One evening I was engaged in my nightly frivolous combat of fun with my three-year-old. We have a regular appointment with one another, he and me: after dinner, on the couch, every night: the boy likes to wrastle.

It’s a contest with lots of tickling, and “tummy trumpets” (which is when I put my mouth on his stomach and blow and it makes a delightfully flatulent sort of sound—totally wonderful to a three-year-old), and plenty of rowdiness: lifting into the air and twirling and bouncing on cushions and other antics of sofa acrobatics.

All accompanied with joyful squeals and shrieks and calls of: “Again, Daddy!”

On the evening in question, as the boy and I grappled in our normal raucous fashion, he suddenly broke off and looked out the open window.

Night had fallen and the stars were out.

The three-year-old ruffian had become suddenly still and quiet as he looked at the sky.

“Look Dad!” he said, pointing. “The sky has polka dots!”

Albert Einstein said: “There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as if everything is a miracle.”

And Saint Augustine said: “People travel to wonder at the height of the mountains, the huge waves of the see, at the long course of the rivers, at the vast compass of the ocean, at the circular motion of the stars, and yet they pass by themselves without wondering.”

[tweet "Lesson from a preschooler: if we have the eyes to see, miracles are everywhere."

If we have the eyes to see, miracles (and polka dots) are everywhere, all the way from the distant galaxies right to the couch cushions next to us!

Copyright 2017 Jake Frost