The chaos of Easter egg hunts mirrors our busy lives, but one child’s quiet reflection revealed a timeless truth

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Spring has definitely arrived—no snow in sight. This year’s Easter egg hunt will go ahead outside, as it has for three generations in our family.

One particular hunt, however, stands out more vividly than the rest.

Our daughter was about four, the only girl and the youngest of the five children searching for eggs on their own. In those days, my in-laws owned the house, and my father-in-law, as he had traditionally done, concocted a riddle to end the hunt. To find the Easter treasure—a sack of gold-covered chocolate coins wrapped in mesh—the children had to solve the riddle.

We all gathered around to hear the rhyme. As soon as my father-in-law finished reading, the boys scattered in all directions, chasing clues in a frenzy.

Our daughter, though, stood stock still, brow furrowed, softly repeating the rhyme. No amount of urging could make her move. She was thinking—really thinking. And when she was ready, she walked calmly and directly to the exact spot where the treasure was hidden. But just as she reached for it, an older cousin noticed her and raced ahead, beating her to the prize by mere seconds.

While the boys were powered by unbridled excitement, she was moved by stillness. She had taken the time to sit with the mystery and uncover the unknown.

Stillness is something many of us struggle with.

Yongey Mingyur Rinpoche, a well-known Buddhist meditation master, once observed that North Americans can hardly sit still for five minutes. While he may have phrased it more gently, it’s a difficult point to argue.

In a culture that often equates busyness with self-worth—the more we do, the more valuable we believe we are—it’s hard to disconnect from the helter-skelter of daily life. Social media only makes things worse. One study found that the average smartphone user taps, swipes, or clicks their phone 2,617 times per day. Among the heaviest users, that number jumps to 5,427. Our fidgety fingers mirror our restless minds.

Even when our bodies are still, our thoughts aren’t. Richard Rohr, a Franciscan priest and founder of the Center for Action and Contemplation, encourages people to simply notice their thoughts. He notes that our minds are typically busy with the past or the future, rarely resting in the present moment.

He often returns to a verse from the Psalms: “Be still and know that I am God.” Rohr suggests gradually letting the words fall away, one by one, until only “be” remains.

Saint Augustine echoed this truth in his spiritual autobiography when he wrote, “You have made us for yourself, and we are restless until we rest in you.” Augustine understood restlessness. He was an ambitious and intelligent man who sampled all that the fourth-century Roman Empire had to offer—distractions, pleasures, and philosophies. But none of it stilled his soul. His was a restless search for meaning, ultimately for God.

Stillness of body and mind is not our natural default. We are creatures of motion, always seeking, not always finding, like little boys hunting for Easter treasure.

But the practice of stillness unveils what the noise conceals. It clears the mind, calms the soul and reveals the divine presence in ourselves, others and all created things.

In stillness, we discover a treasure worth seeking.

Louise McEwan has degrees in English and theology. She has a background in education and faith formation.