looking up at the deep-navy sky as the clouds roll in under the half-moon's light, i begged to see Him. to feel Him. to sit, surrendered, on my knees in wonder. the clouds moved methodically, like items on a conveyor belt, rolling past with intentionality.
the way the moon shone through the barren silhouettes of the large oaks above caught my eye.
beautiful.
the beauty in the barren. the irony of such a thing. the way the things stoic and static and revealing there age or less-than-perfect features catches my eye. simple. beautiful.
i find that i admire beauty most, not in the glitz and glam, but rather in the dark and destitute. cities like Manhattan catch my attention because they sparkle, but places like Haiti capture my heart because even though they don't shine, I can see my reflection among the ruins. i see beauty in broken things, perhaps because I see the hope that Christ brings in our brokenness.
my broken years I often look back on with an unlikely since of longing, because of the way the Lord attended to "fixing" me. the proximity to His heart, the ability to hear His voice, the desire to seek after Him with all my heart; none have ever been stronger or closer than in those times, during those struggles.
where do you most often see beauty? what makes it beautiful to you? can you see beauty in the ruins? Thankfully, Jesus does.
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