Finding Wonder & Reverence in Theo of Golden

What Theo of Golden Teaches Us About Wonder and Love

Every once in a while, a book comes along that reminds us of something we already know but have somehow forgotten.

For me, Theo of Golden by Allen Levi is one of those books.

If you haven't read it yet, I hope you will. It's a beautiful story about an elderly gentleman named Theo who arrives in a small town called Golden and begins touching the lives of its residents in unexpected ways. I won't spoil the story, because part of its beauty is discovering who Theo is as the pages unfold.

But what captivated me most about Theo's character wasn't necessarily what he did. It was the way he saw the world.

Cultivating Wonder

Theo is a man full of wonder. He notices sunsets and birds, appreciates architecture and the quiet details of everyday life. He allows himself to linger, to observe, and to ask questions. His sense of wonder and curiosity seems undiminished by age or experience.

What I love most is that Theo also notices people. He studies their faces and listens to their stories. He recognizes something precious in individuals who may have forgotten their own worth.

In a sense, he sees the gold inside them and draws it out.

As an artist, I find this deeply moving because learning to see is at the very heart of what I teach. When we draw or paint from observation, we become more attentive to subtle differences in light and color, to shapes and relationships we might otherwise overlook. Even the simplest subject can reveal unexpected beauty when we give it our full attention. But what's most interesting, is this way of seeing the world through art also has the potential to change how we see each other.

Seeing beyond the surface

One of the central elements of Theo of Golden involves a collection of portraits hanging in a local coffee shop. A portrait is an invitation to look at another human being and not just observe their face, but to consider and imagine the life behind it.

As artists, we can spend hours studying someone's likeness, searching for subtle expressions that reveal something of their character. But no portrait can fully capture the complexity of a human soul. To really understand someone requires empathy, curiosity, and a willingness to listen and learn. When we listen to others, we become story collectors.

Each of us carries a story. Behind the faces we encounter each day are experiences we know nothing about, including wounds that may never be visible to us.

Throughout the novel, we meet characters who carry deep pain, and Theo himself is no stranger to suffering. Yet the story continually reminds us that woundedness doesn't diminish a person's dignity or capacity for beauty. Sometimes what a person needs most is to be seen - to simply have someone take a genuine interest in their life and listen without rushing to offer advice or judgment. What really stood out to me is that Theo seems to understand that giving someone his undivided attention - really seeing them - is itself an act of love.

When wonder becomes reverence.

One word that comes to mind when I think about this book is reverence.

Reverence goes beyond noticing that something is beautiful. It recognizes that what we are beholding is worthy of our care and respect.

For me, as a follower of Jesus, this begins with acknowledging God as the source of beauty and the giver of life. The natural world is full of wonders that invite our gratitude and responsible stewardship. But human beings, created in the image of God, possess a dignity that calls us to something even greater, which is love. This book reminded me that if I want to get my priorities straight, then I need to put other people first.

But how? It can be so hard to do.

Actually, I think the more we recognize the sacred worth of another person, the harder it becomes to treat them carelessly. And yet, genuine love requires humility - a lot of it! It means surrendering our pride and our tendency to place ourselves at the center of everything, and being willing to enter into another person's experience rather than insisting that our own concerns always come first.

Theo demonstrates this kind of humility through ordinary acts of kindness and service. He gives people his time, often going out of his way to offer encouragement or help without expecting anything in return. His example is very Christ-like indeed. So much so, that at one point I actually wondered if Theo was some sort of saint or angelic being!

Another thing that struck me was how beauty and love work together throughout the novel. Neither can erase suffering, but both can offer hope and help us find healing. The story reminds us that while we can't always change what has happened to us, love has the power to change what happens within us.

I see all of this as a reflection of God's grace. We are invited to receive His love and, in turn, extend it to others.

Creating space for imagination and love

When I think about why I make art and why I teach others to make it, I keep returning to this belief that learning to see through art is transformational.

Art helps us to look closely and deeper, beyond our first impressions. The more time we spend observing something, the more we discover, and with that discovery comes a growing sense of wonder, reverence...and love. But I don't want that attentiveness to end when I close my sketchbook or put away my paints. I want it to change the way I live.

I want to approach the natural world with greater gratitude and reverence, recognizing it as a gift entrusted to our care. And I want to carry that same attentiveness into my relationships, remembering that the people around me are infinitely more precious than anything I could ever create. When I sit and reflect on it, that's really the most valuable thing I took from reading Theo of Golden.

Near the end of the novel, we're brought back to the familiar words of the Apostle Paul in 1 Corinthians 13:13:

"And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love."

What a powerful phrase.

We can spend our lives pursuing knowledge or developing our creative abilities. These are worthy pursuits, and I believe they can bring us closer to understanding the beauty of God and His creation. But what good is our ability to recognize beauty if we fail to recognize the worth of the people standing right in front of us?

I think one of the greatest gifts of cultivating an attentive life is that we begin to see what truly matters. Where we not only appreciate beauty but let it transform us into more loving people. That's the kind of life I aspire to create, and the kind of imagination I hope to awaken in others.

If you have yet to read Theo of Golden by Allen Levi, I wholeheartedly recommend it. I suspect, like me, you'll find yourself looking at the world a little differently after turning the final page.