The Wonder That Stops You: Awe, Distraction, and Faith in a Noisy World

I don’t usually like the dark. It’s not exactly cheery. But sometimes, on a pristine night, to be swallowed up by the glitter and smudge of a billion, billion galaxies is—well—not so much cheery as literally awesome.

Maybe you’ve stood open-mouthed at the edge of the Grand Canyon or swum among the eye-popping colours of the Great Barrier Reef. Wonders of the world, no doubt. But the stars? The stars feel, to me at least, like a giant, flashing sign pointing straight to God. Sometimes I find myself saying, “God, subtlety is not your thing! This is all a bit on the nose. Come on—give the atheists a chance!”

I wonder if those bold enough to believe there is no God live under a curse of light pollution or perpetual cloud cover. I sometimes grumble about living without streetlights—stubbed toes and tumbles in the dirt are always a risk. But a sky bright enough to light up my soul? That feels like a worthy trade.

That’s where we meet David in Psalm 19:1:“The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands.”

David would one day become King of Israel and the forerunner of Jesus Christ. But his heart was forged in the furnace of awe—those long, lonely shepherd nights when he couldn’t escape the majesty of God. The shepherd boy didn’t become great through giant-slaying or military exploits, but beneath clear, starry skies where he learned to trust a God who is truly awesome.

Those nights of discovery, which gave birth to songs that still inspire today, weren’t lazy “me time.” He was hard at work, caring for and guarding sheep. As the flock settled, he stayed alert. The same skies that stirred his wonder also lit the shadows where danger lurked. His songs weren’t escapist melodies of a bored worker—they were lifelines of faith when bears and lions came prowling. There were no fences to keep sheep in and predators out. David was the fence. He was the guard.

“When a lion or a bear came and carried off a sheep… I went after it.”— 1 Samuel 17:34–37

David lived a life of awe and threat. That’s why his story is so helpful: it’s not head-in-the-clouds spirituality. It’s wrestling-lions-and-bears faith. When trouble had already struck, when the fierce and deadly beast had its jaws around a lamb, David went after it. I’ve never fought a lion or a bear. I’ve seen them through thick glass and electric fences at the zoo. I’ve even wished, for the sake of a photo, that the barriers weren’t there. But I don’t fancy my chances—especially with a hungry one whose teeth and claws were designed for brutal death.

This makes David’s experience so grounding. His worship wasn’t a retreat from reality; it was forged in the cut and thrust, the pitch and roll, the storm and flood of life. Knowing the awesome God wasn’t a luxury—it was essential.

David, the poet, also fought lions and bears. The confidence born in those fights inoculated him against fear when Goliath appeared. When you worship God—especially when your life is on the line—you find a peace nothing else can give.

So when the struggle comes—and it will—sing songs to God. Let awe still your heart, even as your hands are ready for the fight.

I know how easily wonder gets drowned out. In the last hour, I’ve dipped into an audiobook, glanced at Spotify, opened The Times app, checked emails, heard from a contact in Burundi and another in Westminster, and yes—checked Strava. I’m currently listening to Joseph White’s Violin Concerto in F sharp minor (2nd movement) on BBC Sounds. Excellent, by the way. You get the picture. This isn’t a rant about technology—it’s a recognition that we live in an age of distraction. All these things are wonderful, liberating, exhilarating. But even this world of wonder needs stillness. Because distraction won’t help you when the lion comes. But God will. He can still your heart and strengthen your hands.

David’s songs and his life were shaped under the vast canopy of God’s handiwork. Moments of awe will lead us to the safety of the God who made us and loves us. And as we consider who He is, we’ll be forged—ready to overcome.