Quotes About Wonder

there's something else, something quite beautiful.

An open-ended question invites curiosity.

Death is a terrible thing, Tom," he sobbed. "Life's worse," said The Wounded Bad Man gently. He was seated apart, with the baby in his arms, shielding it from the sun with his broad sombrero. "Death can only get you once, but Life is a ghost dance. I wonder what it has in store for you, kidlets. I wonder.

What was it? What could it-- His last thought was surprise.

To fantasies', he said. 'Tell me about yours.' His eyes were a bright, liquid blue, and his lips were parted in a half smile.

Evincing the infinite— the size of your palm— what it holds is beyond you, curious, at hand.

As I looked out into the night sky, across all those infinite stars, it made me realize how insignificant they are.

The universe can be incredible! Just try to take this moment in. This is really something!

Space is an inspirational concept that allows you to dream big.

Our experiences of God matter—those sacred moments that defy the very rational capabilities we are so keen to rely on.

Anyway, we don't need to get into all that. My point is simply, no, King David, the heavens are not telling the glory of God (Ps. 19:1)—at least not without a lot of heavy theological lifting and perhaps a double bourbon. The heavens actually freak me out and make me wonder whether there is a God at all

I have found that the prompts to adjusting my understanding of God are all around me—literally. The very heavens are shouting them, and the word they are shouting most clearly is "mystery.

How they hell does it do that?

That's where we humans make a mistake. We don't see the utterly amazing when it comes to us disguised as the ordinary.

So I wonder what it is this need to tell. To animate somehow the deathly stillness of the profoundest beauty. Breathe life in the telling.

I once had a book on the stars but now I don't. My memory serves but not stellar, ha. So I made up constellations. I made a Bear and a Goat but maybe not where they are supposed to be, I made some for the animals that once were, the ones I know about.

Something like laughter. That a flower could be this small, this fleeting, that a snowflake could be so large, so persistent. The improbable simplicity. I groaned. Why don't we have a word for the utterance between laughing and crying?

The most indisputable beauty may be the one that people cannot ever touch. That God exists up there somehow, in the peaks and remote lakes and the sharp wind. Who knows why that picture stirs joy. It speaks directly to our impermanence and our smallness.

The flakes stuck in my eyelashes. They fell on my sleeves. Huge. Flowers and stars. They fell onto each other, held their shapes, became small piles of perfect asterisks and blooms tumbled together in their discrete geometries like children's blocks.

One thing we are learning to be sure of: life does not get less strange.

And in each loss was some further exile. Celine wondered just then what the word "home" must mean to her. Probably a space within the relative safety of her own skin.

God is not an "object" of scientific observation in this world. Even if you understood every individual part of a Ford motor car, took it apart and analyzed each piece, you still wouldn't find Henry Ford. And the car would no longer run. Yet a whole [running] Ford motor car is a beautiful testimony to a person named Henry Ford. God may not be a thing in His world, yet the whole thing can bear testimony to it's maker.

I forget what lies behind," wrote Paul, but he didn't forget past events, because he had just listed them. He forgot their meaning. They no longer meant shame; they meant glory and wonder.

Maybe it's not just a metaphor, and maybe mystery...paradox...wonder...aren't LESS real than this world, but MORE real than this world.