an hour out of my day – the BEST hour of my day – spent in God’s house, attending Mass, receiving Our Lord, with the bonus of Confession directly afterward. All because I looked up from the road at my surroundings and took a peek beyond the end of my nose.

As I drove home that night, I was at peace.

The errands can wait. I won’t starve if dinner is an hour late and I certainly won’t miss time wasted on social media. I want my world to be bigger, stronger, and better than the mundane and routine. The sacrifice of a minute or an hour is always going to be worth it.

I made up my mind to start looking past the end of my nose at the basic beauty around me. And who knows?

In doing so, I just might stumbled from the mundane and fall into the eternal.