Yesterday I got to hold someone's freshly-born baby. She was barely more than twenty-four hours old, bundled in pink. So new, so tiny, so wonderful.
So be there. To wonder. To marvel. To be amazed at the tiny, absurd things that make life beautiful.
"Behold. A world so full of wonder, full of laughter, full of life." (Jenny & Tyler, Everything You Do.) Tiny humans are being born; they are learning to speak, to laugh, to read, to walk, to live. Green, living things are bursting out of dirt. Spring is turning into Summer, into Autumn, into Winter. People are falling in love. A dimming dying orange sun disappears before our eyes every night.
There are the wonders. We have only to wonder at them. "I love you to the moon," my little sister tells me. "And back and back and back."
Even through the most horrible evil. Through ISIS and Ebola and women who choose to kill themselves because they're afraid to die. Through pain and separation and fear and children who have to find out that daddy was once mommy and mommy was once daddy. Through our dirty, messed-up world, there is still the awe, if we will see it.
It's when we all stop marveling, that the world will starve.
Look up, and watch the leaves turn red and die. They're only going to do that once this year so you don't want to miss it.