“To every man, in his acquaintance with new art, there comes a moment when that which before was meaningless first lifts, as it were, one corner of the curtain that hides its mystery, and reveals, in a burst of delight which later and fuller understanding can hardly ever equal, one glimpse of the indefinite possibilities within.” C.S. Lewis | Out of the Silent Planet
“What has been the biggest
thing you’ve learned this summer?” my friend asked a few weeks ago.
“Hmm…” I tried to
answer, and I think I said something about languages and cultures, but I was
truly thinking:
I don’t know... Surely I
learned something. Maybe I need to be home to realize it?
A couple of weeks ago in
Finland, my friend and I had this conversation. I had no idea what I
had learned. I hadn’t even thought about it amidst the constant pack-and-move
routine that characterized my summer. I realized there was something, but
I couldn’t put my finger on it for a few more hours.
And a few days later, as I
was desperately trying to fall asleep on my flight from Reykjavik to Boston, it
hit me.
However, up until this
evening, I’ve still struggled to put into words what exactly it was.
“I learned that God does so
much more than we could imagine.”
"I’ve learned that
there is so much potential in what God could do that we will never realize
ourselves.”
I’ve stumbled through it a
few times in sentences like those, but I haven’t been content with my
explanations.
Today I read this quote
above (s/o to Nations). It’s exactly what I’ve been feeling and
trying to express in words.
A burst of delight which later and fuller understanding can
hardly ever equal, one glimpse of the indefinite possibilities within.
This feeling started to
become evident when I walked up to this waterfall last Tuesday. It’s not the
biggest one. It’s not the most famous. It’s just off the highway at the end of
a short gravel road. I learned about it via Instagram and I actually missed the
exit and had to turn around because there wasn't a sign.
But I was the only person
there that morning and I was speechless.
As I looked at it (and
every other part of Iceland), I thought:
This can’t be earth.
This isn’t even the cool one!
I didn’t even know a
place could look like this.
I formed the hypothesis
that God created Iceland to remind us that He is infinitely capable of doing things that we'd never think of
ourselves.
(At least that's what I
gathered - I'll ask Him one day)
If I knew nothing about
Iceland and someone told me this was the only waterfall to see, I would have
been content with it. All I could do was stare at it. The amount of water
pouring over the rocks, the clarity of the water. It blew me away.
But it isn’t even great
enough to have a sign!
I wondered, how
many other incredible things have I passed without knowing? Not just in Iceland, but in the past
couple of months, and in my 22 years of life.
How many incredible
things are ahead? Both on Highway
35 right now and wherever I end up going next May.
Looking back now, I realize
that all throughout the summer I caught glimpses of this thought.
I’d arrive and think “Wow,
I never knew this language, place, food, resource, concept,
person, belief, idea, landform, etc… existed!”
Mountains made of white
stone, fields with free-roaming cattle, generous strangers, geysers, dishes I
ate but couldn't pronounce, miles of rainbow wildflowers, picking fruit in the
front yard, the clearest blue waters, fog-capped cliffs…
And I’ve realized that my
thoughts this summer can be summed up in this: if God is so infinitely creative with rocks and water, how
much more can He do with His children?
