Do you remember you’re beautiful? Do you even know that? You’re nothing like there ever was before you came into being and nothing like there ever will be after you leave here. Every breath you draw and exhale spells unique. There is simply nothing else in this world just like you.
I don’t know who you are, but I might see you pass me by on the street or sit beside me in the bus, and I might or might not glance at you twice. I would want to, because oftentimes it thrills me to remember. You’re proof to me of the delicate and all-encompassing work that God put into this world, and as I look at you, I think of His creation. I think of Him molding ancient mountains and bringing forests on their foothills to existense and life, pouring the oceans into being, making grass grow, encouraging birds to sing in thousands of different tunes instead of just one. And I think of how the same God wanted you to be, and here you are.
If you turned to look at me, I’d smile at you even though you might think it weird, because sometimes it might be the only way to grasp the passing moment and tell you that you matter. To tell you that I see you and I value you, whoever you are. You’re right here and I’m glad that you are. I might not know you, but I know you have a God-given life of your own.
And as you’d walk past or get up from the seat next to me, I might look at you go until you were all out of sight, until you had left my story to continue your own.
“Occasionally in life there are those moments of unutterable fulfillment which cannot be completely explained by those symbols called words. Their meanings can only be articulated by the inaudible language of the heart.” ~Martin Luther King, Jr.
Such a beautiful day today. I enjoyed the sound of birds singing and bees buzzing while about their business. #littlethings
There’s an ongoing joke we tell in Chicagoland: it isn’t unusual to see all four seasons happen in a day. That’s kind of what today felt like: the morning was mild, sunny, spring like. And around noon, beautiful! Birds were singing, it was hot, I took a walk in the sun and listened to this happy-go-lucky pastoral concerto. And then the clouds came and brought chilly winds. I accidentally walked my dog in shorts and flip flops, and god it was freezing cold for me. Even so, I enjoyed my walk to Dairy Queen while brushing the digital dust off of this concerto, one of Mozart’s only two double concertos. The only work he wrote with the harp. I can only assume that Mozart had France in mind, since both the flute and harp were tied up with a rustic and pastoral French ideal [dare I say a Concerto champêtre to reference one of my French favorites?]. In reality, Mozart wrote this for one of his students, the daughter of another wealthy patron, who was an exceptional flautist and harpist. The product of this side project was this beautiful concerto, that is so easy to use as a cliche example of “soft, relaxing, pretty Mozart”. But why is that a bad thing? In the 1984 film Amadeus, Salieri is looking over Mozart’s perfect scores and part of the second movement plays, I would argue the highlight of the work. Music from heaven, wonderful music. I don’t see why we can’t celebrate beauty when we hear it.
• crunching leaves in the autumn
• lees whining for tickles
• birds singing in the spring
• lees giggling before I tickle them
• rushing waterfalls
• lees saying “ANYWHERE BUT THERE”
• gentle wind while it’s snowing
• the content sigh after tickles are done