“I wonder as I wander out under the sky”…another gift from lifetimes ago when osmosis-ing hymns while sitting in pews was a Sunday happening.
My brother habitually nodded off the second we sat,
expertly disguised as being deep in prayer as his head never wobbled. My sister discreetly sneaked in pencils so that she could draw on offering envelopes. My mother, queenly and attentive and undoubtedly privy to all, sat with elegant knowing, satisfied with the shared ritual and appearances.
And where was I in all of this?
Absorbing thises and thats, and wandering in my heart and soul and mind.
Wandering, in fairy tales, does not have to do with a person being lost, or not knowing what is what. In fact it has to do with a person knowing a great deal, and having huge gifts to share, but simply has not yet found the place where these gifts and where the person are to land.
Wandering then.
Wandering now.
In wonderment.