You know what I had appreciated this day on vacation?

  • My husband spending all day on the slopes with the kids.
  • That he doesn’t expect me to be outside in the freezing cold pretending to like skiing.
  • That he spends hours on end, hunched over, teaching and guiding each child  – and doesn’t mind his burning, aching back when evening falls, because he sees the pain as a small price to invest in building a common pastime for our family.
  • The moments I spent with rosy cheeked and frozen fingered kids, as they sipped thick, sweet, hot cocoa in the heated lodge and told me how awesome their last ski runs were.

All those moments were snapshots I consciously clicked and logged away in the photo album of my heart.

But scrolling through the pictures this morning I was stopped short when I came to this one.

It’s dad and daughter on the bunny hill lift.

Let your mind register for a moment.

My husband is a grown man (obviously).

That lift chair must be about 4′ wide.

The focus of the shot is on father and child.

But look at the tree branches.

They are MASSIVE.

Because the people in the shot are closer, presumably they are larger in the frame because of proximity. So the branches appear smaller, by comparison, than they actually are.

So they actually are more massive than they appear in the photo.

How large must they really be?

Twelve feet?


I don’t know.

What a majestic tree.

And on that day I didn’t notice.

I was so focused on my little world – my bubble of activity, that I missed it.

I snapped shots of the snow covered forrest, of the mountains, of the family.

But I didn’t notice the grandeur of the lone tree.

The grandeur of the individual.


How many other grandeur individuals am I missing?

In my dervish of daily activities – special and oh-so-un-special, what are my senses not sensing? What is my memory failing to remind me? What is the message that is niggling at my consciousness, begging to be placed squarely on the front burner – full time?

That each of us is an individual, grand and beautiful. You, me, our kids, neighbors, the guy in the grocery store line. . . .

That all we have to do is look, deeply, with magnifying eyes at what is right before us – and we’ll find it – but only if we look. Take time to notice.

And here it is again: the message that gratitude precedes the miracle.

Look for it everywhere – that Grandeur in the individual.

The brother who reminds Sister to hug Little Brother too. He’s teaching sister that we all matter, we all love love. . . .

The Awe in the ordinary.

The plumped, smooth, red skin of a fresh strawberry and the gentle perfect slope into each individual seed bed.

The Mystery in the mundane.

The blessing of warm soft towels from the dryer.

And please – let me know what you find.


4 thoughts on “Awestruck

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