Today, the theme of wonder felt like vinegar being poured into a deep, open wound. That word: wonder, every time it was repeated, was the salt whose grains are being rubbed deeper and deeper and harder and harder with every relentless twist of the wrist. 

Wonder. wonder. wonder. 

There is no more time for wonder. 

I sat in the pews thinking about the treasure map days. They aren’t too far back. Every day was like a Christmas gift from God–and I faced it with a wide-eyed excitement to see how he was meshing a puzzle together. 

I sat in the pews today, feeding on my tears, because I realized that the wonder had not just been taken from me; it has been beaten. I was reminded today that, no matter what, I will always be a child. 

And because that is a part of my identity, wonder is a part of my DNA.

And tonight, at a moment when all the hope of wonder seemed lost, when I was utterly blinded by the heartbreak and reality of the moment, something wonderful happened-

and through my tears, I saw a small mark on the treasure map begin to take form.