How to Live in the Wonder of God

Something that has struck me lately is how I want to be wide awake to the mystery of life going on all around me. To live with open hands and open eyes and not miss the miracles close by. 

Anything can happen at any moment. God can break right through an impossible situation with an answer. And if we stay alert we won’t miss it.

I’ve carried some prayers in my heart for twenty-ish years and just now I see glimpses of answers; I’m excited about what I see taking shape.

I want to live every day with an attitude of wonder at our mighty and amazing God. To marvel at his ways and be astonished as He works out all the details of my life.  

We are confident that God is able to orchestrate everything to work toward something good and beautiful when we love Him and accept His invitation to live according to His plan.  Romans 8:28

I remember the story of Elijah’s servant; he saw a cloud the size of man’s hand. It was his seventh time looking to the sea for rain. There it was, one tiny cloud. That’s all it took for Elijah to broadcast, in faith, that a torrential rain was coming, after a drought of three and a half years. 1 Kings 18 

What prayers that I’ve uttered today have me right on the verge of a miracle? What tiny changes do I see that are indicative of God at work?

Recently I recalled a favorite memory. As I ponder it’s significance, I pray you’ll see your experiences through a lens of hope and wonder.

My son John invited me to breakfast about seven years ago. We met at Jimbo’s, a local morning spot. We hugged and I smiled a lingering smile, as if to say, what’s the news?  A mama can sense these things. I felt special to be invited and, although still sleepy, I was expectant about our conversation. “I’ve met someone” were the first words from his mouth. I wanted to jump up and down right there in Jimbo’s, but I remained calm. Hurry up with the story, I thought. As John grinned from ear to ear, he told me how he’d met Mary. They’d gotten to know each other at church and had begun spending time together. As the happy story unfolded, I suspected a future, permanent relationship was in store.

“I took care of Mary in the nursery when she was a newborn”, I said. “I can still see that sweet face and dainty features. You were in the adjoining toddler room while I helped with the babies. As I held her, I thought, ‘Mary’ is one of my favorite names.”

How odd that I’d remember such a detailed account of that Sunday morning. I believe it was because God knew its future significance. I can even imagine Him smiling. 

John and Mary grew up in the same city, with mutual friends, attended the same schools and often the same church. But they really didn’t know each other. 

All those years of growing up, a stone’s throw away, then one day their eyes popped opened to each other. I was so happy to hear the news straight from John’s mouth.

Remembering this event inspires me to look at my life through a lens of expectancy knowing full well that I am a continual witness to his faithfulness.  

A privilege of being older is a long view of God’s faithfulness. We were already praying for John’s future and his marriage when I held that sweet little bundle on Sunday morning almost thirty years ago. How could I ever have imagined that in my arms was my future daughter-in-law?

What prayer; what hope am I holding in my hands, like I held that little baby girl? 

What if the unique ways He’s directed my life: new cities, neighborhoods, churches and friends, aren’t haphazard, but crucial means to accomplish his purposes?   

What prayers I have uttered today have me right on the verge of a miracle? If I look in faith can I see little glints of answers? The changes may be tiny, but they are indicative of God at work.

Friends, let’s look for that minuscule cloud, and believe that the answer is coming. Let’s watch closely with eyes of hope at what God accomplishes;  let’s pray continually and never give up. 

God moves in a mysterious way, His wonders to perform. He plants his footsteps in the sea and rides upon the storm.

William Cowper