“And all they that heard it wondered at those things which were told them by the shepherds.
But Mary kept all these things, and pondered them in her heart.” - Luke 2:18-19
I wonder as I wander, but when I ponder, my roots go deep.
My eyes may marvel, but will my mind meditate?
Someone has observed, “Children have lost the capacity to lie in the grass and watch a caterpillar crawl across a leaf.”
We’ve lost it. It hasn’t always been that way. Let me tell you a story.
We have raised many children. We almost lost count.
Not really, but sometimes it seems like it.
People say “Whoa, that’s a lot of kids!”
And I’m like, “What? It’s less than 10. We’re not even in the double digits!”
Each one is memorable, but there’s something about the first.
I’ll never forget the night Amanda learned to laugh.
We lived in an on-campus apartment at Denver Seminary and she was in an infant seat on the couch.
Who knows what started the whole thing.
Once we discovered she was capable of that response, the idea was to do it again, to keep it going.
It was so incredibly entertaining. Our little girl had a sense of humor.
Her round face and chubby cheeks shook as the convulsive cackling bubbled up from deep inside our little bundle of joy.
That’s how we spent the evening. It went on and on.
There wasn’t anything we wanted better than to make Amanda laugh.
And laugh she did. I remember wondering later how we had filled our time before God gave us this beautiful little girl.
We wondered, we marveled, but did we ponder, did we meditate? Not at the time.
It seems like there wasn’t time. But we saved the memory, so we could savor it later.
That’s appropriate, because I’m told that the word for meditate has parallels with a cow chewing her cud.
She stores it away, then brings it out to chew it again.
Another time this dear little daughter had learned to sit up on her own.
A wonderful time of life: “Cherish the days of immobility!”
You could put her down and know right where she’d be a half an hour later.
Sitting near her on the floor, I for some reason decided to lean forward. Then I noticed that she copied my actions! What fun!
I told Susi about it and we took turns leaning in front of her and watching her lean down in imitation.
Then we’d laugh and she’d laugh. It went on and on.
What was that all about? Well it wasn’t just the behavior that amused us.
We also had an awareness that some higher functioning of the brain was kicking in.
At that point in her development she observed, she got motivated, she decided and she followed through!
Wow! Emerging consciousness in a six month old!
Then there was the “Johnny Jump Up.”
An amazing invention that allows you to place an infant safely in a sling on the end of a spring and adjust it so that toes and feet just touch the floor.
As the baby realizes the results of pushing off - Viola! - you create an awareness of self-determination. And again a smile lights up her face.
The sobering thought that accompanies my memories of Amanda in a “Johnny Jump Up” was how it freed me up to get back to reading books and writing papers.
At one particularly stressful point while writing my thesis, I noticed Amanda bouncing away as I went from one room into another.
(The JJU always had to be mounted in a doorway.)
It slowed me down just long enough to stop and think - to ponder.
I wondered, “Five years from now, which will be more important, My thesis or my daughter?”
Even in the midst of my “publish or perish” crisis the answer was obvious.
I knelt down and looked at the little round face, peering into those deep blue eyes.
Her response never disappointed me. A smile lit up her face and enlightened my priorities.
Twenty nine years later as I sit in my office writing this, my thesis sits on a shelf, collecting dust.
It’s full of profound insights into “The Apologetic of C.S. Lewis as an Art and a Science.”
There are even a few people other than my mentor who have read it.
But across the room there sits a framed photo from my daughter’s wedding.
We are emerging from a stand of white birch trees as I bring her down the trail that leads to the altar.
We are pausing.
As she holds onto my arm with one hand and her bouquet with the other I am turned to speak.
Her face shows that she is listening. I wouldn’t trade that for a thousand theses.
We have shared the wonder of life, with all its amazing discoveries.
We have pondered, and yes, at times, we have meditated.
Because so many “moments” in life have import far beyond the “blink of an eye” that it takes to experience them.
But if we see them for what they are, we will treasure them.
