Wonderstruck (4 page)

The doctor wore a typical white coat, stethoscope hanging like a horseshoe around his neck. For more than an hour after his quick exam, the doctor peppered Joel with questions that had nothing to do with his medical condition. The doctor wanted to know about the expedition, the team members, the peculiarities of the Highland Way. When Joel was dismissed, the doctor shoved a bottle of antibiotics into his hand then told the receptionist to charge Joel one pound for the visit, the equivalent of about $1.65 at the time. God’s provision surprised us all. The next day Joel began feeling better. I couldn’t help but think the medicine and the bill were coated in pixie dust.

Our longest and most difficult hike of the journey was a thirty-eight-kilometer stretch between the Bridge of Orchy and Glen Coe. The day began with patchy skies and a few light showers that were soon replaced with ominous clouds and pouring rain. We found shelter in the King’s House, one of Scotland’s oldest licensed inns, which had some much-needed glory hallelujahs. The manager showed us favor by allowing us to bring in some of our own food to enjoy alongside the pub fare. Our quick stop became a two-hour Scottish smorgasbord of delicacies ranging from fresh-grilled venison burgers to the salt-and-vinegar chips we packed with us.

When we returned to the trail, we met the greatest challenge of the hike, Devil’s Staircase, a steep, rocky climb compounded by rivulets, gusty wind, and pelting hail. Yet the treacherous miles and icy conditions were made easier by conversation, encouragement, and singing tunes that ranged from hymns to Queen.

At every turn we experienced all the ingredients of divine pixie dust: grace and kindness, generosity and favor. In the evenings we returned to Genesis, exploring the faithfulness and goodness of God.

By the time we returned to Edinburgh to fly home, I felt an inward glow. The days had been long. The mileage challenging. But something about the adventure cultivated life, not just a flicker or flash, but a beaming hope of life with a future. The wonder of divine expectation took up residence inside me.

On our final night together, Joel’s plans to dine at a specific Italian restaurant were thwarted by our tight schedule. We found ourselves searching the streets of Edinburgh for a restaurant. The most enthusiastic foodies ran ahead from one outdoor menu display to the next, narrowing down the selection.

Juliet found a French restaurant tucked away on a quiet cobblestone street. We gathered cozily around a wooden table. The white linens gossiped of the tasty food to come. After placing our orders, we sat around like people who had known each other for years. We told stories and cracked jokes. Our voices bounced off the stone floor, joining the chorus of what had become a full restaurant.

“Look!” Joel said. His eyes were wide as he pointed toward pieces of framed art across the room. “Do you know what that says?”

We turned to what grabbed his attention. Above a row of photography featuring faces from around the world sat four larger pieces of framed art. Each featured French words scrawled in colored pencil, finger paint, and crayon, perhaps by children, on backgrounds of black, white, yellow, and blue. I squinted to read but, seeing it was French, stopped and looked to Joel for a translation.

Joel leaned forward to interpret the paintings:

“In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. Now the earth was formless and void . . .” He continued reading until our bodies were covered with goose pimples. The final painting read, “On the seventh day, God rested.”

We flew across the Atlantic, drove 605 miles, and hiked 50 more to arrive in a French restaurant in Scotland that greeted us with the seven days of creation in Genesis—the very passages we explored that week. As if that weren’t enough, the name of the restaurant was
Le Sept
, “The Seven.”

I felt as though we were living a fairy tale.

The server delivered the finest food any of us had eaten in a long time, and we celebrated. We deliciated in the lavish love of God. Our bellies satisfied, we exited the restaurant and searched for the nearest bus stop.

We stood next to the road, craning our necks for Bus 42.
Behind us stood a large library with giant oaken doors.

Next thing we knew, Joel was pointing again, this time toward large letters on the front of the building:

“Let there be light.”

We were wonderstruck. Our jaws dropped. Each word seemed to call us by name.

As if carving himself into the side of a building right before our eyes, God revealed himself again. Now he didn’t appear out of nowhere. Rather, in this holy exclamation point of a moment, God came into focus in such a way that we could not deny he’d been with us the whole time.

God had been hiding in plain sight along the Highland Way. None of our encounters was chance; none of our experiences accidental. God not only heard the petition for pixie dust but answered in ways that stirred the wonder of divine expectation in all of our hearts.

The experience revealed I still lived with a lid on my prayer life. Petitioning for pixie dust removes any sense of “praying it safe.” Asking God to unleash his mercy and grace and goodness and love is like boldly looking into the eyes of God and saying, “Surprise me!” The wonder is that he does, if we have eyes to see. Whether in the shining eyes of a baby, a sunset that stops our conversation, or an eight-day trek culminating in holy goose bumps, God reveals his grandeur. And these revelations beckon us to go deeper with him.

Many of us say we want to experience God, but we don’t
look for his majesty. We travel life’s paths with our heads down, focused on the next step with our careers or families or retirement plans. But we don’t
really
expect God to show up with divine wonder.

God invites us to look up, open our eyes to the wonder all around us, and seize every opportunity to encounter him. This isn’t a passive expectation but an active one, the kind prompting us to elbow our way to Jesus, knowing he longs to meet us with a hearty embrace and sometimes even twirl us through the air.

How many of us are praying for pixie dust? How many of us expect Jesus to show up and display his presence and power? How many of us are living alert to God and his work in every area of our lives?

The wonder of divine expectation isn’t in the way we ask but in the way God answers. While in Scotland, we didn’t just pray for pixie dust, we lived fully awake for God’s response. When we encountered those divine moments, we didn’t dismiss them as coincidence but gave thanks for even the subtlest expressions of God’s loving care.

