Long ago we drove, three friends and me, for hours across town, beyond the grapevine, into the valley, then up Sierra’s side to roads end.

We walked with dried foods and rolled up beds. For days we hiked, through cedar and pine, up to the place where nothing more could grow. Above the timberline we lay down on granite ground.

As the sun sank into night’s duvet, we looked up at the theater of the sky at the night performers: stars, planets, meteors, satellites, planes, but mostly stars leaving us entranced with awe.

They say there is too much man-made light for us to see this show in every-day life.

But then, there are other spaces to explore. Instead of looking above, we look below, and there it is again, awe springing out of the ground. Spring bulbs from the thawing mound of dirt. Spring and summer sprout all wonder—fritillarias, lavender, the blooming rose give way to autumn’s aster, mums all sing. Fount of bounty, plants burst forth. Tomatoes, corn, beans, leeks, root vegetables coming out like miracles of flavor out of the ground below.

Do grocery stores overflowing keep me from seeing the wonder that springs from the ground? Are the lights of modern agriculture and commerce too bright for me to see this other wonder of God?

Does my own focus only on the path ahead, my list of things to do today, keep me from seeing wonder? I want to check things off my list and move on. And then I must remember to add four other things I’ve just thought of to the other to-do's. Working my way through the list, this is my day. Where's my backpack when I need it?

But I don’t need to backpack for days or harvest a homegrown bounty to see the wonders of God.

Around me, people. Little worlds. Each one a universe of tragedy and comedy—epic, simple, different like stars or plants, collections of failure and success and seeing the good to which we all say yes, beautiful as the first snow blanketing like a wedding veil. Every person their own winter’s tale.

I only have to pause and look above the path or below or around me to see the awe of the shepherd, farmer, father, friend. Throughout the day and night again, in awe I live at home, at work, above, below, all around, alive and living in the song of being found. So sing the simple lullaby of awe not for the wonder of things made but the maker whose splendor will never fade.

All praise to You, my God, this night,
For all the blessings of the light.
Keep me, O keep me, King of kings,
Beneath the shelter of Your wings.

Forgive me, Lord, for this I pray,
The wrong that I have done this day.
May peace with God and neighbor be,
Before I sleep restored to me.

Lord, may I be at rest in You
And sweetly sleep the whole night thro'.
Refresh my strength, for Your own sake,
So I may serve You when I wake.

Praise God, from whom all blessings flow;
Praise Him all creatures here below;
Praise Him above, ye heav'nly host;
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.