It’s one of those mornings. Gloomy, rainy, cold for the second week in a row, exacerbating the fibromyalgia and arthritis. Too little sleep. Many people I love dearly facing deep, life-challenging problems and nothing one can do to help but cry with, pray for, let the heart ache.
Then, coming up the drive to campus, movement in front of the chapel. Odd, at first, coming out of shadow and fog, but resolving into the graceful form of a doe leading her yearling fawn, stretching to full speed to make it across the road and into the grassy field before the beast with the too-bright eyes could cause them harm.
Beauty, beauty, beauty.
In all our brokenness and despair, He keeps giving us beauty to remind us of His presence and His care for this world He created. Hopkins says it best, as always:
The world is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man's smudge and shares man's smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.
And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs --
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.
Lord, may we always cling to Your Truth and be open to Your beauty in this world, broken though it is, allowing You to remind us of Your great love for us, whatever appearances may be at any given time.
Glory be to the Father, to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit, as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever will be, world without end. Amen.