We expected Jesus to show up—and he did! From organic carrots to one-pound medical bills to French artwork, God interacted with us, blessed us, and swung us in his arms. I believe this is the kind of life we’re meant for—not just on the Highland Way but every day.

God is not merely at your fingertips but within your grasp. Live each day like a child digging through a treasure chest, rifling
for the next discovery. Open your arms and your eyes to the God who stands in plain sight and works miracles in your midst. Look for him in your workdays and weekends, in your meeting-filled Mondays and your lazy Saturdays. Search for him in the snowy sunsets and Sabbaths, seasons of Lent and sitting at your table. Pray for—and expect—wonder. For when you search for God, you
will
discover him.

Live awake and aware because the wonder awaits.

M
Y FOREARMS AND KNEES
pressed hard against the oak floor. The wave of emotion I desperately tried to shove back crashed over me. My body convulsed involuntarily. I rolled onto my back, laboring for breath. The grief overcame me: I gave in to the weeping.

Time becomes immeasurable for those who mourn. To this day I have no idea how long I lay there, ceiling blurring in and out of focus, until my body went limp. Wholly spent, my mind wandered through the events that had brought me there. This wasn’t my first encounter with affliction, loss, or pain, but what made the experience overwhelming was the level of shock and awe. Overloaded by relentless adversity, I fell prey to what the military describes as a spectacular display of force that paralyzes an adversary’s perception of the battlefield, destroying its will to fight.

The series of circumstances that reduced me to a salty pool of tears had begun months before with a collection of life’s
smaller inconveniences. A few months earlier, Leif was returning from a weekend of volunteering when the transmission in our car failed. Stranded nearly two hours from our home, the vehicle required towing back to Denver. Two weeks later we were still waiting for our car, our
only
car, to return from the repair shop. Though this was barely an inconvenience compared to the events yet to come, in the back of my mind I couldn’t help but ask
why
. Why does life crumble sometimes?

A day before we picked up the vehicle, I ventured downstairs to place fresh linens on our guest bed and experienced an unfamiliar sensation: my socks felt moist. I pushed my palm against the carpeting, and water sloshed between my fingers. An old copper water pipe had snapped in the guest bathroom, flooding our downstairs.

That’s when we filed our first insurance claim and discovered what most homeowners already know: after the deductible, the insurance company only assumes responsibility for restoring the damaged area to preflood conditions. But if we orchestrated the repairs ourselves and covered the additional costs, we could provide a much-needed update to our 1970s-style basement.

Skimming online ads, I found a licensed, bonded repairman named Bruce who provided competitive prices and outstanding references that we carefully checked. He promised completion of work in three to four days. As naïve, optimistic homeowners, we believed him.

The next day Bruce returned to our home with his friend
Allen. The work took longer than anticipated. A few days became a week. A week rolled into two. Then three. Then four. Then five. Would the project ever end?

Along the way, we started to piece together their story. Bruce and Allen were both ex-felons. When Leif discovered this tidbit, he shared details of the years he had spent working with the federal government in security. I still don’t know the details, but after that conversation they proceeded to refer to Leif as “Marshall” and called me “Ma’am” for the rest of their time with us.

One day Bruce approached Leif about borrowing a hair dryer.
That’s a nontraditional way to dry grout
, Leif thought, but he decided to loan him one anyway. Half an hour later, Leif detected a humming sound in the garage. Bruce was using the hairdryer to peel off the marijuana stickers from the bumper of his truck. I’m still not sure if that’s what Jesus meant about being salt and light.

We had to remind Bruce and Allen of the importance of keeping quiet since we worked from home. The duo was responsive in turning down their radio, but that was the only reduction in volume. In addition to the screeching of the tile saw and the banging of nails into drywall, they bickered like Jack Lemmon and Walter Matthau from
Grumpy Old Men
. To pass the time, they harmonized show tunes slightly off key. Our musical construction team was quite fond of “Circle of Life” from
The Lion King
and “Defying Gravity” from
Wicked
, ballads they belted out multiple times a day.

Bruce and Allen were with us for six noisy weeks. The repairs cost three times as much as anticipated, and by the time they left, I knew I’d never be able to get “Tomorrow” from
Annie
out of my mind.

Around the same time, several of our clients informed us that because of the changes in the economy, they simply could not fulfill their financial commitments. While we might have been able to absorb the loss at another time, our margin was already eroded from the unexpected car and home repairs. As we balanced the checkbook one night, the stress that accompanies financial overcommitment took up residence in our lives. Even though I knew in my head that God wasn’t to blame, I wondered,
Why, God?

Then I received some unexpected news. I called the doctor one day for a prescription refill. She agreed to call in the medicine to the pharmacy but suggested that I come into the office for a physical exam. I protested that I was young and didn’t need one every year.

“We performed some tests last year, and the results were inconclusive,” she said.

“I received a card in the mail from you that said everything was normal,” I responded.

“I handwrote a note on the card,” she said.

“I think I would have noticed that!” I exclaimed, attempting not to come unglued.

After scheduling an appointment, I shared the news with Leif.

“That missed note might explain some things going on in your body,” he said.

Sometimes I joke with friends that I’m like Dory from
Finding Nemo
, who suffers from short-term memory loss. I’m known to lose my sunglasses on top of my head and call myself dozens of time a day to relocate my ever-lost cell phone. I’m the most forgetful in regards to my body. Over the last few years I’ve grown accustomed to various foods making me ill and learned to push through all the moments I don’t feel well. Even if I notice the discomfort or sickness, I don’t remember it for very long.