Last week, I sat in the grass with friends and their horses. Their newborn foals ran to me, curious, sweet, and playful.
The sun shone bright and warm, so I wore my medical cooling vest with ice packs in each pocket. I wore it for my own benefit, but I think the foals enjoyed it almost as much on that hot day. They kept licking my vest for it must have felt refreshing. Then they began to amuse themselves by playing with my shoes and laces. One tugged playfully at my sleeve.
As I watched the foals, I was struck by just how happy they were to be alive. They ran in circles, tumbled down the hillside, then rested and bathed in the sunlight.
It reminded me that life is a gift that is meant to be celebrated. The little foals seemed to marvel at everything, as one does when experiencing a first. Like them, I want to live with that awe and wonder. In some ways, I am, for as I regain health simple pleasures such as the ability to eat foods I used to carry an EpiPen for, walking, and even this visit now seem like miracles. I feel a thrill in my heart when I breath in fresh air, stare at the vast blue sky and distant hills, and smell the sweet grass.
I enjoy these things so much because for most of the past six years I have primarily lived in bed, and I still spend much of my time there. It's sobering to realize how many pleasures I am oblivious to until they are taken away. How many daily blessings am I still blind too, and how do I reconnect them with wonder? I don't exactly know, but I think the advice of Mary Oliver is a good place to start.
"Instructions for living a life:
Pay attention.
Be astonished.
Tell about it."
But lest I make it seem as if living with wonder is complete bliss, let me add that wonder also requires an open heart. If I am to poignantly feel the joys of this world, I must deeply feel the hurts too. A numb heart may dull the sorrow, but it will keep me from fully experiencing the joy. And so when it was time to gently pat the horses goodbye, I left inspired to rejoice and find the wonder in this hard yet happy life that the Lord has given me.
I enjoy these things so much because for most of the past six years I have primarily lived in bed, and I still spend much of my time there. It's sobering to realize how many pleasures I am oblivious to until they are taken away. How many daily blessings am I still blind too, and how do I reconnect them with wonder? I don't exactly know, but I think the advice of Mary Oliver is a good place to start.
"Instructions for living a life:
Pay attention.
Be astonished.
Tell about it."
But lest I make it seem as if living with wonder is complete bliss, let me add that wonder also requires an open heart. If I am to poignantly feel the joys of this world, I must deeply feel the hurts too. A numb heart may dull the sorrow, but it will keep me from fully experiencing the joy. And so when it was time to gently pat the horses goodbye, I left inspired to rejoice and find the wonder in this hard yet happy life that the Lord has given me.
