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A community is only being created when its members accept that they are not going to achieve great things, that they are not going to be heroes, but simply live each day with new hope, like children, in wonderment as the sun rises and in thanksgiving as it sets . . . The beauty of humanity is in this fidelity to the wonder of each day. – Jean Vanier in Community and Growth

Twilight
fell and the campfire flickered. 

A small,
clear voice rose, “The floooo-wer grooooows, and the house, and the stooooop
signs, and the caaaars.” He was just getting warmed up.

Later, his
body twisted and turned, arms in the air, waving, then down at his sides.  His hips wiggled, feet stomped.  He spun, swooped, shook, with a far off look
in his eye, his body responding intuitively, impulsively to the sounds of the
singer, the acoustic guitar. 

Four year
old Isaiah stole the show last night.

His twin
brother, Levi, drifted off to sleep, tucked into the nest formed by my arms and legs,
a fleece blanket pulled up tight around his cheeks.  Sleep hits him like a freight train come
seven thirty.  Seated on the ground by
the fire’s warmth, I swayed like a cradle and watched his eyelids drift.  Lifting his face, he said, “I’m going to
sleep now for a little while.  Wake me up
when they clap because that means it’s the end.”

Isaiah
danced so long and so hard he finally flopped right down on the
ground, huffing and puffing.  Then he was
up again, moving and shaking and running over to his Daddy and I every minute
or two, a desperate look on his tired little boy face.

“Is it
almost done?” he asked.

Afterwards, he
was proud.  

“Someone told
me ‘Thankyou,’” he said, “and someone else patted me on the back.”

It was a big
and important thing he did, that dancing. 
He danced with serious abandon, every move an extension of his
soul. 

Over fifty
people came to hear John Francis perform in the lap of our great, wide yard,
underneath the dark night and stars. 

Kids tore in
every direction on wheels of every shape and size. 

Our dog, Coco,
chased kids and chickens like it was her job. 

Donations
were collected and we raised $400 to help provide hot, home-cooked,
Thanksgiving meals for local families in need. 

We huddled
close around the fire in the surprisingly cool night air.  We shivered and laughed, shrugged under
blankets.  We sang along and clapped our
hands and I felt the goodness of a frequent smile on my face. 

But the best
part of it all, by far? 

My son – he danced.  

*   *   *

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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