Hungering for Beauty & Smallness

It has been a difficult season of gray days and black nights and aching for the dawn, a time when every part of my heart, my life, my calling, my core, has been challenged to evolve, adapt, accept, surrender, and overcome. It has been a time of dreadful dullness, punctuated by sharp stabbing moments of inner chaos. This season has left me hungry--so hungry--for change, for growth, for the drenching of beauty that will wash away all the ugliness that remains, both within me and around me.



Today is one of those days when I wish I could recline in a field of flowers and stare at the shapes of the clouds without the fear of creepy crawlies and pollen reactions (as if.) Since fields of flowers are almost sure to have both of those things, however, I wish for the beach; I long to sit at the edge of the Gulf of Mexico, in that flour-y white sand, in that perfect place where the tide laps playfully at my toes, reminding me that I am small and God is big and I am His.


I want to surround myself with beauty and peace and to settle my heart within that sort of perspective. I want it to seep inside me, inhabit me, renew me, and shine out from within me to those around me who so desperately need it. I want to embrace my smallness, that I might allow my heart to be engaged--every moment--in recognizing the immense hope I know exists, even in the chaos of our darker seasons.

I read an article last week that claimed people who see fresh flowers first thing in the morning are more optimistic throughout the day. It made sense, so I thought . . . okay. Let's do THAT.

I brought home two bunches of daisies and one of... something purple from the affordable cut-flower section of my local discount grocery store. There were enough for two bouquets, so two were made: one for the kitchen, one for the living room. After arranging and placing, I instantly felt better. Having flowers on my table, seeing them first thing in the morning and every time I pass through the kitchen these last few days has been... 

wonderful.

We're a household of "pilers" -- we pile stuff, both literally and figuratively. In the figurative sense, it is our emotions that fester in the wounds inflicted upon us as well as those we inflict upon others. But in a more literal sense, as anyone who 'pops in' for a visit unannounced can attest, if there is a flat surface, it will have a bunch of paperwork, mail, and other random stuff piled on it. The worst place for these piles to accumulate, of course, is the kitchen table (which is our only eating surface.) 

Rare is the meal that finds all four of us at the table. Often, we shove all that paperwork detritus to the middle to make room for a plate on which we can eat. Gross, right? I'm not proud of it, it just is what it is. Or at least it HAS BEEN. Until I started this flowers thing. Now, although my family hasn't exactly caught on yet, I'm finding myself pulling stuff off the table every time I walk through the room. I don't want anything there to detract from this little snippet of beauty within chaos.

I moved the second bouquet from where it was sitting unnoticed in the living room (let's face it, if we're in there, our eyes are most likely on a screen.) Now it sits on the kitchen counter. Oh, sweet lovely.

Sometimes, it's the little things that dash away the dull grays and the black nights of a season, bringing color, light, and life back into a heart, if only for a moment. I'll take it. Perhaps it will grow and become a new season of its own.

What do you do when you recognize that beauty-hunger within your soul?