Beauty cries out to me.
She beckons my attention in a noisy and crowded world where I too quickly grow numb, distracted, detached.
I blame it on my eyes; they spoil me.
For their powerful function allows me to look and look and look–without requiring me to see or notice or appreciate.
This is my quest. To notice.
I being most often by walking small town streets and meandering in sleepy spaces. But I must be intentional to triumph.
I must stare, gawk, and observe. I must teach my eyes to linger on the curves of intricate trim work and old-world architecture. I must instruct my eyes to spy the smallest flower. I must tune my ear to hear the faint call of a robin.
And when I do, I awake to a world of beauty as if rousing from a deep sleep.
Beauty breathes life to my weary and cluttered soul.
My soul soaks Beauty up like a dry, thirsty sponge, desperate to see that which is too often hidden by my busy, clamoring mind.
For hearts break, disappointments appear, failures bloom, pain enters. Such is the reality of a broken, fallen world.
But Beauty remains, like a song that cannot be drowned out.
The sun still rises and sets in its glory. The breeze still ruffles the branches of trees and bends the stalks of plants.
Old houses still tower in stature and elegance. Autumn leaves still crunch satisfyingly beneath our feet.
Mischievous felines still flit with grace and cunning. Sparrows still hop with buoyancy and cheer.
For however dark the world seems, Beauty tosses her head defiantly. She does not deny brokenness but obstinately refuses to let it triumph.
So I take notice.
When pain seems inevitable and brokenness insurmountable, I take notice of Beauty’s stubborn strength.
Somehow, some way, she revives my soul to face the next moment, to take the next breath, to ride into the next battle.
For when Beauty cries out to me, it is not for herself.
She cries out to incline my heart to One above.
But only if I listen. Only if I take notice.