When Wonder Became My Faith Again

“This was the best day ever, mom,” my eight-year-old whispered at bedtime last night.

My jaw dropped. Lachlan does not offer unsolicited praise often. But yesterday was an incredibly good day. 

We began our day with a nature hike through Big Bluestem Trail at Grand Park. We took our time and meandered off the obvious trail – sometimes in the footsteps of others, often forging our own desire paths. Lachlan stopped to inspect deer hoofprints and vibrant wildflowers; Meryn paused to gather handfuls of rolly pollies; we stumbled upon and explored a collapsed home in the middle of the woods; we climbed a tree to get a better view of massive, prehistoric turtles; and we all nearly had a heart attack when we realized we were inches away from a gigantic Western Rat Snake. 

We spent our afternoon letting the sun warm our shoulders and cool lake water chill our toes. While my kids played on the beach, digging trenches and building sandcastles, I people-watched. I sat there, genuinely in awe of how many different kinds of people I exist amongst everyday without even noticing. I watched loud teenagers play volleyball, flirt, and jockey for social standing all while being clearly aware of their own bodies. Juxtaposed to their profound awareness of self, I watched my own kids and others throw their lithe little bodies around without a second thought. And I watched moms and dads choose joy and playfulness and connection.

Then we ended our day by watching the live coverage of the Artemis II crew push farther into space than any human has ever been as they flew past the dark side of the moon. We saw an earth inhabited by 8 million people appear as a little sliver of light, hundreds of thousands of miles in the distance. We listened to four intrepid members of humanity reflect on what humanity and belonging means, from a perspective we could only dream about.

If I had to assign a theme for our day yesterday, it would be wonder. Wonder that “feeling of admiration, surprise, or awe caused by something new, unexpected, or inexplicable.” And if I had to name a quality too few people, especially evangelical Christians value, it would also be wonder. How rarely we stop to be surprised. How reticent we are to express awe at the every day miracles we encounter. 

Implicit in the definition of the noun form of wonder, this state we too rarely experience, is the verb form of wonder, a thing we too rarely do. We don’t often ponder, question, or embrace curiosity. I think our little tent of Christianity (of which there are many many tents), has taught us to value knowing above wondering; the destination above the process. 

As a teenager, I had to take an apologetics class, where I was handed nicely packaged answers to questions I hadn’t even thought to ask yet. It was a shortcut I didn’t realize I was taking. A cheat code to bolster my faith before it ever had a chance to wobble. And the result was that I forgot how to not know, how to imagine, how to wonder.

I’ve been thinking about Wonder a lot since the Artemis II crew launched last week. I can’t help but see the parallel between the astronauts’ journey to the moon and my faith journey. Something broke open inside of me when I heard the astronauts describe the unfamiliar landscape of the far side of the moon. After a lifetime of looking up and seeing a gray, glowing orb, upon her first sight of the far side, Mission Specialist Christina Koch said, “something about you senses that is not the moon that I’m used to seeing.”

I’ve grown up “seeing” God from a certain limited vantage point. I am fixed here on this earth, inside this mortal body, “looking up.” For the majority of my life, I have accepted that what I know of God is certain, faithful, and true; much like how the moon is always there, whether or not I can see it. And while I still believe that to a degree, I now know that I am, that we are, seeing but a glimpse. The Bible reveals so much about God, but there is still so much more to wonder about. Then in the person of Jesus, we got a new perspective. A side of God we had not yet known. So many answers were made flesh, but yet, more questions arise - a reality made manifest by the fact that Jesus consistently asked more questions than he answered. And there is still so much more we cannot see or perceive within the confines of our humanness. 

Which brings me back to wonder. In 1 Corinthians 13:9-12 Paul writes,

For we know in part, and we prophesy in part [for our knowledge is fragmentary and incomplete]. But when that which is complete and perfect comes, that which is incomplete and partial will pass away. When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child; when I became a man, I did away with childish things. For now [in this time of imperfection] we see in a mirror dimly [a blurred reflection, a riddle, an enigma], but then [when the time of perfection comes we will see reality] face to face. Now I know in part [just in fragments], but then I will know fully, just as I have been fully known [by God].

I can’t help but think of the moon and a beautiful comment I came across online. “[The astronauts] describe a moon unlike the gray, dull, and dutiful moon we’ve come to know and faithfully expect. They tell us of a moon that is vibrant and colorful, with hues of browns and greens that subtly sparkle while a bright and tiny crescent Earth shimmers amongst the stars. A moon with day and night, mountains and valleys, eclipses and poles.”

I cannot wait for the day I get to see and know the fullness of God. But in the meantime, I will wonder and imagine. I will let the wind blowing through the trees, the ancient reptiles cutting through a pond, and the teeny tiny creepy crawlers teach me something about God’s immense creativity. I will let the staggering diversity of humanity reveal something about the expansiveness of God. I will allow the tender reflections of astronauts floating hundreds of thousands of miles above the earth move me to tears as I imagine just how unfathomable it all really is. I will continue to be absolutely bowled over by how little I know, and how much there is to discover. I will wonder.

"The world will never starve for want of wonders; but only for want of wonder."

G.K. Chesterton