Brief, Simple Beauty

Last evening, I walked out of my bedroom to head downstairs. There was Anthony leaning over the stair railing and blowing scores of bubbles into the empty space where the staircase descended beneath him. Aside from the fact that he was dripping bubble solution all over the stairs, it was a happy sight. 

As I watched him momentarily, an evening from last summer flashed to my memory with vivid color and detail. And I remembered. I remembered that after that evening, I had planned to sit down and write it all down. But life moved on, and I had nearly forgotten that whole beautiful evening. 

It was June. I'm sure it was. The weather was sweet and warm. I was living my best life at Faith Mission Home and intentionally soaking up every precious moment because I knew I was soon going to be leaving. That evening, I had the late shift which meant I was in charge of our eleven girls from 4:00-8:00. 

Supper was over, and the girls were beginning to settle down and entertain themselves with coloring and listening to stories; all the girls, that is, except one. Liz loves the outdoors. She would live outside if we let her. And that evening, as usual, she gathered up Baby Susie and her harmonica along with a small collection of insects and prepared to spend the evening outside.  

But there was one problem. During supper, rain had poured and pounded down until water was streaming down the mountainside on which our little cottage was set. By the time dishes were cleaned up, it had slowed to a drizzle, but the swing set was too wet for Liz to play on. The porch was her only option. She asked to go outside, and I said she could but must stay on the porch. 

After making sure the girls were content and occupied inside, I went to join Liz. The warm, heavy atmosphere that follows a summer rainstorm wrapped me in a smothering hug as I walked outside. I stood with her on the porch watching the rain drizzle down onto the wet cement below. I heard water trickling through the gutters and smelled the damp freshness of the evening. 

"Liz!" I exclaimed with sudden inspiration, "Do you want to run to the bottom of the lane with me?"

Her eyes sparkled, and that was my answer. 

Carrying her beloved Baby Susie, she ran with me to the end of the lane where we stood letting the gentle rain fall all around and on us. We splashed in the small puddles that had collected, and Liz giggled with pure, unhindered joy. (I have an unquenchable weakness for rain, water, and puddles. Ask some of my Faith Mission friends. Liz definitely brought out my inner child! 😁) The quietness of the mountainside settled in, and it felt like we were the only two people in the whole world. We stood at the end of the lane for a long time just soaking it all in. Quite literally.

When we finally decided to head up to the porch again, clothes a bit damp and hair a bit curled, both of our hearts were full and overflowing with sheer happiness. Liz wouldn't have been able to communicate that, but I know she was just as happy as I was. 

As she settled herself on the porch, I went into the house and retrieved a long tube of bubbles from the activity cupboard. Liz loves bubbles, and quite frankly, I do too. But I let her blow them while I stood at the railing and watched her. The rest of the girls quietly entertained themselves inside (which can be unusual at times ...). While Liz silently blew bubbles, I got lost amid the thousands of thoughts I was piecing together in my mind.

Every time she exhaled, a handful of beautiful bubbles streamed from her wand and floated gracefully into the air. Perfectly round and delicately designed, they shimmered and bounced everywhere around us. I was stunned by their beauty. I mean, who has time to sit and stare intently at bubbles anyway? Do grown adults typically do this? 

But when I intentionally took time to slow the pace of my day and watch those stunning spheres drift lazily through the air, I was struck by their delicate beauty. I was also compelled to feel sad for how short their beauty lasted. I watched some for nearly a minute as they soared higher and higher into the air, floating toward the lush greenness of the trees. Some only lasted several seconds, bringing extra joy to Liz when they popped in her hand. But none of them lasted more than a minute or two. 

And yet!

Even in their short existence, they were beautiful. As light reflected off of their smooth surfaces, soft colors emerged. Oranges, yellows, pinks, purples, and greens all blended and merged together as the bubbles drifted through the air. 

Crisp, delicate beauty. 

Brief, simple beauty.

Beauty that brought so much joy both to Liz and to me. 

The bubbles weren't trying to be beautiful. They weren't working for it. They just ... were! Simple, raw, and genuine beauty.

I am fragile. My life is brief. But do I bring joy? Do I reflect the Light?

Every person on earth was created to bring beauty and joy, regardless of how long their life lasts. But some chose to hide in the dark, away from the light. And in that dark place, their beauty can neither be seen nor enjoyed. We can all reflect Light, but we reflect it the best when we step boldly into its center instead of lurking its corners or standing at its edge. 

The author of the song "Living in Me" wrote, "Your glory is brighter than my eyes can see, and You're the One who's living in me."

If His glory is brighter than my eyes can see, and if He is indeed living in me, then what should I look like? It's a question I've asked myself ever since I first listened to that song. Do I bring simple, "unedited" joy and beauty to my small world? Do I reflect the Light? 

Our lives are short and the saying "quality over quantity" fits well. 

"For what is your life? It is even a vapor that appears for a little time and then vanishes away." James 4:14