The most beautiful things I’ve seen lately might, at first glance, seem spoiled.
Maybe that’s because our buffed, airbrushed and artfully arranged culture leaves scant room for anything it deems less than “perfect.”
Just days ago I noticed that the peonies I paid too-much-a-stem for out-of-season are dying in the most exquisite way: leaving their silky, fragrant and feathery petals in pools of red on the dining room table. Each morning a few more fall, until now there are handfuls of them…so lovely that I can’t bear to pick them up and toss them away.
Recently I visited a 17 year old in the hospital; she is giving cancer a hard run for its money, and seems to be winning. Except her hair is gone, save the softest, fuzziest stuff that doesn’t keep her skull from showing through – and radiation has left mean scars on her neck where the skin was once soft and smooth.
Luke 2:14
Who are we to hoard Your glory,
close it in earth’s cluttered halls–
when it was made to echo
through the heavens’ vast expanse?
Who are we to try and grasp
the splendor that is Yours alone–
as if by clinging we could steal
one glimmer of Your brilliance?
Who are we to pilfer praise
When every alleluia boasts Your fame–
except the chorus that adores You and
sings glory to Your precious, saving Name?
© Leigh McLeroy 2004