For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb.

Psalm 139:13

When was the last time you looked at something—or someone—and were simply struck by wonder?

We tend to look for wonder in the grand and distant: the fiery canvas of a sunset, the towering silence of ancient redwoods, or the vast, starry expanse of a clear night sky. We stand back and marvel at God’s handiwork out there. Yet, when it comes to looking inward, our gaze often shifts from wonder to critique. We notice the tired eyes in the mirror, the body that doesn’t move as easily as it once did, or the persistent anxieties that quiet hours tend to bring to light.

In Psalm 139, David offers us a radical shift in perspective. He pulls the lens back from the vastness of creation and focuses on the intricate, silent miracle happening in the dark: “For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb.”

Notice the imagery David chooses. He doesn’t say God assembled us on a factory line or spoke us into existence with a detached command. He uses the word knit.

Knitting is an intentional, patient, and close-up process. It requires presence. Thread by thread, loop by loop, a maker weaves something unique into existence. To be “knit together” means every part of who you are—your physical form, your temperament, your specific way of feeling and thinking—was held, considered, and carefully intertwined by God long before you ever took a breath.

Consider the complexity of your “inmost being.” Long before modern science mapped human DNA or decoded the intricate firing of neural pathways, scripture pointed to this profound truth: you are a masterpiece of divine design. Your heartbeat, your capacity to love, your unique perspective on the world—none of it is an accident. You were crafted to be an echo of God’s creativity.

The tragedy of daily life is how easily we lose this sense of awe. We live in a world that constantly evaluates our worth based on productivity, appearance, or performance. Over time, we stop seeing ourselves through the lens of wonder and start seeing ourselves through the lens of deficiency. We forget that before we ever accomplished a task, proved our worth, or tried to fix our flaws, the Creator looked at what He was making and delighted in it.

To practice wonder today is to reclaim God’s perspective on your life. It means looking at your story—even the messy, fragile parts—and acknowledging that you are the product of sacred attention. You are not a random collection of cells navigating an uncertain world; you are an intentional creation, sustained by the very breath that spoke the stars into being.