Every once in a while, just as I sit down on a bench, or take a sip of coffee, this recurring thought strikes me:
People are so beautiful.
Whether it's the old man lovingly hold his wife's hand. Or the housewife self consciously adjusting even her modest dress. The young mother holding her delightfully chunky baby. Maybe the young man with sixteen gadgets stuck to various ears and hands and eyes. Or a businessman with just the slightest trace left on his face of the high school nerd he once was.
They are absolutely gorgeous.
And today I thought, no wonder God wants to know us. No wonder WE search for the thing that will complete us, unknowingly searching in all the wrong places. And we are so unapologetically, audaciously, outlandishly beautiful.
And we are His.
Showing posts with label remembering. Show all posts
Showing posts with label remembering. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 10
Friday, March 28
It's the pits
Last night, I spent some time with friends. It was actually really fun. I know that sounds weird--spending time with friends should always be fun. But I sometimes have a hard time relaxing, just being, with people. So my relationships, no matter how hard I try to resist this, stay small.
They were hosting a traveling musician. She was living the life, that if I could let go and not worry about all the things I'm currently worrying about, I want to live. Bohemian, and earthy, girlish and slightly ethereal. It was nice just to talk. To relate.
We stayed sitting on the couches, late into the new morning, just talking about experiences in the last year that even though so different, were kind of similar. And a new friend was made. I hope.
I must admit, I did say something stupid that before I even realized I was thinking it (because really I wasn't thinking) it had jumped form my lips, and laid on the floor, creating an awkward silence between all of us. I didn't like that I said it, but I don't know that it was necessarily a bad thing to say.
And this morning, after too few hours of sleep, I did my hair, and the fun eye liner thing.
And forgot my deodorant. Yuck.
I can never seem to get it quite right. Some pieces are there. Some fit so perfectly together. But then one thing falls apart and mucks it up.
The story of my life.
They were hosting a traveling musician. She was living the life, that if I could let go and not worry about all the things I'm currently worrying about, I want to live. Bohemian, and earthy, girlish and slightly ethereal. It was nice just to talk. To relate.
We stayed sitting on the couches, late into the new morning, just talking about experiences in the last year that even though so different, were kind of similar. And a new friend was made. I hope.
I must admit, I did say something stupid that before I even realized I was thinking it (because really I wasn't thinking) it had jumped form my lips, and laid on the floor, creating an awkward silence between all of us. I didn't like that I said it, but I don't know that it was necessarily a bad thing to say.
And this morning, after too few hours of sleep, I did my hair, and the fun eye liner thing.
And forgot my deodorant. Yuck.
I can never seem to get it quite right. Some pieces are there. Some fit so perfectly together. But then one thing falls apart and mucks it up.
The story of my life.
Monday, March 12
Little loves
Once again...I have been reminded of all of those things that I have so long ago forgotten.
I used to spend a lot of time driving. I started in high school, approximately at the age of sixteen. And it soon became an obsession. I wanted every time I left the house to see how fast and how far I could go in the time I had--whether it was constrained by an actual event or by my own preimposed sense of time. I would wind around the base of Mt. Rainier, following no actual map or direction, but instead just turning when it felt right and staying the road it seemed straight. I wanted to see where I could go if only I was left to my own devices, and never did I get lost. Instead, I found beautiful fields, and new towns; saw familiar faces in trees and flew by the same houses in my own neighborhood fifty miles away.
When I moved away to college I continued this habit, and I would get the itch to drive when I became too stressed out about classes or over work. There seemed nothing that a good adventure couldn't fear. The irony that I was literally running away from my problems never escaped me. However, I came back refreshed, sometimes with a new perspective, and always with an appreciation for the creation that was so much bigger then me.
It seems that I have forgotten, again, about this principle. There is more than me out there. There is a sky that has no sense of time but only breathes twice in my 24 hours. There is a wind that seems to come and go as it pleases and never asks for permission though someone or something has authority over it. There is a beautiful sun that rises on some days and sets on most, and chooses to blind me every day when I argue with it. These things are much more than me, and still, I forget that they exist in spite of myself: regardless of my own power or lack thereof, they will continue doing what they're doing because they can. And even when it seems I can't, I can find peace in knowing that I have nothing to do with anything, and that if all I did was drive, the sun would still rise.
I used to spend a lot of time driving. I started in high school, approximately at the age of sixteen. And it soon became an obsession. I wanted every time I left the house to see how fast and how far I could go in the time I had--whether it was constrained by an actual event or by my own preimposed sense of time. I would wind around the base of Mt. Rainier, following no actual map or direction, but instead just turning when it felt right and staying the road it seemed straight. I wanted to see where I could go if only I was left to my own devices, and never did I get lost. Instead, I found beautiful fields, and new towns; saw familiar faces in trees and flew by the same houses in my own neighborhood fifty miles away.
When I moved away to college I continued this habit, and I would get the itch to drive when I became too stressed out about classes or over work. There seemed nothing that a good adventure couldn't fear. The irony that I was literally running away from my problems never escaped me. However, I came back refreshed, sometimes with a new perspective, and always with an appreciation for the creation that was so much bigger then me.
It seems that I have forgotten, again, about this principle. There is more than me out there. There is a sky that has no sense of time but only breathes twice in my 24 hours. There is a wind that seems to come and go as it pleases and never asks for permission though someone or something has authority over it. There is a beautiful sun that rises on some days and sets on most, and chooses to blind me every day when I argue with it. These things are much more than me, and still, I forget that they exist in spite of myself: regardless of my own power or lack thereof, they will continue doing what they're doing because they can. And even when it seems I can't, I can find peace in knowing that I have nothing to do with anything, and that if all I did was drive, the sun would still rise.
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