Reviewing the Day with God: A Practice of Gentle Noticing

by Lori Wilson

There's a prayer I return to most evenings, one that helps me close my day by looking back with God's eyes rather than my own. It's called the Ignatian Examen, and it's become less of a spiritual exercise and more of a sacred conversation—a way of letting God show me what matters in the hours I've just lived.

The beauty of this prayer is that I'm not alone in it. I don't sit down and force myself to replay my day like rewinding a movie, cataloging every moment with anxious scrutiny. Instead, I invite God to be my companion in the remembering. I ask God to illuminate what I need to notice, to reveal where blessing has been hiding in plain sight, where love has been offered and received, where I've missed the invitation to love as God loves.

This is how I pray it:

I settle in, taking a few breaths, and thank God for waiting for me. Because God is always the one reaching out first. God has been present in every moment of my day, whether I noticed or not, and now God waits—patient and eager—to help me see.

Then I linger. I really linger here. I ask God to show me how I've been blessed today. I let my mind wander through the hours, noticing what surfaces: the warmth of morning coffee, an unexpected text from a friend, the way afternoon light slanted through the window, the gift of getting everything done, or the grace of not getting everything done. I note all of it with gratitude.

I linger again, asking God to show me where I encountered the divine in other people today. I remember moments of loving kindness—a stranger's patience, a colleague's humor, a family member's gentle challenge offered in love. I see God's face reflected back to me through human presence.

Then I ask God to show me the opportunities I had to love myself and others the way God does. Where did I respond to that invitation? Maybe I listened deeply instead of rushing on. Maybe I offered myself rest instead of pushing harder. Maybe I chose gentleness when harshness felt easier. I let God show me where love lived through me today.

Next comes the tender part: I ask God to show me where I missed the mark, where I didn't love as God loves. And here's what I've learned—God is so gentle. I'm not shown a long list of failures and shortcomings. Usually just one or two moments surface, held in God's compassionate gaze: the impatient word I wish I could take back, the moment I chose distraction over presence, the way I judged myself too harshly.

I spend time talking to God about whatever has been brought to my attention—the blessings, the encounters, the loving, the missing. This isn't about fixing or resolving anything. It's about being honest and known and realizing I deeply desire to love as God loves.

Finally, I close by thanking God for tomorrow. I look forward to the gift of another day—another chance to notice blessing, to encounter the holy, to love like God loves, to begin again when I miss the mark.

The Examen is endlessly adaptable. I've prayed it during Advent watching for Christ's coming, during Lent examining my resistance to new life, through seasons of grief and seasons of joy. The structure holds me, but the Spirit fills each prayer with what I need for that particular day.

Reflection Questions:

• What would it be like to invite God to help you review your day rather than doing it alone?

• Where do you tend to be hardest on yourself? How might God's gentle gaze change that?

• What one blessing from today might you have overlooked if you hadn't paused to notice?

A Prayer to Begin

God who waits for me, Thank you for being present in every moment of this day, whether I noticed you or not.

Show me now where blessing has been hiding— the small graces I might have rushed past, the love that was offered, the beauty that was waiting to be seen.

Help me recognize your face in the people I encountered today, in their kindness and their challenge, their presence and their need.

Reveal to me the moments when I answered your invitation to love— myself and others— with your own generous heart.

And gently, with your compassionate gaze, show me where I missed the mark, not to shame but to heal, not to condemn but to restore.

I lay this day before you now with gratitude for what has been and hope for what tomorrow holds.

Walk with me into the gift of another day. Amen.