Legend has it that St. Francis of Assisi was tending his garden one day when someone stopped him to ask, “What would you do now if you were certain to die before sunset?”

St. Francis paused, thought about it for a second, then dug his hoe deeper into the soil and replied, “I’d keep tending my garden.”

I’ve been thinking about this classic scene a lot lately — St. Francis in his long, brown woolen habit; the sweat on his brow, dirt beneath his fingernails and black soil speckled on his cheeks. I’ve found myself wondering about the sound of his voice and the look in his eyes as he expressed this message of profound faith — that even in the face of death (the thing we humans often fear most), St. Francis was anchored to God in the present moment, through the day-to-day duties of his life and vocation.

I grew so fascinated with this scene that I even googled “St. Francis’ eyes” because — and this may sound strange — I wanted to find out what color they were and if they were very wrinkled around the edges or if he looked young for his age. What I found amazed me: It was this sad story about how he suffered from trachoma, a condition that left him almost blind by the end of his life.

No wonder he found such duty, solace and purpose in his garden.

Now don’t get me wrong — this is not a reflection on gardening specifically, as I’m actually pretty horrible at it. “Planting fall flowers” was simply an item on the daily chore list I forced myself to write in order to stay focused on the many duties of my own vocation in the midst of what is presently an acutely challenging time — one where I’m often tempted to be distracted by fear.

I was nudged to write such a list after reading Father Jacques Phillippe’s short pamphlet , Trusting God in the Present. It’s a must-read for anyone grappling with apprehension about the future.

In it, he writes:

When preoccupied with a question to which you can’t find the answer, ask yourself: ‘Do I absolutely need an answer to that question in order to know how I should live my life today?’ You’ll realize that you usually don’t. So you can set the question aside for the time being without any harm, and it will simplify your life. I’m firmly convinced that when we have a question to which we need to know the answer in order to do God’s will today, he always responds.”

So, thanks to two men in brown robes, great thinkers who are separated by centuries, I’m planting fall flowers today, doing laundry and homeschooling my kids with gusto today — focusing intensely on today. And by doing these things that are within my power today, I have confidence that I’m building a better tomorrow.

The concept of the “sacrament of the present moment” is nothing new. The 18th-century Jesuit Jean-Pierre De Caussade wrote a classic book on the theme. (The book is now called The Sacrament of the Present Moment; earlier editions of the same work were entitled Self-Abandonment to Divine Providence.)

Currently, I’m reading The Present: The Gift for Changing Times by Spencer Johnson. It was a book recommended in the 12-Step support group I’m a part of for people who have family members who struggle with addiction. Being a member of this group has been life-changing; it’s where I learned a handy acronym for fear:

FEAR = Future Events Aren’t Real

If you read just one title from the many recommended in this piece, be sure to read The Present. It’s a short allegory about a little boy and an old man that has taught me the nuts and bolts of focusing on the right now; and on what’s right about right now — which for me is a yard full of children eager to plant fall flowers.