Lessons From Nature About What’s Important

I don’t do everything right as a parent, but there are a few things I feel really good about.

I sit on the couch and read a book in front of my kids, and I’m glad to set that example rather than just sitting on my phone.

When we see someone homeless on the street as we drive by, we always stop our conversation and pray for them (and offer a few bucks if we have it at a stoplight).

Even when I’m tired, I get all 3 of the kids on bikes and we chat about our days as we pedal along – at least 3-4 days a week (when the weather is working for us).

And another example is the inspiration for today’s blog post:

I love getting my kids to look up.

When we’re at the playground and they say “I’m bored, can we go home?”, usually my first response is “Let’s look at some clouds before we leave. It’s impossible to be bored outside.”

We’ve spent many car rides searching for dinosaurs, critters, and shapes in the sky.

Whew, I miss my mom. Because I know this passion for nature is a direct result of being raised as her daughter…and that’s how I know I can feel good about paying it forward to my own kids.

I love pointing out epic sunsets and beautiful details of flowers. Gawking at the glitter on open water or calling attention to the croak of a frog. The other week, my daughter and I stood in the driveway watching the sky change with the sunset before heading inside after dance class. She was so excited to point out how one side of the sky had changed while we had been looking in the other direction. It was the purest joy. The most organic excitement.

These small moments—pausing to watch the sunset, stopping to look at the stars—remind me of what truly matters. They bring me back to the present, anchoring me in the beauty of the world around us. And I see it in my kids, too. Their hurried steps slow. Their eyes widen. They notice.

Awe and wonder is where perspective takes shape. It’s where faith finds footing.

I’ve made no secret of the fact that I love rain. One afternoon, the rhythmic patter against the roof filled the house, and I turned to my kids and said, “Pause the TV. Let’s just listen for 30 seconds.” They humored me, closing their eyes as the rain mimicked the white noise machines they know so well. When the time was up, I opened my eyes, but was so moved as I noticed that theirs remained shut.

After about a minute, they opened their eyes, looking more relaxed and peaceful than they’d been a minute prior zoned out on the TV. Then, my daughter said something that made my heart burst: “Can we stop watching TV and just listen to the rain instead?”

So we did. We stepped outside and watched the raindrops bounce off the back gate onto the grass, smelling the air and enjoying the peace. In that moment, nothing else mattered. It was just us and the rain, wrapped in something simple, something sacred.

When we allow ourselves to breathe in nature, it’s the ultimate anxiety relief. The greatest sense of comfort and joy. All the things I teach about why we declutter bubble to the surface when I have these moments in nature: The ability to sense what truly matters, the awareness of the big picture, the calm spirit that breeds creativity and fun and connection.

Simply put: There is magic in sitting around a campfire, reading Harry Potter out loud under a sky full of stars. The crackle of the fire, the rustling leaves, the occasional snap of a twig in the distance—it all feels like a reminder of what life is meant to be. Uncomplicated. Present.

Nature teaches us to slow down, to savor what’s in front of us. It’s why I believe so deeply in simplifying—not just our home, but our time, our commitments, our habits. Because when we let go of the clutter—both physical and mental—we create space for moments like these. The ones that don’t cost a thing but mean everything.