Wonder Wisped Away

"What if we were so moved by who God is, what He's done, what He will do, that praise, adoration, worship, whatever, continuously careened in our heads and pounded in our souls? What if praise were on the tip of our tongues like we were a loaded weapon in the hands of a trigger-happy meth addict and every moment might just set us off? This is what we will do for eternity. What makes us think our time on earth should be any different? What keeps it from being so?

Do you see what I mean!?!!?!

We were meant for every moment to be alive with this dynamic relating and vibrant presence of hope in finding our Maker near us . . . Grasping this does not diminish the necessity of or disciplines; it only brings to them more depth and beauty." -David Crowder

*****

I share that quote with you because in my mind it goes seamlessly with what my buddy Skyler wrote that I'm about to share with you. I find his words incredible - a beautiful story of a guy, who truly gets what Crowder means in the quote above, and longs to live moment by moment in reverent praise, flowing out of a conscious knowing that he is found by a holy and transcendent God, but simply cannot figure out what has come between him and the overwhelming joy that he has come to experience as the fruit of his knowing. A question to which he is desperate to find an answer because in the absence of this joy-filled dynamic relating with the Maker (an adventurous and meaningful life worth living as he's come to know it), he has ceased to be truly alive.

(Thanks Sky. Love ya amigo.)

*****

He was tramping through the forest. It was an adventure. He searched for treasures under the carpet of leaves. He lifted rotting logs, inspected fancy shaped rocks, and twisted gnarled pieces of wood around and around to see every side. He was on a quest to find something that inspired awe.

And he found it –he found lots of it. Awe is not hard to find when you know how to look for it. He knew how to find it and he knew where to find it. He was always eager to find more of it, and so he pranced through the oaks, jumped the fallen logs, and splashed through the creeks to find that one small awe-inspiring treasure.

It didn’t have to be big –it seldom was. It could be a piece of bark, a pretty leaf, a feather, a glassy pond with tadpoles, or an interesting shaped rock. And it didn’t always have to be a thing: often it was just a moment. The half-second glimpse of a shy bird. The moment a butterfly danced around him. The moment the sun first pierced through the forest canopy in the morning –oh yes, that was a real treasure!

And so he tramped on. Through the forest.

But then he stopped.

He just stopped.

Something was different, either in his spirit that sought awe or in some other spirit that had always led him on. Whatever it was, it stopped. Awe was no longer sought after.

He looked up toward the sky. The trees spun around him eerily and made him feel dizzy. He tried to inspire adventure again within him. He went to the old rotten log. He lifted it but then let it crash back down. He went to the tadpole pond. It felt different. Why had it change? Where did awe go? Where wonder? And why had it left? What had scared it away?

He made his way through the forest –the dead-quiet forest- without a spirit of adventure to lift his saddened heart. His head drooped low. His chin against his chest. His shoulders hung limp. He walked passed countless treasures –either unnoticed treasures or treasures that no longer captured his wonder. Moments –precious moments- slipped by without being accepted –appreciated. A bird fluttered down to bathe in an eddy of the creek. It dipped beneath the water and splashed shimmering droplets of water all over its delicate body. A butterfly landed ever-so-gracefully on the side of the creek. A blood-red oak leaf floated down from the canopy, landed on the liquid mirror and sent ripples radiating out in perfect circles.

Glorious moments! And yet awe had escaped from them. Wonder had left, unannounced. Adventure had vanished somewhere in the thick, dark, quiet forest. Adventure was in there somewhere. He knew it was in there.

But he couldn’t find it anymore. It had left him. It took all his energy to search for the missing adventure. It took all his strength. No spirit within him –no spirit without him- urged him on. Life without adventure had left him weak, dizzy, dazed, confused. Meaningless.

He didn’t want to live a meaningless life, but he didn’t know how to find meaning once again. The awe-inspiring pieces of bark; the twisted pieces of wood that before had held innumerable secrets; the colorful feathers that had brought a smile to his heart; the intricate oak leaves that had demanded his full inspection –none of it brought wonder.

Where was meaning? Where had life’s very heartbeat gone? He knew that it beat on. It had to beat on: life’s heartbeat will never cease. But why couldn’t he hear it anymore? Why couldn’t he feel it pulsing through his veins? Why?

Wonder wisped away.

Why?

Awe. Always eluding. Gone. Just gone. He had no answers.

He wanted answers. He wanted awe back. He wanted wonder back. He wanted adventure to pour through his body. But he just didn’t have any answers.

He sat at the base of a large oak tree. He let his legs flop down into the yellow, orange, and red leaves. He leaned against the knotted tree and let his head roll back until it rested against the tree trunk. The oak’s mighty limbs stretched out over him. He could see glimpses of a blue sky through the mesh of leaves.

He sat there. Confused. Dazed. Longing. Desperate for more, yet totally unable to find answers as to how to fill that desperation.

He sat at the base of the oak, and wept.