I always find it disconcerting when people ask me what my cafeteria is like. If you've ever seen Annenberg, you'll understand why the term cafeteria doesn't quite do it justice. The only sad thing about having such an incredible eating facility is that after eating there three meals a day, seven days a week, you begin to take it for granted. You forget how beautiful the building is, how much time went into producing the stained glass, how much effort was expended on its construction.

I feel that my developed indifference to the beauty of Annenberg and the skill of those who created it is similar to our acquired apathy to to the beauty of the world and the incredible nature of the God who created it.

Imagine what the world must appear like to a newborn: a strange set of colors, movements, and objects appearing randomly and without reason. It is only as the years begin to wear on us that we begin to treat the world as though it could not be any other way. As we begin to see the same beauty year after year, we begin to take sunrises and sunsets for granted. After a couple decades, we forget our love for first winter snowfalls and sunny summer days, crisp spring air and autumn's vibrant hues. We lose our sense of wonder at the world. We seek visible miracles while overlooking the fact that our very existence is a miracle in and of itself.

I love the random moments when I look at my dining hall and realize what I have been taking for granted because they remind me to thank God not only for the material things He gives us: food, shelter, and money, but for the fact that anything material even exists.

As Oscar Wilde said, "The true mystery of the world is the visible, not the invisible."