The Gift of the Second Glance

“All that is good, all that is true, all that is beautiful brings us to God.” –Pope Francis

We live in a world overflowing with beauty. 

Yet we tend to relegate our ideals of beauty to pages of a magazine, places of intrigue, exotic destinations, a somewhere or a something new and different enough to jolt our senses awake and into an attitude of appreciation. 

The truth, though, is that God has built a cathedral of ever-changing, ever-present beauty right in our daily sphere of being. So often, we walk past it with unseeing eyes and overworked hearts, overwhelmed by the craziness of work or family or holiday doings which keep our minds spinning and our stress mounting and our souls blind--blind to the simple, profound beauties created to punctuate our day with the kind of reminder that connects us at the soul-level with the truth of God’s love and creative genius.

It's acceptable in the breakneck pace of our world to confine the when and where of our places of beauty; the curated feeds and the few convenient-enough seconds per week that lend themselves to stopping to smell the roses. 

Some months back, as I flipped through the radio in my car, I caught a snippet of wisdom encouraging listeners to tune into the little moments of beauty throughout their day – and after the moment of appreciation, they said, we should whisper a breath of thanks before moving on. 

That very moment, I saw a perfect flying V of geese sweep over the treetops of the park, backlit by the morning sun just kissing the peaks of the mountains with a rosy pink glow.

Most days, I wouldn’t have taken the extra second to marvel, to let the scene play out in front of me with so many other demands tumbling through my mind and fueling my anxiety. But that day, I listened. As I breathed the beauty in, the fog in my mind cleared briefly and a peace soaked into my soul. “Thank you,” I breathed out as instructed. And the peace lingered.

The more I’ve said “thank you” in the months since, the more beauty I’ve suddenly been privy to. I’m better able to notice and appreciate beauty in both the natural and the man-made, these little gifts tucked away in unexpected corners of my personal cathedral, new every day, just waiting to be discovered and treasured—and above all, cared for. 

It's a subtle but restorative shift in cognition. When I see the golden-tipped grass alive with the light of the golden hour, instead letting it dance at the edge of my consciousness as I barrel on with my distractions, I'm now giving it a voice, allowing it to take up space in my awareness. And in this season of trying to keep up and keep the demons of burnout from creeping in, the more I connect with God's beauty, the more I'm mentally and emotionally strengthened to face the weariness of the physical suffering that waits. 

Today, for example, I had to drive through the first real snowstorm of the season to make it to an appointment. On the way home as the flakes fluttered down, I passed a small lake. Just as I pulled to a stop at the traffic light next to it, a barely-perceptible patch of blue broke through the gray clouds, filtering light onto the water enough to highlight a thin veil of mist rising from the entire lake. It was captivating, and I kept glancing from the light back to the lake to take in as many misty moments as possible. My appointment was for something that's been a great, exhausting, mental and emotional suck. I hate driving in snow. And yet, when I think of that moment, untarnished glee enters my soul, christening an otherwise weighty ordeal with good.

After lunch, I bundled up and trudged through the snow on my way to the mailbox with a stack of Christmas cards just as the mail truck was rumbling away. I turned to go inside, but then paused, thinking "he'll be back around the coul-de-sac soon. I'll wait." And I did. In ten degree weather, for five, maybe ten minutes. I spent some time being impatient and then caught myself as I breathed in deep in preparation for a heafty sigh. The taste of the air filling my lungs, it reminded me of...something. So I let my mind go there. Skiing! The fresh, crisp, lungfuls of chilled air during an exhilarating run down the slopes. And in that moment, I let myself look forward to our first ski trip of the season. And right there in ten degree weather, I broke into a girlish grin and delighted in breathing until the mail truck drove by again. 

I’m understanding that the more I let my five senses contemplate these moments of true beauty, the deeper the peace that grounds me. I'm complaining (a little) less about the early snow and re-acquainting myself with the breathtaking beauty of it sparkling in the moonlight when it is so quiet that I can actually hear the flakes falling. I’m saying “thank you” more…for the crunch of the leaves, the smell of the rain, the lustrous reflection of sunset on skyscraper glass, the stark contrast of concrete against crimson leaves, the curve of a wooden chair spindle against the wood grain of the floor, the deep blue of blue five-year-old irises staring laughingly into mine, the continuously evolving patterns of clouds spread upon sky. I'm learning that true beauty isn't limited to the big and mighty and shiny - it can be just as powerful in the small and humble and ordinary. 

And with every breath of thanks to the beauty in front of me, I’m able to thank my God again for the way something so small and simple can so authoritatively quell the frenzy of stress and anxiety--if I but only stop long enough to let Him reach through my mess with a whisper of true beauty and breathe His loving peace to me. 


What beauty awaits you in the cathedral of your daily life?