On wonder

and whether or not the angels get to.

won·der

[ˈwəndər]

NOUN

1. a feeling of surprise mingled with admiration, caused by something beautiful, unexpected, unfamiliar, or inexplicable.

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sometimes i stop and think, “i wonder what angels see.” i wonder what they think about as they work around the clock to shepherd our souls this way and that; around this pitfall and past that temptation and towards the light.  

i’m always noticing tiny things about this dimension, wondering why it turned out the way it did, and wondering if the Powers That Be notice or appreciate or loathe or laugh at the way things turned out.

the tiny details of this reality make me wonder if angels notice them, most of all, while they’re busy watching over us. i wonder if the outdated wallpaper being absentmindedly picked at and peeling off the wall makes them giggle about our subconscious habits; i wonder if they notice the crumbs under the driver’s seat that always bother me, too; i wonder if they notice the trusty coffee maker that hasn’t been cleaned in months and know whether or not there’s mold growing somewhere in its crevices; i wonder if they admire my fuzzy, green blanket covered in images of herbal sprigs and mushrooms and pots of honey and find it as pretty as i do; i wonder if they watch me purchase new shoes and know the depths of labor that went into crafting them and all the hands that touched them to make them a suitable buy; i wonder if they watch me shoving bags and cans and pots and pans into pantry nooks and crannies to finagle the appearance of a kitchen well organized; i wonder what they think of it all, of us. do they toil 24/7 to fight off the hungry demons, letting the details go unnoticed? or do they sit there, meticulously calculating the impact of each speck of dust and how it will help steer our souls in the right direction?

most of all, i wonder if they get to enjoy wondering. of all the strange things human beings get to experience, wondering seems to be one of those few redeeming qualities. it’s more than thinking—that dangerous act that might include worried, paranoid, self-sabotaging, vicious things…it’s that intriguing, weightless, delectable, charming experience of simply getting to marvel at one idea after another with endless curiosity.

can you imagine how boring life would be if we were all omniscient and never got to wonder about things?

i should probably envy the angels, but there’s something about being stuck in this little meat suit—with constant stresses and achy joints and puzzles around every corner and hair that never quite cooperates and hot coffee burning tongues and listening to birdsong and getting to see new clouds in the sky every morning and making friends and infinite life lessons being learned the hard way—that feels so deliciously unique to being human that i wonder if the angels sometimes envy us.

of course, i’ll never know, at least not in this life, but i still like to wonder.

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