Wednesday, April 11, 2012


Lately, I've been thinking about life and how things are. Then I digress and I think about the time as child I found that the the world was so wonderful. That each day could be a waking dream. The moments could unfold as my eyes would be wide open to discover something new. I miss the mystery of the world. I miss seeing many curious things for the first time.

I remember the times when my father would bring me to the park. I would play in the sandbox and look at all the bits and pieces fall as I poured it. I remember the first time I saw the little veins of a leaf and how they were translucent and turned yellow and red and brown. I remember the first time I saw the intricate lines on my hands and the patterns it has and how on each hand, they were not alike. It was amazing.

The world was wonderful. Playing in the park, making pretend with friends. The floor was lava. The cracks between tiles and the concrete sidewalks were lava as well. My brother and sisters and I were monster trucks (our shirts and pajamas filled with our pillows as we rolled over each other between our trundle beds). Playing with my brother's friend's toys; there was a war at hand, each little man, fighting to win and so many had died. Running around, being “it,” the one who made others “it.” Being so wise as a child to know that girls had cooties, and of course boys ruled.

I can imagine the world being such a large magnificent place. That my relationships were simple... school was play, my family was love and strangers were “strange,” and many things were unlike the other things... and I would spend my days in play... and sometimes in discipline.

I realize that nowadays that I long for those moments of wonder. I feel as though as I got older, as I learned more and more about the world, the world had become somewhat demystified and had lost its luster. The world had shrunk in a sense... the paint on the canvas I've so carefully rendered has faded and dulled.

Then time becomes something that just passes, the happy moments are mostly fleeting and I'm just waiting for fresh paint or a new canvas. That things are mostly complicated. That my intentions and motivations have changed so much as I grew. Then I feel cynical. I hold strongly to ideals so romantically, hoping that each one of them are still true. The disappointment of life is that there are moments when I realize that they sometimes aren't.

So I live and move and dwell. Now, I ask God to grant me some wonder. Because I'm a child at heart, wanting to be amazed. Then the light is brighter. Something happens... paint falls from the sky, the rain is a million prisms... my heart pounds. I travel and the world seems bigger than I could have ever imagined. I start seeing things for the first time again. I look back at the many painted canvases my memories are and the water has washed the dust and restores the faded colors. I find myself as a child again, humbled because I was wrong. The world continues to be wonderful.


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