Paradise is . . . experiencing the sense of awe.
"I'm tired Dad! Can't we stop?" my youngest daughter, Bridgette, pleads, slouching her shoulders and huffing as the words come out of her mouth. Up ahead, my oldest daughter, Addie, is looking miserable, sitting on a bench and asking my wife, Cristina, how much farther to the top. "Come on, Bridgette, you can make it," I say. "We're almost there."
"I'm tired Dad! Can't we stop?" my youngest daughter, Bridgette, pleads, slouching her shoulders and huffing as the words come out of her mouth. Up ahead, my oldest daughter, Addie, is looking miserable, sitting on a bench and asking my wife, Cristina, how much farther to the top. "Come on, Bridgette, you can make it," I say. "We're almost there."
Suddenly, a young boy, about five years old, comes bounding down the mountain, a big smile stretched across his face. His father is close behind, looking equally giddy, and I wonder what is wrong with my daughters and me. I pull out the map of the trail, confirm that it declares the hike to be "moderate" in difficulty, and wonder what "strenuous" is like. We've been hiking for about 40 minutes, mostly uphill, and I'm worried my daughters aren't going to make it. We are only about 15 minutes from the top, although I have no idea what the "top" is like. The map indicates it leads to a "scenic overlook."
Addie pulls herself up from the bench, and she and Cristina continue on. I grab Bridgette under the arms, give her a big swing, and try to cheer her up. She smiles ever so slightly, and we continue on our way up. More kids zoom by us on the way down, sporting big smiles and giggles of joy. I nod my head in wonderment. I wish I had that energy and enthusiasm.
Bridgette does not give up. She whines and huffs but keeps moving forward. She spots a butterfly just off the path and points to it. Addie and Cristina are ahead of us and out of sight. Suddenly, Addie comes barreling back around the corner. She is so excited she can barely contain herself. "Come on! Come on! You have got to see this!" she shouts. I grab Bridgette's hand and we follow. We turn a corner, hop a rock, and stop in our tracks. Stretched out before us is a spectacular scene. We are standing on rocky ledge overlooking the mountains of North Carolina. In front of us, a pair of falcons glide gracefully above the peaks. My jaw drops, and I look at Bridgette and say in a whisper, "Wow."
For the next 20 minutes we hang out on the top of the mountain. Addie and Bridgette sit and stare out across the valley, laughing and pointing. I breathe in the fresh mountain air, marvel at the scene before me, and take delight in watching hikers round the corner and glimpse the view for the first time. I am simply in awe.
The four of us take one last look at the view before turning around and heading back down the path. Along the way, we encounter tiring children and sweating adults pressing on as they work there way to the top. However, my kids are bounding down the mountain, smiling and laughing as they go. Now, I get it. Now, I understand the power of awe. I see what it does to me and how it impacts my daughters. I spot the difference between those heading up and those coming down. My body has been reenergized and my soul refueled by what took place atop the mountain.
As a parent, I often read articles about the importance of filling our kids with a sense of wonderment and awe, as if it's something we need to create for them. We all need those experiences, to be reminded that this life is so much bigger than ourselves. Our children need to see us in awe at the beauty of this world as much as they need to experience it.
We all reach the bottom of the mountain. Addie turns to look at me. Her face is red, sweat is dripping from her forehead, and she's breathing a little heavy. A big smile stretches across her face. "Dad," she says, looking back at the trail, "that was awesome." It was awesome.
Addie pulls herself up from the bench, and she and Cristina continue on. I grab Bridgette under the arms, give her a big swing, and try to cheer her up. She smiles ever so slightly, and we continue on our way up. More kids zoom by us on the way down, sporting big smiles and giggles of joy. I nod my head in wonderment. I wish I had that energy and enthusiasm.
Bridgette does not give up. She whines and huffs but keeps moving forward. She spots a butterfly just off the path and points to it. Addie and Cristina are ahead of us and out of sight. Suddenly, Addie comes barreling back around the corner. She is so excited she can barely contain herself. "Come on! Come on! You have got to see this!" she shouts. I grab Bridgette's hand and we follow. We turn a corner, hop a rock, and stop in our tracks. Stretched out before us is a spectacular scene. We are standing on rocky ledge overlooking the mountains of North Carolina. In front of us, a pair of falcons glide gracefully above the peaks. My jaw drops, and I look at Bridgette and say in a whisper, "Wow."
For the next 20 minutes we hang out on the top of the mountain. Addie and Bridgette sit and stare out across the valley, laughing and pointing. I breathe in the fresh mountain air, marvel at the scene before me, and take delight in watching hikers round the corner and glimpse the view for the first time. I am simply in awe.
The four of us take one last look at the view before turning around and heading back down the path. Along the way, we encounter tiring children and sweating adults pressing on as they work there way to the top. However, my kids are bounding down the mountain, smiling and laughing as they go. Now, I get it. Now, I understand the power of awe. I see what it does to me and how it impacts my daughters. I spot the difference between those heading up and those coming down. My body has been reenergized and my soul refueled by what took place atop the mountain.
As a parent, I often read articles about the importance of filling our kids with a sense of wonderment and awe, as if it's something we need to create for them. We all need those experiences, to be reminded that this life is so much bigger than ourselves. Our children need to see us in awe at the beauty of this world as much as they need to experience it.
We all reach the bottom of the mountain. Addie turns to look at me. Her face is red, sweat is dripping from her forehead, and she's breathing a little heavy. A big smile stretches across her face. "Dad," she says, looking back at the trail, "that was awesome." It was awesome.