i’ve been spending the evening cleaning up a telescope and microscope that my dad sent home with us—both from his childhood years. while gently wiping marks and discolorations from both scopes, i’ve been thinking about how they work and all of the mysteries that they let us catch small and measured glimpses of. i’m imagining the stories that each mark could tell and appreciating that i can’t wipe all of them away—stories (from the 1950’s) of an enthusiastic boy eager to take in the world around him in new and fascinating ways—one world much larger and one much smaller, yet neither easily seen.

…all carrying my mind further to think about how much we don’t know—and how i’ve been cultivating more of an admiration for the not knowing—for the simple and trusting ways that we get to play in a world that is unimaginably big and endlessly full of wonder and magic.

what i do know is that i get to call an incredible group of souls my family—and i love their stories…the ones that i know, and the ones that i can only catch small glimpses of through faint and faraway imprints on a telescope.