And we’ll bring them back out to enjoy and benefit from for years to come.
But Mary kept all these things, and pondered them in her heart.” - Luke 2:18-19
I wonder as I wander, but when I ponder, my roots go deep.
My eyes may marvel, but will my mind meditate?
Someone has observed, “Children have lost the capacity to lie in the grass and watch a caterpillar crawl across a leaf.”
We’ve lost it. It hasn’t always been that way. Let me tell you a story.
We have raised many children. We almost lost count.
Not really, but sometimes it seems like it.
People say “Whoa, that’s a lot of kids!”
And I’m like, “What? It’s less than 10. We’re not even in the double digits!”
Each one is memorable, but there’s something about the first.
I’ll never forget the night Amanda learned to laugh.
We lived in an on-campus apartment at Denver Seminary and she was in an infant seat on the couch.
Who knows what started the whole thing.
Once we discovered she was capable of that response, the idea was to do it again, to keep it going.
It was so incredibly entertaining. Our little girl had a sense of humor.
Her round face and chubby cheeks shook as the convulsive cackling bubbled up from deep inside our little bundle of joy.
That’s how we spent the evening. It went on and on.
There wasn’t anything we wanted better than to make Amanda laugh.
And laugh she did. I remember wondering later how we had filled our time before God gave us this beautiful little girl.
We wondered, we marveled, but did we ponder, did we meditate? Not at the time.
It seems like there wasn’t time. But we saved the memory, so we could savor it later.
That’s appropriate, because I’m told that the word for meditate has parallels with a cow chewing her cud.
She stores it away, then brings it out to chew it again.
Another time this dear little daughter had learned to sit up on her own.
You could put her down and know right where she’d be a half an hour later.
Sitting near her on the floor, I for some reason decided to lean forward. Then I noticed that she copied my actions! What fun!
I told Susi about it and we took turns leaning in front of her and watching her lean down in imitation.
Then we’d laugh and she’d laugh. It went on and on.
What was that all about? Well it wasn’t just the behavior that amused us.
We also had an awareness that some higher functioning of the brain was kicking in.
At that point in her development she observed, she got motivated, she decided and she followed through!
Wow! Emerging consciousness in a six month old!
Then there was the “Johnny Jump Up.”
An amazing invention that allows you to place an infant safely in a sling on the end of a spring and adjust it so that toes and feet just touch the floor.
As the baby realizes the results of pushing off - Viola! - you create an awareness of self-determination. And again a smile lights up her face.
The sobering thought that accompanies my memories of Amanda in a “Johnny Jump Up” was how it freed me up to get back to reading books and writing papers.
At one particularly stressful point while writing my thesis, I noticed Amanda bouncing away as I went from one room into another.
(The JJU always had to be mounted in a doorway.)
It slowed me down just long enough to stop and think - to ponder.
I wondered, “Five years from now, which will be more important, My thesis or my daughter?”
Even in the midst of my “publish or perish” crisis the answer was obvious.
I knelt down and looked at the little round face, peering into those deep blue eyes.
Her response never disappointed me. A smile lit up her face and enlightened my priorities.
Twenty nine years later as I sit in my office writing this, my thesis sits on a shelf, collecting dust.
It’s full of profound insights into “The Apologetic of C.S. Lewis as an Art and a Science.”
There are even a few people other than my mentor who have read it.
But across the room there sits a framed photo from my daughter’s wedding.
We are emerging from a stand of white birch trees as I bring her down the trail that leads to the altar.
We are pausing.
As she holds onto my arm with one hand and her bouquet with the other I am turned to speak.
Her face shows that she is listening. I wouldn’t trade that for a thousand theses.
We have shared the wonder of life, with all its amazing discoveries.
We have pondered, and yes, at times, we have meditated.
Because so many “moments” in life have import far beyond the “blink of an eye” that it takes to experience them.
But if we see them for what they are, we will treasure them.
And we’ll bring them back out to enjoy and benefit from for years to come.
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