Life is a surprise. It is the gift you open each day. It is the impatient anticipation on the eve of Three Kings’ Day and the wonder of the following morning.
That state of innocence is often destroyed all too quickly by senseless overstimulation, devoid of purpose and Love; an endless stuffing of the senses without rhyme or reason. When nothing surprises you anymore, when nothing moves you, the emptiness of the lifeless hits you head-on.
That is where the cynic emerges: the one who already knows everything, who has already experienced everything, who finds nothing new in anything, the profoundly unhappy, the depressed. Each day becomes a repetition of the last, a Groundhog Day loop, a wheel of endless misery. Without innocence, there can be no happiness—an idea that should be tattooed on every heart.
The destruction of innocence is therefore the destruction of happiness. Innocence is not weakness; it is an immense openness to receiving. And to those willing to receive, it is given. Those willing to receive wait with the impatient impatience of a child.
The innocent have the right to find the surprise of a miracle in every day, for those days are their divine inheritance.