If only . . . it hadn’t happened.
Today, I wake up grieved by Wednesday’s violence in our nation’s capitol—only to be further dismayed by the media’s name-calling in the guise of news.
When epic troubles escalate, how do we resist the downward spiral of resignation? How do we nurture fresh reasons to hope?
Earlier this week I splurged on a pot of hyacinth bulbs. Buds closed tightly as raised fists lined three fleshy stalks.
This morning, bloom after star-like bloom perfumes the house.
When bulbs are responsibly “forced,”
the wild, greening wellsprings
that infuse creation
surge upward and outward: Now,
marvel transfuses my spirit, triggers
awe, releases a whiff of poetry.
My outlook shifts,
from grainy, film noir desolation
to hi-def, hyper-spectrum joy—each stem
redolent with modest glories. It reminds me
we’re all fiercely loved
by One who makes all things beautiful
in their time—even when growing entails
unspeakable suffering.
For God has made everything beautiful for its own time. He has planted eternity in the human heart, but even so, people cannot see the whole scope of God’s work from beginning to end.
So, I am scouting evidence of order. Implicit design. Metaphor and deeper meaning.
I am seeking Love quietly lavished in merciful ways around me so that I might go and do likewise.
It’s a plan, albeit a small one . . .
If I do say so myself.
What’s rekindling your experience of beauty? Truth? Humor?
This “IF” quotation made me laugh:
“If I could go to dinner with one person, dead or alive, I think I would choose alive.” — B. J. Novak
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