The yards between Katie Wernert’s and mine all bled together like one collective playground. We innocently took tomatoes from her neighbor’s garden and sold them on the street. There were no boundary lines for little girls who were discovering the world. Between her house and mine was a stretch of life waiting for our search.
Some nights we played until the fireflies were on display and filled jars with these flickering luminaries that we hoped might last all summer in our confinement.
Caterpillars were pets and the stars were a light show and digging to China was a possibility.
These were the years where I learned that I was made for wonder.
When I hit my twenties at race-pace, seeking to make an imprint for God on the world around me, with a one-sided perspective on a God that never slept (so why should I?), something in me longed for these days when I went to bed with dirt under my fingernails and a plan to continue building that fort out back tomorrow.
Wonder happened when I {continue reading over here —>}
