You, my friend, are full of wonder! Have you ever considered that? The tree outside my window is a perfect example. It’s still clinging to the brilliant red and yellow leaves shivering in the wind, even this late into the fall. We just had a three-day snowstorm for crying out loud, and those gorgeous leaves are still there. Perseverance and beauty—that tree has it all. Wonderful, right? That’s you!

That’s what we should be feeling, what we were created to feel, but a few weeks ago, I wasn’t feeling so wonderful. At 5:30 in the morning, the room was pitch dark, and all I felt was tired. I just wanted to crawl back into my warm bed. But I willed myself up and shuffled across the floor, yawning and stretching my sore back.

On Tuesday mornings, I have a tradition of reading some entries in one of my old journals. Deb was still asleep, so I left the light off, but when I got to the bookshelf, I could at least reach out and feel for a cover. My hands found what I wanted—a leather-bound journal—so I grabbed it and took it downstairs.

I prayed for a few minutes in the dark, remembering God’s gifts like Cardinals and my family. It felt good to pray in the quiet of the morning. Then I turned on the light, unzipped the leather cover of my journal, and the pages fell open naturally to an entry from December 16th, 2016. Inserted between the pages, like a bookmark, was a loose piece of paper.

This is cool, I thought.

I unfolded it and saw some words written by a young lady named Brynn. She was a leader in my class who loved to encourage the people around her.

Years ago, she had read what she wrote out loud for extra credit, but the truth is she didn’t need the extra credit. She already had an A. The real reason she shared her words was us. She walked up to the podium with that bright smile on her face, and in just a few minutes, changed how we saw ourselves.

She started by talking about God.

“You are absolutely beautiful in His eyes,” she said. She explained that we’re like God’s paintings, but we don’t treat ourselves that way.

“When you think about it,” she said, looking at all of us, “we tend to criticize ourselves a lot.”

Her point was simple. We were created to unveil God’s wonder (Psalm 139:14), just like the tree I mentioned earlier, so why would we beat ourselves up? She finished, and everyone applauded. Then, she handed me her paper, and I held on to it for 8 years.

Here’s where the story really gets crazy. That same Brynn who stood up as a student in my classroom and read those words is now teaching math just down the hall from me. The thought struck me that maybe I should let her know what I found, so I threw the journal in my backpack and left for school.

Not another thought was given to Brynn’s words. With a flurry of essays to talk about and Steinbeck to cover, I forgot about it. Until I sat down during my planning period and saw that journal lying on my desk.

Maybe I should find her and let her know, I thought, but I shrugged it off, thinking she’d probably be teaching.

I was tired.

I’ll just do it another time, I told myself. But I couldn’t shake the push I was feeling to take her that piece of writing.

Tired of the mental battle, I grabbed the journal and walked to Brynn’s classroom. I got to her door and saw her meeting with another teacher.

The conversation looked serious, but I walked in anyway.

“Sorry, could I interrupt for a moment?” I asked.

They each looked at me with tired eyes, and I sat down next to Brynn.

“Read this,” I said, handing her the paper she handed me 8 years earlier.

She held it and started reading while the other teacher and I watched. Brynn didn’t hurry; she soaked it up like water on dry ground.

“Where did you find this?” she finally asked, working at a smile. She seemed weighed down.

“It was in an old journal of mine,” I said, smiling back, and then I added, “And the young lady who wrote this to encourage her classmates is now encouraging students of her own every day!” I tried to be upbeat, but something seemed off.

“Thank you for sharing that,” she said.

I nodded and walked away, leaving the two teachers to their meeting.

When I got back to my office, I opened my computer to enter some grades, but I kept thinking about Brynn.

Maybe there was more to that visit with her, I thought, than just the two of us sharing a fun memory. Maybe God was involved.

Pieces began fitting together in my mind.

Like the way the pages in the journal opened right to Brynn’s paper.

Or the push I felt to share it.

Or that Brynn wasn’t teaching when I walked into her classroom.

The evidence of an Author writing the story began to take shape as I entered grades, and twenty minutes later, Brynn appeared at my office door.

“Hi Brynn.”

“Thank you for bringing me those words,” she said, “I really needed that today.” And as she spoke, tears welled up in her eyes.

“You’re welcome.”

I looked at her eyes clouded with tears, and I had no idea what she was going through, but God did.

“I’m glad the timing was so good,” was all I could get out, and then, “You’re an amazing young lady, Brynn. Maybe God wanted to remind you of that.”

“You may be right,” she said, nodding her head, and she offered that signature smile I remembered, so bright and full of life.

Something had moved her. I saw it in her smile and the twinkling of tears in her eyes, and something was stirring in me too. Like late autumn sunshine lighting up red leaves, wonder had lit up the pages of our stories. It was an ordinary Tuesday morning, but somehow, God had made it beautiful.

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