What do the Sequoias, Sydney Carton’s sacrifice in A Tale of Two Cities, an albatross, and the ruins of a mansion in Mississippi have in common?
For most people, probably nothing. For me, they are all on-ramps to awe.
Lately I have been pondering what it looks like to intentionally cultivate a sense of awe. I know it is a critical element in our lives. Those who guard themselves against this emotion that is both wonderful and terrifying have closed the door to a major avenue of connection with God. To be in awe is to be reminded of our vulnerability. Even in the ecstasy of wonderment is the realization we could be undone. Yet our spirit feeds on this. Each encounter with the fingerprints of God is a shaft of light that charges our spirit like Moses on Mount Sinai.
Many times, if we are willing, God will bring opportunities for awe to us. But I think there are also patterns we can observe about ourselves, based on our design. We were each made to experience awe in different colors, shapes, and sizes. Your on-ramps to awe could look as random as the list I gave above, because it is your individual spirit responding to the color of light that it knows.
Sometimes it can take a little digging to understand what is happening. I have been attracted to abandoned buildings for as long as I can remember. But there was something more than curiosity and a sense of the mysterious. Something deep would stir in me. Really, Meg? An abandoned building? A ruin? Well, it took a few rounds of asking the “why” question, but finally I understood. I can feel time when I am there. We are generally not aware of time itself; we just live in it. But in that context, the contrast of time that is moving and time that is standing still causes me to actually FEEL the flow of it. THAT is what causes the awe.
I have also tried to differentiate between soul and spirit. I think our soul engages in awe, but it doesn’t lead. It is our spirit that leads. So, some stories inspire my soul. A lot of “triumph over adversity” stories do that for me. But ever since I was a kid, the story of Sydney Carton taking the place of the French aristocrat at the guillotine connects with something deeper than my soul. Stories that involve sacrificial love or forgiveness before it is asked for are on-ramps to awe for me.
Some things I know will inspire awe, though I have not yet experienced it. The albatross. I don’t know why, but there is a color of light in those birds that my spirit knows well. Just thinking about seeing one moves me to tears. Someday I will go to one of their nesting sites and meet God in a whole new, yet familiar way.
Other things draw my spirit, soul, and body together and set me up for an awe experience. Being out on the water does this, especially if I am doing something IN the water, like waterskiing. The activity itself may not create awe, but I am tied to the water in a way that it sets the stage for God to meet me.
What does it look like for you to build on-ramps to awe?
What kinds of experiences in this earthly life remind you of the God who made you? How did He design you to marvel at His fingerprints? How has He designed you to be a willing participant in the immensity of Himself and His handiwork? I wonder what would happen if you spent some time looking at the trail of awe in your life. Are there some things you have brushed aside because you didn’t understand? What if you were to revisit it with the “why” question.
As you ponder your experiences and your design, you will find that they come together as signs pointing to the God you were made to love. The facets of God’s nature that are most deeply rooted in your spirit. We all come to know God experientially in our lifetime, but even more central to our existence are the things He placed there before the beginning. Those are the colors of light that our spirit knows.
For me, the vast majority of my awe experiences point me back to two portrayals of God: The Ancient of Days and The Creator of the Universe. To think that someday I will see this God face to face; the most blindingly wonderful awe experience of all. I will be home.
Until then, I will continue to look for Him in new and familiar places.
Megan Caldecourt
Copyright November 2022
