When Wonder Fades: Rediscovering the Extraordinary in Ordinary Life

There's something magical about standing at the edge of the Grand Canyon for the first time. No photograph, no description, no amount of preparation can capture the overwhelming sensation of seeing it with your own eyes. It's a moment that stops you in your tracks—a moment of pure wonder.

We all have these experiences tucked away in our memories. Perhaps it was viewing a masterpiece in a museum, watching your child's face light up on Christmas morning, or witnessing a natural phenomenon that left you speechless. These are the moments when wonder overtakes us, when we're reminded that there's something greater than ourselves at work in the world.

But here's the uncomfortable truth: wonder fades.

When Wonder Becomes Wondering

Ask someone who lives near the ocean or in the mountains, and they'll often tell you the same thing: "I don't really notice it anymore." What once inspired awe has become part of the background. The more familiar something becomes, the less it captivates us.

This happens with Christmas too. What once filled us with childlike excitement can become just another item on our already-overcrowded calendar. The story that should leave us breathless—God becoming human, entering our broken world—becomes so familiar that we stop truly seeing it.

For some of us, though, the problem isn't just fading wonder. It's that our wonder has been replaced by wondering of a different kind. We're not standing in awe; we're standing in confusion, asking:

- "How am I going to make it through this season?"
- "When will things make sense again?"
- "Where is God in all of this?"

These questions aren't signs of weak faith. They're honest expressions of the human experience, especially when life doesn't unfold the way we hoped.

A Priest with Unanswered Prayers

This tension between hope and disappointment isn't new. Two thousand years ago, a priest named Zechariah understood it intimately.

Zechariah lived in a world marked by waiting. The Jewish people had been under foreign rule for over 400 years—passed from empire to empire like property. They'd been promised a deliverer, a savior who would change everything. But for four centuries, God had been silent.

Zechariah's personal life mirrored this national disappointment. Despite being a man of character, despite serving God faithfully alongside his wife Elizabeth, despite praying year after year, they remained childless. In their culture, this wasn't just heartbreaking—it was humiliating. People whispered. They questioned. Maybe there was hidden sin. Maybe they didn't have enough faith.

Then came the day that changed everything.

Chosen by lot from among 18,000 priests, Zechariah received a once-in-a-lifetime privilege: entering the temple sanctuary to offer incense symbolizing the prayers of the nation. Alone in that sacred space, suddenly he wasn't alone anymore. An angel—Gabriel himself—appeared with a message that should have filled Zechariah with joy:

"Your prayer has been heard. Your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son... He will be great in the sight of the Lord... He will prepare the people for the Lord."

This wasn't just about finally having a child. This was about being part of God's grand plan to redeem His people. Their son would prepare the way for the Messiah himself.

The Question That Changes Everything

You'd expect Zechariah to fall on his face in gratitude. Instead, he asked a stunning question: "How can I be sure of this?"

Think about that for a moment. He's standing face-to-face with a glowing, terrifying heavenly messenger—the kind of being that makes people's first instinct to be fear. Gabriel even has to calm him down: "Do not be afraid." Yet after hearing this life-altering news directly from an angel sent by God, Zechariah's response is essentially: "Yeah, I'm going to need more proof."

Gabriel's response suggests he was more than a little offended: "I am Gabriel. I stand in the presence of God, and I have been sent to speak to you and to tell you this good news. And now you will be silent and not able to speak until the day this happens, because you did not believe my words."

How could someone so devoted to God doubt so profoundly?

When Your Past Colors Your Future

The answer lies in understanding what Zechariah carried with him into that sanctuary. He wasn't just carrying incense; he was carrying decades of disappointment.

Consider the irony: Zechariah's name means "God remembers." Elizabeth's name means "His oath." Together, their very identities proclaimed "God remembers His oath." Every day they lived as walking reminders that God keeps His promises—while simultaneously unable to hold a promise of their own.

How many false alarms had they endured? How many times had hope been crushed? How many well-meaning but devastating comments had they heard about needing more faith?

Zechariah couldn't see God's promise clearly because he was viewing it through the lens of his past pain.

The Doubts of the Devoted

Here's the liberating truth: even the devoted have doubts.

Zechariah wasn't lacking in devotion. As a priest, he'd spent decades in prayer and scripture study. He'd memorized vast portions of the Bible. He knew the stories of God opening barren wombs—Sarah, Rebekah, Rachel, Hannah. He had all the theological knowledge necessary to believe.

But head knowledge and heart trust are different things.

If Zechariah, standing in front of an angel, could struggle with doubt, we shouldn't be surprised when we do too. Our doubts don't disqualify us from God's purposes. In fact, sometimes God might be saying to us what He said to Zechariah: "Just be quiet for a while and watch Me work."

From Seclusion to Celebration

After Gabriel's visit, Elizabeth became pregnant and went into seclusion for five months. Why hide such long-awaited joy?

Because when you've experienced profound disappointment, even good news feels fragile. When something seems too good to be true, you protect it. You process it privately before you can celebrate it publicly.

But here's what makes this story so powerful: what began in pain became a testimony to God's faithfulness. The very situation that caused people to question God's presence became undeniable evidence of His power and perfect timing.

Elizabeth and Zechariah's son, John, would indeed prepare the way for Jesus—the ultimate answer to centuries of waiting and wondering.

Rediscovering Wonder

So how do we recapture wonder, especially when life has given us plenty of reasons to doubt?

We start by recognizing that our struggles aren't proof that God is absent. They might be the very things He uses to accomplish His purposes. We stop demanding that God work according to our timeline and start trusting His.

We remember that just because we don't understand something doesn't mean God can't use it.

The disappointments you've faced, the prayers that seem unanswered, the dreams that haven't materialized—none of these mean God has forgotten you. Sometimes the very pain we'd never choose becomes the platform for God to display His power in ways we never imagined.

This Christmas season, as you string lights and count down the days, consider this: the story we celebrate is about a God who enters into our waiting, our wondering, and our pain. He doesn't always work on our schedule, but He always works. He doesn't always answer the way we expect, but He always answers.

The God who remembered Zechariah and Elizabeth remembers you too.

And that's something worth standing in wonder about.