Ordinary Dirt: Holy Ground

This was the title of our sermon this past Sunday. Pastor Kelli didn’t introduce me to the story of Moses and the burning bush. I’ve known it for years. Moses had been running- from consequences, from identity, just…running. It took a supernatural bush to make him stop, listen, and recognize the holiness surrounding him, and in his acceptance and recognition, it went with him. 

It’s strange to relate to such a fantastical story, but that’s the point, right? We see ourselves in Moses. What will it take to make us stop and take a look around? How do we recognize the holy ground around us masquerading as ordinary dirt? How do I recognize it?

Turns out, it didn’t take long for a list to pour onto the pages of my journal. Recognizing holy in others – and the spaces in which they exist – is easy right now. Holiness surrounds me, and in months of honest reflection and deep need, I don’t just see it. I feel it. I experience it. 

You all know how I feel about a list, so here’s a bit of the ordinary dirt that God graciously and kindly made holy ground in my desert:

1. Pastor Kelli & her couch – A red, ornate refuge where I’ve cried, asked hard questions, and received love, prayer, and understanding.

2. Every walk I take – A place for grounding, grace, and breath.

3. My brother and sister‑in‑law – Every call, car ride, dinner, and hard truth.

4. My nieces – My why. The reason finding my way back to myself again matters.

5. Lee – His unmatched ability to make people feel worthy. A forever friend.

6. Kari and Kelsey – My anchors. Karaoke nights, poolside chats, and Wii bowling have breathed life back into me.

7. Jenni and Maddi – My “you’re okay” and “get moving” friends. Jeep rides, baseball games, drinks, and accountability.

8. Naomi, Jen, and Hailey – Belly laughter, listening, and endless conversation and jokes.

9. Fretwell and every coffee shop I've sat in – Places where I read, write, and cry in public, more good tears than bad these days. Warm‑hug energy (Olaf style).

10. My parents – They don’t always understand, but they show up in the ways they can.

11. Walks with coworkers – Laughter in the parking lot, even in 90‑degree heat. Holy (hot) ground.

12. My Sunday School class – A room full of grace where I found my faith again, and a room full of people who have become family.

13. Jen and Jenn – Their living rooms: comfort, processing, joy.

14. My PFLAG family – A stellar group that challenges me to love people and Spartanburg better.

15. My therapist & her couch – A witness to both my worst moments and my growth. A place of forward steps and honest backward ones.

    
    

When I look at this list, I realize none of it is flashy or miraculous. No burning bushes. No booming voices. Just couches, parking lots, coffee shops, long walks, familiar faces, and the steady presence of people who refuse to let me disappear into my own desert.

Maybe that’s the holiness I needed to see – not the kind that interrupts your life with fire, but the kind that sits quietly until you finally stop running long enough to notice. The kind that reminds you you’re held, you’re seen, you’re loved, and you’re still becoming.

I don’t know exactly where this path leads next, but I do know this: if I keep paying attention, if I keep slowing down, if I keep honoring the ground beneath my feet, I won’t miss the sacred things existing and growing right in front of me.

Holy ground isn’t somewhere I have to find.

It’s somewhere I have to recognize.