A sunrise, a sudden pause, and the reminder that beauty will make itself known.
Yesterday morning, I was fixing breakfast when something made me look toward the glass doors leading to the deck. And wow.
My whole body paused.
The sky over my neighbor’s house was lit up in deep reds and oranges and purples — that kind of color that feels almost impossible. The kind that stops you mid-motion and rearranges your insides a little.
Beauty in the ordinary is like that.
It’s everywhere.
Sometimes quiet.
Sometimes loud.
Sometimes asking you to look closer.
Sometimes grabbing you by the face and saying, “Hey. You’re missing this.”
Later, as I tried to find a photo that matched what I’d seen–because I was too awed by that moment to think about taking a picture–it hit me: nothing could.
Not because the sky wasn’t photographable — but because the details that didn’t matter in the moment would matter in a picture.
The tangle of tree limbs.
The garage light in my neighbors backyard.
The chimney inserting itself into that gorgeous blaze of color.
The electrical wires.
When the sky was on fire, I didn’t see any of that.
Beauty made the clutter invisible.
And that led me straight into one of the things that gives my life meaning: championing the beauty inside people — the kind we’re often too close to see. The kind we sometimes try not to see at all.
Because none of us is a perfect picture.
We’ve all got tree limbs and electrical wires tangled up inside us.
But we are also vast.
Expansive.
More colorful and breathtaking than we dare imagine on most days.
We are the beautiful ordinary — messy, human, holy.
And when the light hits us just right, the clutter fades, and our true colors rise to the surface.
That’s the real picture.
The one worth paying attention to.
The one worth pausing to remember.
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