I drop the bags on the counter and he asks if I need some help.
I follow his voice into the dining room and I know I shouldn’t say it, but the words tumble out anyway.
“You are always working,” I say.
He is still in his work boots and vest and it’s after 9. “Just checking email,” he says as his fingers fly across the keyboard. “Fellowship feeds.”
I put the groceries away and eat one more buckeye while standing at the kitchen sink. I lick the chocolate from my fingers and wish I hadn’t eaten it. I’m on day 20 of the 17 day diet, and those 2 buckeyes mean I’ll have to start back over at day 1.
I follow the noise of his work and stand in the doorway. I sigh, but only because there is something quite comforting to see him this way.
Glasses on, fingers on keys, pen in his mouth, books opened all around the screen of his laptop… the mystery of his life’s work, playing out on the dining room table.
It’s all a mystery to me, the way God has chosen to intermingle the steel toe boots and frayed flannel shirt with the commentaries and the laptop and the late-night sermon writing and email sending.
The way God works and how we keep walking these steps He’s already ordered, even though we never know for sure that we are walking the right way or even if we are walking at the right pace…all of it, it’s a pure mystery to be sure.
But what if we believe this mystery, this wonder of God, is a gift?
And what if we keep walking in our boots and frayed shirts and try to keep such pace with God that we become so intermingled with only Him that the pure wonder of Him burns within our hearts?
I sit in the glow of the tree and I watch him while he sits, hunched over the table, preparing his words for Sunday and I see him yawn.
And I catch a glimpse of Wonder.