I remember as a child I was often filled with wonder. Do you know what that is? That feeling of smallness. That there is some much going on around you that you couldn't possibly understand it all. Even though I am a gigantic nerd I grew up in what used to be considered the country. Homes had yards. There were still farms. There was history all around us. Old homes that had been abandoned where nature had reclaimed what was built.
Where trees provided shade and the grass was the only blanket you needed. When I talk to my daughter I don't detect the same level of wonder as she interact with the world. Maybe it is the difference between boys and girls. I remember sweeping adventures that went from one end of one neighborhood to the far end of another.
We had tales about the old homes in our neighborhood. From the story of old man Barry who had killed his brother to assume his familes property to the old boarded up house that was packed full of boxes of money. Then there were the old things we would find in the woods In between the neighborhoods. We would regularly find old cars in the woods and think how did they got there.
These paths were the wormholes to distant lands. Pushing through the undergrowth was emerging through a portal to elsewhen or otherplace. I guess I was just an imaginative kid. I don't know.
In my life God used this sense of awe and wonder to draw me in. As I look back over my life I see how he had set eternity in my heart. How His very creation pointed to something beyond the conventional. Even in my very hidebound mind I see that he was placing in me eyes that were always looking for the miraculous.