Wonder
When a baby is born, most of us experience a sense of wonder, We marvel at the perfect fingers and toes, the soft, flushed skin, the curls of hair, each curving limb. The entire process of conception, gestation and birth amazes us. And as our children grow, we vicariously delight as they discover all their bodies can do, from tasting and speaking, to rolling over, standing up, to playing flutes or trombones, however badly at first.
But as adults, to our peril, we forget to marvel at our own selves. St. Augustine once lamented this oversight. He wrote: "Men go abroad to wonder at the height of mountains, at the huge waves of the sea, at the long courses of the rivers, at the vast compass of the ocean, at the circular motion of the stars; and yet they pass by themselves without wondering.”
The author of Psalm 8, however, understands that our ability to appreciate God, nature, and ourselves is linked.
When I consider your heavens,
the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars,
which you have set in place,
what is mankind that you are mindful of them,
human beings that you care for them?
You have made them a little lower than the angels
and crowned them with glory and honor.
(NIV, Psalm 8:3-5a)
Here we are encouraged to marvel at the mystery not only of the heavens and creation, but of our very own selves. Frankly, for some of us, that’s hard. Our bodies might not look or work the way we want, or we’re afflicted with too much self-criticism. Maybe we’ve made mistakes we can’t live down, our shame blunting our ability to see ourselves as only “a little lower than angels, crowned with glory and honor."
Yet we are summoned to such appreciation, nonetheless. In Psalm 139:14 the Psalmist says,
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful, I know that full well.
If you have trouble seeing yourself with wondering eyes, make cultivating a renewed sense of wonder a goal; start by connecting to all God has made. Consider the beauty of the night sky, filled with planets and green comets flung from galaxies light years away. Rise early to see the flush of sunrise on a winter’s day. Watch a child absorbed in studying a bird or twirling in a flurry of snow.
Because in truth, wonder is a necessary component of faith.
One of my favorite authors, David James Duncan, thinks so too. He writes:
Wonder is my second favorite condition to be in, after love,
and I sometimes wonder whether there's a difference; maybe love is just wonder aimed at a beloved.
Wonder is like grace, in that it's not a condition we grasp; it grasps us.
Wonder may be the aura of truth, the halo of it. Or something even closer.
Wonder may be the caress of truth, touching our very skin.
Wonder is not curiosity. Wonder is to curiosity what ecstasy is to mere pleasure.
Wonder is not astonishment, either. Astonishment is too brief.
As a facial expression, wonder is the letter O our eyes and mouths make when the state itself descends.
O: God's middle initial.
O: because wonder Opens us.
-- Kate Maynard
Sources: Confessions of Saint Augustine, Chapter VIII,
David James Duncan, excerpt from: My Wonder As Told By Water
