I shrink before large things. I find my place there. And I like it.
Whenever I stand before mountains, oceans, and the evening sky aglitter with millions of stars, I get smaller, like Alice did when she drank from the vial on the table at the bottom of the hole. I look at the vastness of what lies before me and realize how small I am. That would feel horrible if all I did was feel small and insignificant—as if I don’t matter, but I don’t feel that way. The awe of the Creator glimmers behind the creation I’m gazing on, and I know that I’m connected. Not in an I’m-one-with-the-world kind of way, but in a He’s-my-Daddy kind of way. The Creator of all this glory loves ME! I’m lifted up at the same time I’m humbled.
I love to hit the beach early in the morning before anyone else is there. I tiptoe to the edge of the vastness and let the waves lick my toes. These few waves are only part of the 320 quintillion (18 zeros) gallons of water that fill the oceans. (My Daddy made this.) I lift my arms and sing praises or clap. Sometimes, I’m gifted with the sight of porpoises leaping and playing in the surf. Sometimes the silver shimmer on clear turquoise seas startles me with its beauty. I shrink, smaller and smaller. And the smaller I get, the bigger HE gets.
The words of God echo in my heart, “Where were you when I laid the earth’s foundation? Did you establish the limits of the ocean? Were you there when I measured it out and all the stars sang together because I did it? Have you ever commanded the morning or led the constellations with a chain? Listen, I dwell in high and holy places and with the contrite and lowly to revive them, yes I will see and revive the contrite.” (Personal translations from NASB of Job 38 and Isaiah 47:15 and 66:2)
I shrink further, like Alice, and go through the door into Wonderland to be revived.
…The Mad Hatter