When was
the last time you gazed at the evening sky as the stars appeared and felt
yourself being filled with awe and wonder, literally star-struck and speechless?
Do you rush out your door every night and look up, just to make sure the stars
are still there?
We might
feel a sense of wonderment on occasion, but since stars in the night sky seem
as common as the sun rising in the east every morning, it’s easy to take the
heavenly orbs for granted. Kids still recite, “Twinkle, twinkle little star,”
but as adults our typical reaction is more of “Yeah, yeah. Same old, same old.”
The
ordinary, the commonplace has that effect on us. If familiarity doesn’t breed
contempt, at least it breeds complacency. Maybe that’s why essayist and poet
Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote, “If the stars should appear
but one night every thousand years how man would marvel and adore.”
A lot of us do make extra effort to look up when a rare
comet is passing by, a full solar eclipse occurs, or some other celestial event
is forecast that won’t happen again for at least 50 years. We get excited about
the unusual, the rare, the extraordinary. But the ordinary? To borrow the
common social media term, “meh!”
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| The Manhattan skyline, a marvel to visitors, can seem ordinary to locals. |
I imagine some people who work daily at the Grand
Canyon, or someone living in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower, might feel the same
way. They see it every day and can’t help but regard the wondrous view with a
disinterested shrug.
Someone reminded me of this recently when he observed, “You
know, every year many thousands of people come to Chattanooga, Tennessee to
experience its scenic beauty and array of entertainment and recreational opportunities,
yet children who live here complain to their parents, ‘Mom (or Dad), I’m bored.
There’s nothing to do!’”
During my recent trip to New York City, not having been
there in 10 years, I again marveled at the skyline, being reminded why those towering
buildings are commonly called “skyscrapers.” Yet, as I peered upward, hundreds
of people all around me rapidly walked by, looking straight ahead, oblivious to the
marvels of their “natural habitat.”
Perhaps that’s why some people “fall out of love,” or
why workers become disenchanted with jobs that thrilled them just a few years
earlier. The new and unfamiliar bring with them an excitement that can fade
once they become “old” and familiar. But it need not be this way. We can still
find wonder even in the ordinary – if we work at it.
In the Old Testament book of Job, after its namesake had
endured the well-meaning “counsel” of his friends who urged him to confess sins
he didn’t know he had committed, Job finally was confronted by God, who had allowed
suffering to enter his life.
“Brace yourself like a man; I will question you and you will
answer me,” God commanded in Job 38:3. The
Lord pointed to the countless wonders He has created, including the stars, the
seas, weather phenomena like snow, hail and rain; animals, fish and birds, both
wild and domestic; the rising and setting of the sun. Before restoring Job’s
well-being and fortune, God determined it would be good to first restore his
wonder for the world He had designed.
In Proverbs the writer notes, “There are three things that are too amazing for me, four that I do not
understand: the way of an eagle in the sky, the way of a snake on a rock, the
way of a ship on the seas, and the way of a man with a maiden” (Proverbs 30:18-19).
Each of these is relatively commonplace, but as we ponder them, they all share
an element of the wondrous.
What is it around you that no longer holds your sense of
wonder? What might wow a stranger, but from you elicits a mere “Ho, hum”? Is it
your family, the place where you live, your recovery from a serious illness, or
the talents and skills you possess?
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