May we never lose our wonder!

The sunset was spectacular! A series of mini thunderstorms rolled northward as we drove from Weiser and Midvale, so the sky was swollen with fat, shifting clouds. Then as the sun began its descent, the hillsides surrounding the valleys became swathed in shades of purple, rose pink, and pale lavender. I thought of the line from America the Beautiful , “Oh, purple mountains majesty, above the fruited plain.” It was on display right before me. The skyscape changed very quickly. A last burst of sunlight spread through the clouds like a river of molten gold. I couldn’t quit gawking out the window, trying to hold on to the spectacle all around us. And then it changed again . The sun dropped down behind the hills and set the clouds and sky and far hills on fire: flame red, orange streaked with teal, yellow and deepening blue. “Awesome,” I thought. Wunderbar! I felt overwhelmed because I don’t have enough words for “exquisite.”I wanted to paint.

Once when my parents were here to visit, Dan brought my mother outside on the driveway on a clear summer night to see the stars. Mom lived in New York, on Long Island where the sky is obscured by smog, power lines, trees, building and roof tops. She stood outside in the dark with Dan and me in awe of the countless stars canopied above her. “I never knew… so many stars,” she said.

It seems that in this time and culture we’ve forgotten how to be awed by beauty. When was the last time that you could not speak because something beyond BIG took your breath away? When was the last time I really noticed all the shades of green in the forest outside my windows? When was the last time we realized, “I never knew… so much …” We who live surrounded by majestic purple mountains and clear rivers and skies so clear they catch the fire of the sun should never become jaded by taking things for granted. The danger of “ho hum, just another day” is that pretty soon we’re blind or worse, we no longer care. If the billions of stars on a summer night don’t stir up awe in our souls and a longing to thank, praise and worship God, we may as well live shut up in a concrete bunker or be like ostriches seeing only piles of sand.

I lift up my eyes to the hills. From where does my help come? Psalm 121:1

The psalmist is describing pilgrims heading toward Jerusalem for worship. We also need to literally look up to the hills where all our help comes from. It comes from the Lord, the Creator of all things beautiful in the heavens and on earth – and of us. He created us in beauty, for beauty to draw us to Himself, full of wonder and awe!