No single object represents human ingenuity like the paperclip. Much myth and urban legend surrounds the history of this common object, but we know for a fact that the paperclip has been around since the 1800s. Why is the paperclip so spectacular? Let me explain: it is the perfect combination of simple complexity.

The paperclip is no more than a strand of wire, roughly 4 inches long, coiled into an oblong spiral. In other words, a "line" becomes a "shape". Using the principles of torsion and friction, this single strand of steel alloy wire can hold many sheets of paper together. The paperclip can be unwound and used to pop open a CDRom tray, pick a lock, open handcuffs. The paperclip can clip a tie, rest on a keychain. The paperclip makes a great zipper pull when necessary. The enterprising youngster fashions fashionable jewelry by stringing the things together.

So what is my point?

We can be immensely creative. You or I might invent something so useful, so cross-functional, that it completely revolutionizes modern life. I might leave a mark on this world so indelible that it exists for more than a century -- and still remain completely unknown.

For no discernible reason, let's consider that for a little while.

Get older, mature, get a life, grow up. These are the goals of the average young person. I have heard variations of these from people my whole life; most of the well-intended advice I have received could be boiled down into such a statement.

And these are good things. It is inevitable that I will age. The process of maturing is essential for a productive life. Growing up means taking responsibility for myself and my actions. The challenge in doing so, however, lies in doing all of these things while still seeing the universe in a snowflake.

I insist that life contains magic, and I refuse to lose sight of that in the endless pursuit of adult life. Do you remember playing outside in a snowstorm, and pausing for a moment when you got tired? You just looked around, noticing how sound was muffled, and the trees had slowly been frosted while you were unaware? You looked at the sky and saw the gray specs falling toward you, and you wondered how they became white as they came closer? You caught one on the black rubber of your glove, and you bent as close to it as possible, taking care not to breathe lest you melt the poor fragment of sky. You had heard, as all middle-school children had, that every flake was different; there were no two alike. You looked at the crystalline structure, at the spokes of a tiny wheel of glass, and you marveled that it could be so complicated, so special. You forgot to hold your breath, and instantly the work of art became a miniscule puddle in your hand. You breathed again, and began dragging your sled back up the hill, treading upon millions of unique miracles just like the one that you had held in your hand.

God created our world, and He created magical things within it. Do you realize that scientists still do not understand gravity? I read an article this morning which stated that this mysterious force, which tethers our beloved moon to our rocky sphere, can be overcome by the static electricity that holds a balloon to the wall. We benefit from gravity every day. Every time that we step on a sidewalk, place a glass of water on a tabletop, lie down in bed, we trust that gravity will work as it always has.

Open your door and step outside, breathing in that fresh oxygen. Inhale deeply. That breath came from a tree, or perhaps your neighbor's rhododendron bush, maybe even poison ivy. While that plant drew in the carbon dioxide that you expelled, it was slowly pulling water and nutrients from the ground. Multivariate cellular reactions took place, and that tree gave forth the oxygen that sustains your life as tears fell from its leaves; behold the beauty of cellular respiration in a plant, something that lives but does not think, travel, or speak. Have you noticed?

When was the last time that you played with a prism? Do you remember your confusion when you realized that light contains colors? Do you ever wonder what it would feel like to travel as light through a prism? Perhaps back again?

Our world is magical, and our Creator made it so. Please, let us not forget that. In the mundanity of life, let us not lose a sense of wonder and curiosity. Take a shower and observe the droplets, realizing that the teardrops are really spheres. Place a magnet on the door of your refrigerator and smile when it sticks. Blow a soap bubble, and observe the swirling colors.

Notice. Observe. Think.

Feel free to wonder.

I had a dream about Kurt Wyman last night. I dreamed that I was at a summer picnic with a bunch of people whom I felt as though I knew, although I can't describe anyone. I turned around from a conversation and Kurt was right behind me, giving me his characteristically goofy grin.

I gave Kurt a hug, pounded his back, lightly punched his arm. I told him how glad I was to see him, that everyone missed him. I told him that his baby daughter, Adyson, was beautiful. He never got to see her; Kurt's wife was in labor while Kurt lay bleeding on the pavement.

Kurt Wyman was a Sheriff's Deputy for Oneida County, New York. He was an excellent father, a caring husband, and a man worthy of respect within his church. He was also my friend.

Late Monday evening, June 7, 2011, Kurt was called in to respond to a domestic dispute. The suspect was threatening to kill his live-in girlfriend, and eventually he threatened to kill himself. Six hours later, after many attempts to negotiate, the officers tried to bring the man in. The man responded, and he killed Kurt with one blast from a shotgun; ending a man's life, a family's future, and one of the few high school friends I ever had.

Attending Kurt's funeral was the hardest thing I have ever been through; I think that the experience has forever changed my life. Forever. More than 5,000 people attended, and the event was televised on our local networks. I felt insignificant among the sea of faces. I had no right to be here.

Just that previous Sunday, I was telling a mutual acquaintance that I intended to call Kurt and catch up, maybe grab a coffee. I had two days, and I never made good on that plan. Two measly days, and Kurt was gone. I will never have another chance; at least, not on this side of the grave. I wanted to ask him about his wife, whom I barely knew. I wanted to know what it was like being a dad, being a cop, what he had felt when he came back from fighting overseas.

At the funeral, I tried to be strong. I did pretty well until they started playing a picture slideshow. Memories of when we were kids were displayed on giant screens before thousands of people. School events. Birthdays. Graduation. Kurt in his uniform. The wedding, which I had been unable to attend. Youth group.

It was so hard.

This man, my friend, was respected by so many people. What have I accomplished? Who would care if I were shot tomorrow? I couldn't even find a job, and my friend had died while doing his own.

I felt ashamed.

I wanted to cherish my memories of Kurt in private; I wanted to feel the pain in my own way. Instead, I was trapped in a stadium with thousands of people, people who felt they knew Kurt as much as I did simply because he wore a uniform.

I wondered how Lauren felt, losing a husband, and having to share that pain in the open. Share it with people like me, who had lost touch. Share it with Bill Worden, the news anchor at WKTV. Share it with the killer who was probably watching the broadcast from his cell.

I will severely miss Kurt. Even though we haven't been as close in recent years, he will always hold a special place in my heart as one of the few people in high school who treated me like a person. He cared.

I treasure my dream. I feel as though I finally got to say goodbye.