The Practice of Wonder
The Practice of Wonder
I was struck by these words from the October 14, 1916, entry of Oswald Chamber’s journal: “Ah, these mornings! It is slowly dawning on me that I did not get to God by Nature, like the poet, but that I have got to Nature by God.”
That is just how I feel! The more I learn to love God, the more I come to enjoy nature as the work of His fingers. The more I learn in the Scriptures concerning God’s character, the wider my eyes are opened to see Creation as an illustration of his power and glory and beauty.
I think that many of us have lost a precious childlike wonder of nature: we have fallen into familiarity with the marvels wrought by God on earth. In our “sterile preoccupations with things that are artificial” (Carson) we have let nature become mediocre to us. But when one knows God, that knowledge and love illuminates “the common elements of earth and air, sea and sky and moon, and human love and friendship.” (Chambers) We love nature, we explore nature, we wonder at nature, because it belongs to the One we love. He has left His fingerprints all over the universe.
Even Christians, though, have been dulled to the wonder (and I certainly count myself among their number). Because we can see stars and birds, hear the song of the crickets or the laughter of running water, smell the flowers or the damp earth, feel the sun and shade and the breeze—because we can do any of these things whenever we truly want to, many of us never do. We experience so much that we forget to notice.
We get used to miracles.
In her essay “The Sense of Wonder,” Rachel Carson wrote:
For most of us, knowledge of our world comes largely through sight, yet we look about with such unseeing eyes that we are partially blind. One way to open your eyes to unnoticed beauty is to ask yourself, ‘What if I had never seen this before? What if I knew I would never see it again?’
I remember a summer night when such a thought came to me strongly. It was a clear night without a moon. With a friend, I went out on a flat headland that is almost a tiny island, being all but surrounded by the waters of the bay. There the horizons are remote and distant rims on the edge of space. We lay and look up at the sky and the millions of stars that blazed in darkness. The night was so still that we could hear the buoy on the ledges out beyond the mouth of the bay. Once or twice a word spoken by someone on the far shore was carried across on the clear air. A few lights burned it cottages. Otherwise there was no reminder of other human life; my companion and I were alone with the stars. I have never seen them more beautiful: the misty river of the Milky Way flowing across the sky, the patterns of the constellations standing out bright and clear, a blazing planet low on the horizon. Once or twice a meteor burned its way into the earth’s atmosphere.
It occurred to me that if this were a sight that could be seen only once in a century or even once n a human generation, this little headland would be thronged with spectators. But it can be seen many scores of nights in any year, and so the lights burned in the cottages and the inhabitants probably gave not a thought to the beauty overhead; and because they could see it almost any night they will never see it.
When was the last time you looked at something ‘common’ with fresh eyes? I posted this quote before, but let me share it again!—Let us suppose awhile. “Let us suppose,” writes Leigh Hunt, “suppose flowers themselves were new! Suppose they had just come into the world, a sweet reward for some new goodness. Imagine what we should feel when we saw the first lateral stem bearing off from the main one, and putting forth a leaf. How we should watch the leaf gradually unfolding it graceful little hand; then another, then another; then the main stalk rising and producing more; then one of them giving indications of the astonishing novelty—a bud! then this mysterious bud gradually unfolding like the leaf, amazing us, enchanting us, almost alarming us with delight, as if we knew not what enchantment were to ensue, till at length, in all its fairy beauty, and odorous voluptuousness, and mysterious elaboration of tender and living sculpture, shines forth the blushing flower.”
Would you not be nearly overcome with wonder?—with awe?—with worship of the Creator? Have you lost any of that?
Every year I would like to grow more and more in
the knowledge, love, and obedience of God,
the habit of noticing, and
the practice of wonder.
Photograph: Ireland 153. This image is in the public domain.
COMMENT ON THIS POST BY SENDING AN EMAIL TO THE HANDMAIDEN.
WILDFLOWER MORNING said...
I resonate with being dulled to wonder. I’ve felt a calling to wonder and want to start thinking and exploring more the fullness of beauty and nature as found in God. It is so fulfilling to be in awe.
Sunday, March 29, 2009 05:47 PM
HANDMAIDEN said...
Thank you so much for sharing!
Recently we have been studying John Piper’s DVD The Blazing Center. In the first few sessions he has been showing us that our purest pleasure is in awe and wonder and admiration and glory. What greater proof do we need to realize that we have been designed for something outside of us and bigger than us: God Himself. In Him we find true fulfillment!
Wednesday, April 1, 2009 10:30 AM
Friday, March 13, 2009