It fits in
the palm of my hand, small and pleasing, like Julian of Norwich’s

The cover is
cut and glued from scrap paper – the same paper that lines my kitchen
cabinet.  The pages, cut from printer paper and
the binding, a bit of linen cord.  

All in all,
it took less than fifteen minutes to complete once I understood the pattern and
got my measurements right – in fact, I made two.  Inside I wrote, by hand, one of my own small
poems, fifteen lines spread across nine pages, forty words in all. 

I wrote a
book, see? 

that’s what I’ve wanted to do for a long time now and yet I’ve been afraid,
overwhelmed by the enormity of it, unsure where and how to begin.  So I followed my heart to its place of joy –
a quiet place where words and pages meet, where a project is small enough,
simple enough to be approached.  My love
for craft – paper, glue, scissors, color and cord – balanced out my fear,
tipping me toward productivity.

I wrote a
book, a very small one indeed.

And it made
me very happy. 

I was
smiling inside and out, delighted in a heart-happy way as I moved about the
house.  Then my mind kicked in – not the
mind that is restful, awake and aware, but the calculating one, the
insatiable.  Before long I was making
books by the hundreds, selling them by the truckload, considering buying a
printing press – in my head.  And there,
of course, the fear set it, what if it didn’t work? What if it wasn’t a huge
success?  What if this little joy
couldn’t sustain its own multiplication?

Then as I
was cutting and gluing, head bent, a voice leaned, whispering in my ear, “If you
made a hundred books, would your joy be any more full than it is right now?”

paper rested between my fingers.  Linen
thread wrestled.  The tiny triangular tab
of a cover tucked perfectly into its slot.

No, I
thought, it wouldn’t be any fuller.  

That’s not how joy is. 

Joy isn’t a
commodity that changes with increase, it’s whole in and of itself, like a ripe
berry, or small seed.  Joy needs no
addition, no subtraction or multiplication. 
Joy can be shared, spread, multiplied, but only as itself, each
experience whole like the many seeds of a pomegranate’s flesh.

question rooted me back in the present, gave me back the joy that arrived like
a rainbow, a gift, to begin with.  There
will be more books, in many sizes and with them each will come joy.  

But it won’t be any more or less than what
I held that day in my heart’s hands – pure, simple, sweet.

Is there some small thing that’s giving you joy these days?  I’d love to hear about it in the comments.

*   *   *

Welcome to the #SmallWonder link-up.

What if we chose to deliberately look for the small moments of wonder, the small sparks of presence, of delight or sorrow, of true humanity in which we meet God? 

That’s my proposal – that we gather here each week to share one moment of Wonder from each of our days.  

You’re invited to link-up a brief post about a small moment of wonder.  Don’t worry if your post is too long, too short, or not just right – you’re welcome to come as you are.  

While you’re here, please do take a look around and encourage at least one other blogger with a comment.      


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