Behold, I Make All Things New

It is sunset. The sky is bright with pastels; here and there, white scuds the atmosphere like a child's scrawl. I have just woken up from disconnected apocalyptic dreams. Without my glasses (left behind on my night stand), my far-sighted eyes struggle to focus on the glaring computer screen. My thoughts are as hazy as my vision--it is difficult to think clearly when one's vision is obscured.

What to do with these few unscheduled minutes? I have been hopping from activity to activity--and my life has settled into a dizzying merry-go-round of school-work-sleep-school-work-sleep. I just looked at the last phrase--how can I settle into chaos? Anyway, lately I have been feeling the ache of spring more keenly. With almost two weeks of gorgeous weather, my eyes constantly stray from my work (or my students' work) to gaze at the glory that is spring.

Will I ever cease to be amazed at Spring's adornments? Her joyful chirping birds, her nimble, task-oriented ants, her buds bursting forth into sprays of green, gold, and pink? I dearly hope not. I desire to forever be in awe of life--in all its forms. The plant whose leaves were drooping yesterday stretches out robustly today after a good quenching soak. The child who slumped down at his desk after receiving a poor grade last week bobs lightly on his chair after being recognized for an insight today. Life is delicate. Life is resilient.

"It's almost time to depart!" My roommate gently reminds me, as water splashes in her green bottle for our fitness class. Soon I will be joining classmates for an intense, hour-long, muscle-fatiguing workout. But not yet. I still have this moment. This moment to pause, and take in my surroundings. In this moment of wonder, I find my nourishment and encouragement.

When was the last time you spared a moment for wonder?