Awe

You have come to me in your pain.

Your grief.

Your suffering.

You asked if I acted to cause it.

You asked if I acted not ... to prevent it.

I answered you not.

For I want your not knowing.

I want your wonder.

I want the awe you had as a child.

My beloved, where have you put those childhood eyes

The ones as big as baseballs?

Have you tossed them in with your other toys

That you are now too old to play with?

Go! Lift them from the toy box.

Put them back on.

Peer through them,

Through the door of unknowing

And into My Presence

Wrapped in My Comfort.

For you need baseball-sized eyes

And an unknowing heart

To feel the height

And breadth

And depth

Of My Love for you

Which has no end.

Photo credits: The top photo was taken by one of my daughters. He is my grandson studying the wonders of running water. The bottom one is of my daughter, his mom, with that same sense of awe, about three decades earlier.
May your children never lose that sense of wonder and lovingly pass it on to their children.

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