However, the uneasiness and anticipation that comes with the unknown?  Not so much.  And January tends to bring with it an expectation of something I’ve never really been able to pinpoint, but the barrage of ads flooding every medium for weight loss drugs, botox, micro-surgeries with a nip here and a tuck there, exercise plans and fad diets makes me want to light everything on fire.  Now, don’t get me wrong, if those are things that you do and they make you feel good and you’re doing it for you or for your health or whatever, then I’ll be your biggest cheerleader and bring you carb-free whatever (just know I’ll be eating enough carbs for both us of after I leave) and support whatever it is you try.  But the pressure that the world puts on us to look a certain way, or the idea that beauty comes from meeting some kind of stupid standard that society has deemed attractive, is rage-inducing for me. 

 

You know what I think beauty looks like?  It looks like when someone sees you’re hurting or struggling, seeing beyond the smiles and laughter you use to hide the pain.  Or when someone drives by and sees a person on the street, maybe holding a sign asking for help or money, then follows their heart, which they’ve likely worked their whole lives to keep soft and open, giving cheerfully, whether they can afford to or not.  And when they do it, regardless of all the others who drive past the same corners, pretending not to see, while making assumptions about “those kinds of people?”  When they give without judging or questioning how that person might spend their seemingly inconsequential gift because it’s God’s job to worry about that, not theirs? That is truly beautiful.  I think beauty looks like friendships that are so deeply rooted that it doesn’t matter how much time goes by between overdue talks or girls’ nights, they show up, loving you bigger and louder than anyone else.  Beauty looks like a woman who hasn’t met whatever milestones the people in her life expected of her, whether that was getting married, having children, or a million other expectations that weigh her down.  She’s likely feeling less than, or not enough because, in some people’s eyes, she doesn’t measure up. But every day, she lifts up her face to the sky and accepts her journey and her purpose, whether it was by choice or one that was never a choice at all…overwhelmingly beautiful.  I tend to see beauty in the ashes because I know what it’s like to burn, and then, begin again with nothing but memories of who you used to be.  Over and over again, like Maya Angelou so perfectly wrote, “…but still, like dust, I'll rise. “

 

They say that beauty is in the eye of the beholder.  But we all get to choose, usually countless times a day, how we are going to view the world around us.  We can look at our partner, our children, friends or colleagues, in whatever place they are in, whatever thing may be consuming their lives, we can choose to see a mess or another thing to “fix” or a problem to deal with.  Or, perhaps, we can choose to see a person, with struggles we may never understand and the inspiration they are because they are still standing bravely in spite of the voices that tell them it’s not worth the fight.  We can choose to see the strength of a person who is trying her best to live and not just survive. How we choose to see the people around us speaks loudly…not about them, but about us, our hearts, and even who we are or are trying to be. 

 

So as we step into a new beginning, a new year, I hope we step boldly into living out loud, offering love without strings, compassion without reservation, and sharing a light bright enough to shine into the darkest of nights.  We may never know what the effects are of choosing to see others through the eyes of Jesus.  However, I can promise you, without question, that the ripples from each small act of kindness are immeasurable.

 

“Blessed are they who see beautiful things in humble places where other people see nothing.”  Camille Pissarro