I stand in my front yard and watch as a small leaf flutters down on the gentle breeze and lands at my feet. Picking it up, I examine it closely, running my finger along the wavy edge. My eyes identify shades of gold and fiery red, mingled with the slightest bit of left over green. The veins are intricate and the color pattern unique. Leaf after leaf falls and I gaze at them in amazement.
Such simple things, yet I see them as beautiful.
I curl up with a good book in my favorite reading chair. Page after page words flow creating vivid images. I fall in love with non-existent characters, and I hope and fear along with them. I see the beginning, middle, and end and know the effort it took to plan it all out.
Truly talented, I see the author’s gift as beautiful.
I watch each of my children as they play together. My oldest son’s eyes are blue pools, which threaten to drown you if you stare into them too long. My middle child’s mischievous side is always apparent in his impish grin. The baby’s laughter is precious and melts my heart each time my ears have the pleasure of hearing it. Minute by minute they seem to grow and mature.
Sent from above, I see each one of them as beautiful.
I look into the mirror at my own reflection. I see hair growing in gray too soon. I see crow’s feet scratching their marks around my eyes. There is nothing funny about the deep laugh lines framing my sagging cheeks, worn with the weariness of life.
Flaw after flaw is obvious, I see the passing of beauty.
I continue to stare, to scrutinize my inner self. Even worse flaws emerge. I see the rebellious heart of my youth, which caused pain to all that loved me. There too, are all the wrong doings that I have been guilty of as an adult. So much to be thought of as hideous, yet I know that when my Father looks upon my face, none of that is seen.
His Son’s blood covers me, He sees me as beautiful.