Lyrics O Lord My God When I In Awesome Wonder

You know that song? The one that starts with "O Lord my God, when I in awesome wonder..." Yeah, that one. It’s a classic. A real heavyweight in the hymnal world. And honestly, I have a bit of a confession to make. I’m not always awesome wonder-ing when I sing it. Sometimes, it’s more like… mildly interested curiosity wondering. Or perhaps, just trying not to trip over my own feet wondering.

Let’s be real. Those first few lines are epic. They paint this grand picture of the universe. The stars, the rolling thunder, the planets spinning. It’s supposed to make you feel small and awestruck. And it absolutely does! For about the first minute. Then, my brain, bless its easily distracted heart, starts to wander. It’s like a little kid at a science museum. Fascinated by the giant dinosaur skeleton, but then spots a shiny button and immediately forgets about the Triceratops.

My mind, it takes flight. It asks questions that are, let’s say, less celestial. Like, “Did I remember to pay that bill?” Or, “What’s for dinner tonight?” Or the ever-pressing, “Is that a new gray hair I just saw in the reflection?” These are the real, pressing concerns of a modern human, aren’t they? Not so much the vastness of creation, but the immediate, tangible stuff of life. The stuff that requires immediate action, or at least a mental to-do list.

And then there's the chorus. Oh, the chorus. It's lovely, truly. It's a beautiful sentiment of faith and awe. But sometimes, when I'm humming along, my internal monologue is doing a completely different dance. It’s like I’m in a really serene yoga class, and the instructor is talking about peaceful breathing, but my mind is busy calculating how many more minutes until I can have that piece of chocolate I've been eyeing.

I imagine the composer, John Henry Newman, or the tune writer, perhaps Hans von Bülow (though the attributions are a bit fuzzy sometimes!), looking down from wherever musical geniuses reside, and shaking their heads. “She’s supposed to be contemplating the immensity of creation, not whether she left the oven on!” And you know what? They’d be right. I should be contemplating the immensity of creation.

But here’s my totally unqualified, probably wrong, but secretly true opinion: maybe it’s okay. Maybe it’s okay that sometimes our "awesome wonder" is punctuated by thoughts of laundry. Or the fact that my favorite socks have gone missing. Or that I really need to defragment my hard drive. Life is a messy, beautiful, sometimes mundane thing. And maybe, just maybe, the divine can handle a little bit of that everyday chatter.

Think about it. When we're truly in awe, it's a powerful, overwhelming feeling. It’s like seeing the Grand Canyon for the first time. It takes your breath away. But then, after you’ve taken your photos and had your moment, you might also start thinking, “Wow, it’s really hot out here. I could really go for a cold drink.” That’s still part of the experience, right? The practical human needs mingling with the magnificent.

So, when the soaring melody of "O Lord My God" fills the air, and my brain decides to take a detour through the grocery store aisle, I don’t beat myself up. I just gently nudge it back. “Hey, brain, remember the swirling stars? Remember the almighty power?” And then, if I’m lucky, it’ll remember for a few more seconds before wondering if I need to water the plants. It’s a constant negotiation, really.

And you know, sometimes those everyday thoughts actually enhance the experience. Thinking about the bill I need to pay might make me appreciate the provision I have been given. Wondering about dinner might lead to a moment of gratitude for having food on the table. It’s a different kind of awe, perhaps. A more grounded, everyday awe. The awe of the simple things, even while the grand things are being sung about.

So, the next time you’re singing "O Lord my God, when I in awesome wonder," and your mind drifts to the nearest coffee shop, don't despair. You're not alone. You're just a wonderfully complex human, trying to balance the infinite with the immediate. And that, in its own way, is pretty awesome too. Maybe even more awesome than just the wonder itself. It’s the wonder with the slightly bewildered, slightly forgetful, but always trying, human touch.

Perhaps the true glory isn't just the celestial spectacle, but the messy, magnificent humanity experiencing it.

So, let the universe spin, let the thunder roll, and let my brain ponder the merits of extra cheese on my pizza. Because, in the grand scheme of things, maybe it all fits together. The awe, the everyday, the slightly off-key humming. It’s all part of the song, isn't it?