Tag: Beauty

Recession Christmas: Part One

For many years our family has been extraordinarily materially blessed around the holidays. Both parents and kids felt the magic of love (perhaps parents more than kids by knowing the sources of those blessings). This year, however, few have been unaffected by economic trials, and holidays must adjust accordingly. Instead of being stressed out or upset about this fact, our family decided to embrace the situation and make a different kind of magic.

One of my favorite holiday entertainments is looking at Christmas decorations. Beautifully coiffed trees, houses bedecked with twinkling lights, and outdoor displays that inspire awe capture my imagination every year. Not so very long ago, none of the materials for those displays existed. Instead, people used plants to dye fabric and ribbon into bright colors, and wove vines and branches into garlands to turn their homes into fragrant, cheerful, peaceful wonderlands. While fake plants did exist, materials were expensive and such things were hard to find even for the wealthy.

Instead of buying more decorations this year, we decided to emulate our ancestors and make our own. The woods are full of beautiful materials that cost nothing but the time taken to gather and arrange them. Moss, pinecone, and bark become a forest mountainside. Bare twigs in a painted bottle become winter ambience. A wild grapevine becomes a perfectly twisted wreath in my husband’s skilled hands. Adding a little saved ribbon and a few well-placed bits of bright paint creates a festive air.

The best part of it all is something that can’t be found in a store or on a website, something that can’t be bought for any money. The whole family went to the woods together, kids shouting with excitement over the perfect pinecone or insisting that a brightly colored freshly fallen leaf should take center stage in our table centerpiece. Eyes and minds focus on what God created, lungs breathe in clean air beneath the trees. Imaginations soar with possibilities. Innocent joy is shared. The world around us – filled with angst, selfishness, and materialism – is shut out. Pressures of work and school and our own differences melt away for a little while and we are just together.

Hard

We like to think that hard only happens in stories, that hard is a thing of the past. But it isn’t. We like to think that the ultimate achievement would be to eradicate hard from our memory. But it wouldn’t.

A young woman breathes deeply through the pain of her muscles contracting. Her skin stretches to its limit as a tiny head presents itself to the world. She collapses in exhaustion, sore and weak, but lifts her arms to receive a screaming, wiggling new life. Her breasts ache with pressure of milk flowing, and she winces at the tug of her baby’s eager tongue. Hard. Necessary. Beautiful.

A toddler struggles to his feet, swaying a little on unaccustomed legs. He reaches for support, but it’s just too far away. Slowly he leans forward and shifts one foot slightly. He falls forward but catches himself with his hands and struggles upright again. Undaunted, he lifts his foot again and manages to move it two inches before he sways and nearly falls again. Encouraged, he tries the other foot. This time he does fall forward, but his daddy’s hand that he reached for from the beginning is there and he has taken his first steps. Hard. Necessary. Beautiful.

A mom of five lies awake long after her family is asleep, her mind churning. One of her children has challenged her will, determined already at five years old to plot her own course regardless of destruction. Another struggles with an alien within that tries to destroy him against his own will. Another blossoms rapidly into womanhood, her gentle innocence challenged by changes she does not yet understand.  The mom weeps alone, praying for the wisdom and strength to face another day trying to fulfill all the needs. Hard. Necessary. Beautiful.

A man, his hair prematurely gray, fills the fuel tank of his old truck with grim resignation. He has been near broken so many times he lost count long ago. This latest seems beyond his power, and he prays for resolution. War looms, the meager contents of his wallet stretch thin, and he can’t seem to collect resources quickly enough to ward against what threatens. He didn’t want this; someone far away with more power than is healthy chose their own temporary gain over true good. He counts through a mental budget yet again, trying to balance his family’s needs against ever shrinking ability. Hard. Necessary. Beautiful.

A soldier shivers with pain, tears burning paths in his cheeks. All he wanted to do was respect the country he loves, and make his family proud. He never expected to fight a war, to stare down the barrel of a weapon at living people he was tasked to kill. He never expected to purge himself over mutilated remains beneath rubble, or to have his gut ripped open with shrapnel from a carelessly launched missile. He never expected to be lying in his own blood on foreign soil, wondering if that would be the last thing he ever saw. Hard. Necessary. Anything but beautiful.

Hard makes us who we are. The specific hard we endure makes us individual, whether it’s the hard of providing for a family, the hard of dealing with illness, or the hard of facing pain and death. Hard is meaning and purpose; hard is the reason the human race still exists. Hard is necessary. Usually, hard is beautiful.

If You Know How to Look

Today my husband and I spent the day outdoors. It’s the height of autumn here in the south, and this year has brought us a particularly fine one. The normally green beauty of the woods has flamed with color, and the lake bottom is rusty with orange and purple.

I revel in the crisper air and the brilliant color that coats the world for such a brief moment, but we didn’t go out to appreciate that today. Everyone with eyes can see that flamboyant display whether they try or not. We went in search of something a little less obvious.

There is perfection buried in the shade of those bright leaves, but not everyone can see it. Some are overwhelmed by the blatant beauty and are convinced it is enough. Others may realize there is more to see but don’t know how to find it.

What do you see in the picture? Leaves? Look closer. Now what do you see? Deep in a hole full of dead leaves, a hole I might have stepped in had I been focused on the canopy above, grew these tiny, fragile mushrooms. So small and delicate that a touch might break them, they clung to the side of the hole and peeked around the edges of the protective leaves.

Much about life, about people, is obvious. The way we look, the way we act, the things we say are all the blazing leaves on the trees, impossible to miss. But what is hiding on the floor of that brilliant forest? Do you know how to look? It doesn’t take special education. It doesn’t take titles or notoriety. It requires time taken to step slowly and gently. It requires leaning in to examine every inch of ground for what is hidden. It requires the gentlest of touches to shift protective leaves away from the fragile thoughts and feelings buried deep within.

There is so much unexpected beauty to be found. If you know how to look.