Take Sips, Not Gulps
An opening word for the Faith in Place staff retreat this week in Indianapolis
(Faith in Place staff visit Mosque Al-Fajr with our partner, Indianapolis Muslim Community Association, March 11, 2026)
I want to center our day by telling you a story.
In 2024, I was lucky enough to take a sabbatical. During that time, Avery from Creation Justice Ministries connected me with a couple of marine biologists for a morning dive. I met them the day before over pizza. Great guys. I was immediately intimidated. While my diving certification says Advanced, I was a rookie next to them. One of them had been an expert tech diver for the Navy, salvaging wrecks at depths so far below the ocean surface that just hearing his stories made me want to update my will.
I was honest. I told them I was most worried I would be too quick to burn through all my air. And in scuba diving, the first person low on air causes everyone to surface. You stay together. But you don’t want to end the dive early for everyone. Especially these guys. I was trying to apologize in advance for being that guy.
One of them just looked at me and said bluntly, “Take sips, not gulps, of air.”
Great.
Not exactly the inspirational TED Talk I was hoping for.
The next morning it was still dark when we suited up. The sun was barely coming up as we slipped into the water with our torches. We descended, settled, and started moving together.
And I immediately noticed something.
These guys moved slow…
…painfully slow.
I was underwater thinking, what are we doing here? LET’S GOOOOO. There are things to see. I like momentum. I like progress. Let’s put some holy hustle in this dive.
But I was the least experienced diver in the group, so I just focused on breathing. Small sips. Not big gulps. And I followed them. Slowly. Like a tired, meandering manatee.
And after a few moments, my body caught up with my heart. My breathing slowed. I stopped trying to get somewhere and started being where I was.
And once I settled, I started noticing.
That was the wisdom those marine biologists understood. When you move slowly, you see more. When you move fast, you miss things.
And in the slowness came the miracle.
A small octopus appeared.
I have been lucky enough to go on many dives, but I had never seen one. They are smart. They hide well. They blend into everything. Maybe they were always there. Maybe I was just usually moving too fast to notice.
So we hovered there, taking it in. And then Mister “Sip, Don’t Gulp” extended a finger … slowly … toward the octopus. And wouldn’t you know it, that octopus reached back with one of its tentacles. And there, underwater, they held hands. Human and octopus.
Not only was it my first time seeing an octopus. It was also the first time the salt water in my diving mask came from my tears.
In the slowness, came the miracle.
So today, as we spend time together, let’s slow down and notice more on our field trips and adventures together. Pause and say hi to the staff member you do not see often. Look twice. Notice something new about them. Extend a finger and delight in the surprise when a tentacle comes back.
And if at any point today something feels like a stretch emotionally or physically, feel free to sit it out. Really. You do not need to force it. I suspect that in stepping back, in resting, in not pushing through, you may notice something else that is a gift for you today.
When we move slowly, we see more.
The beauty. The people. The stories. The more than human all around us. The gifts waiting for each of us today.
Sip, not gulp.
(Videos from that very dive. Blue Heron Bridge, Palm Beach, Florida. March 2024.)