Today I'm pondering Beauty. I've never really pondered Beauty before. But something is making me pause to revel in Beauty never seen before.
Flowers in a vase, eyeliner on a lid, a mantle decorated for the first time, a husband's easy agreement, a two-year-old's joy when visitors are near, a talk with my granny, an unexpected ice cream cone gift, the feeling of childhood, fun errands with Mom, a kiss from my dad, a prayer answered well.
I recently told my counselor I would like to have more fun. It may sound silly or trite, but it is a real goal for me. You see, I don't do things for fun; I do them for productivity, for efficiency, for marking them off of the on-going, never-ending, always-growing list in my head. Previously, when the list shortened, I panicked. What was I to do if the list ran out? Would my utility to this man, to these children, to this world, run out?
I have spoken with friends about my goal. In so doing, I have debated the futility of all things football. But one of these friends who speaks of football, also speaks of fun, and I am intrigued. I do not know this type of leisurely, friend-filled, food-laden way to spend hours of time. I ponder her words of leaving laundry and errands for later. My gut fear returns; what am I if not productive?
This friend also speaks of community and says we were made for it. My husband has long said that people just want to feel connected. These thoughts swirl in my head as they look for a place to settle. I like these ideas, and maybe they're true, but it's hard to find their place in this framework of rules I have kept for so long.
Another friend says investing time in one child matters. Staying home matters, even when it doesn't feel like it does. Even when it doesn't seem productive, my mind wonders? She says you don't have to reach the masses to matter. Changing diapers and making a home matter. They can be altar-offerings. The perspective shifts.
Another friend keeps trying, keeps planning, even when it's hard. She keeps believing, keeps offering, keeps opening, keeps doing. Beauty, in her persistence, I see beauty. We share ideas on money and excess, and beauty grows tall.
This husband, who so freely forgives and so quickly loves. Beauty. He even sees beauty where I see brokenness, in me. He is thankful and joyful that I am his. Beauty. Father-God beauty. Amazing-grace beauty. Prodigal-son beauty. It starts to grow in me and I fight to keep it afloat.
My counselor prescribed exercise to ease the depression and anxiety. I love to walk. I have so many memories of walking down our first-dirt, then-paved road with my mom. I have noticed that everything is lighter outside. Not just sun-filled, sky-lighter, but soul-lighter. Lightness is what I crave, so every weekday morning that we can, we walk.
The stroller is readied, the boys are tucked in, and we walk. We walk beside busy roads, looking for buses and ambulances and fire trucks and police cars. Because those things bring joy to that boy, and his joy matters. We walk beside houses and yards filled with flowers and character. Because those things bring beauty to this mom, and her beauty matters. We walk during morning rush hour, and this woman somehow, strangely, feels energized and a part of it, even though she is only walking beside it. But feeling connected and part of something, part of life, matters.
Kara Tippetts, blogger at Mundane Faithfulness, speaks of big love. She speaks of small moments, and how they matter, and how big love matters. How love beyond ourselves matters. She is a wife and mother of four who is dying of cancer. She writes almost daily, and she always reminds me to love big and reach beyond myself. She reminds me that flowers in vases matter. Mantles with squirrels and pumpkins matter. Walks for no reason other than enjoyment matter. Reading and singing and playing and dancing at bedtime matter. He will remember. He will feel loved. It matters.
Praying with him matters, too. Thanking Jesus in front of him matters. My heart smiled this week when we sat at the table and thanked Him aloud for a crisis averted, and he asked to call Him. I told him we couldn't call Him, but we could always talk to Him wherever we are.
I thought it would be hard to pray out loud with him and for him, but it is not. The words slip easily and comfortably off my tongue. The closeness of his little body wrapped around mine when we sit in the dark and sing "Jesus Loves Me" together is so true. "Yes, Jesus loves me. Yes, Jesus loves me. Yes, Jesus loves me. The Bible tells me so." Beauty, anchor, truth.
This God sent this Jesus to die for my sins so I would know of His beauty and love. He could have been sacrificed for my sins without suffering. He could have been my atonement without all the pain, but that's not the way it happened. What a Savior we serve. One who gave up His rights and suffered for us voluntarily so He could relate to us in our suffering. Praise be to God. That is big love. That is the love I want for them both. My deepest prayer each night is that they would know Him, love Him, and follow hard after Him all the days of their lives.
The lesson I'm learning is that beauty matters. He made beauty for us. It doesn't have to be productive to matter. I used to live by that, think by that. My baby is not productive to this world, but he is beautiful and he matters so, so much. My toddler strives to be productive, but his take still outweighs his give. Yet, he, too, is beautiful and he matters. I matter. You matter. Because of Him, we all matter.
Where do you see beauty today?
