wonder & shades of brown

"I have believed the lie that wonder is something that is given to me by someone else.

That it is fire and flurry, the crashing of might and might, the explosion of flame.
Dazzle and daring and the fluorescent spectacular.

But the truth is that none of this is wonder. Not really. There is nothing passive about true wonder.
It is not dependent on bigness or limited by smallness;
it is not the response to entertainment or to spectacle.

Wonder is a choice. It comes only when I choose to stay.

It’s that thing that happens when doubt and astonishment and mystery converge.
It happens when I stand in one place long enough.
When I stare out at the broken cattails or the winter-bare branches
or a dew drop until it stops being about me. Starts being about the branch.
And then about more than the branch. And then about God.

And it doesn’t always feel like epiphany or the climax of a hit movie.
Sometimes it comes and goes so quickly that you almost can’t believe that it was there.

But in that moment, something in your heart reaches towards God.
And for a small span of space, you believe Him to be all he says he is,
and you know it is enough…and this is the true heart of worship."
deeper story || the daily work of wonder

Each new day seems to rush by us in a dizzying blur. I was recently convinced that summer was still beginning, only to notice frost on the ground and the trees entirely bared of leaves. Autumn came and left again before I had the chance to blink an eye. The oh-too-familiar signs of winter are already rapidly approaching, and there's snow in the air, Thanksgiving menus being planned, and Christmas secrets in the making. I'm pretty sure we must have skipped October completely.

In a way, there's so much to look forward to about the coming of colder months ahead and all the cosiness that they bring. There's a sense of wonder that comes with the slowing-down and the togetherness of the season, the depth of tradition, and being surrounded by enough simplicity to notice beauty in wonderfully trivial, ordinary, fleeting moments. Like cinnamon rolls on a chilly morning, the first snowfall, sunlight streaming through frosted windowpanes, and being bundled in oversized scarves. There's beauty and wonder in that, and it leaves so much to look forward to.

[And by the way, just in case you're wondering how I could possibly not take any pictures the last few months...
well, I did. They just happened to all be on my phone.
And in an effort to clean up my phone, I imported all my 3,000+ photos to my computer,
and then deleted them from my phone. The end.
They are no where to be found.
Silly iPhones.]