Usually I know by Monday what I’m going to blog about and I have it ready to post on Tuesday morning. Usually, but not always. Yesterday I had all these ideas I was juggling—old feet, diets, old hair, and hope—but I kept dropping the balls. So I left it to this morning and, sure enough, a text message from my daughter told me what I needed to write about.
She has just returned from a
retreat on the Holy Spirit—which was amazing, she tells me. And she is
currently in a professional conference on her area of service (visual impairment),
and she reports that it is also amazing. Our son just reported on an amazing
trip to Mexico, and he’s enthusiastic about an upcoming trip to Guatemala. God
is doing such good things in both their lives that amazement is the
right word. We see God answering our prayers for our kids above and beyond what
we imagined.
But this morning as I read her
message, I felt the contrast between the amazement that seems to define their
lives and the sheer ordinariness of my life at the moment. It’s not that I’m
jealous of my kids; it’s just that the contrast is interesting.
Not that I’m opposed to
ordinariness. Quite the opposite. I think of the spirituality of Brother
Lawrence—sensing God in the ordinary. Some of my favorite books have ordinary
in their titles: The Sacred Ordinary, Ordinary Grace, etc., etc. I’ve
defined my life mission as “seeing and expressing the grace of God found in the
ordinariness of life.” That’s what my poetry is all about. Living here in the
retirement community, peace and ordinariness are to be the tone of my
lifestyle.
But when is ordinary just too
ordinary?
Am I too old for amazement?
Amazement is an interesting
word. In Old English the verb form meant “to confuse, stupefy, bewilder.” The
earliest use in modern English (12th-13th century) meant “to
stun, confound, bewilder, put into confusion.” But over time the meaning has
shifted to what we mean today when we say, “I was amazed!” We mean, “I was
filled with wonder or astonishment.” The negative has become positive.
I remember times as a youth or
young adult (which means any age under 60) when I was filled with a joyful
wonder that made me lift my arms, jump up, run around, and hug strangers. And I
had the bodily energy to do all that. That wasn’t my normal life, of course, but
times of a heavenly fire in my bones added that spark that made life exciting.
Any more, a fire in my bones sounds
painful. Mild arthritis is hard enough to handle.
I do experience moments of
amazement in worship. But if the music is too loud, the congregation too bodily
enthusiastic, I get dizzy, and all I want is to escape to some quiet place. More
and more I appreciate silent worship that lets my body relax. Of course, if I
get too relaxed, I go to sleep. Oh well.
I experience wonder when I walk in the woods, stand by the ocean, or gaze into the heart of a rose. It’s a quiet wonder and I’m not sure it reaches the level of amazement. But maybe that doesn’t matter.
I’m thinking now of some recent
grace sightings that have filled me with gentle wonder: the delighted look on my
friend’s face when she turned around and saw me; the sight of my one-year-old
great grandson discovering his first puddle; a poem that moved my spirit, made
me say “Yes!;” the taste of an orange; Vivaldi’s “Summer Season;” soft sheets;
a picnic with just Hal and me, splurging on hamburgers. All grace.
Still, I admit to a longing for
more. I wouldn’t mind being so filled with wonder I tremble with joy for days
afterward. Could my body take it? I hope so. Maybe. Or do I have to wait until
heaven?
In the meantime (which is more
kind than mean), I’ll forego the fire in my bones for a candle in the window.
And a gentle amazement.