Beauty In The Skies

I’ve always enjoyed flying, in a sense. As a dual British-American citizen, I love the fact that I can get on a plane in one country and within less than a day be standing on the ground of another country. And despite the frustrations of security, and the endless waiting, and being squeezed into a seat between strangers that (despite the cheerful predictions of friends) do not lend themselves to sleep – it still amazes me that I can go such a distance in such a short period of time, relatively speaking.

One of the things I love about flying that far above the earth is the sudden surprise views that appear – I’ve settled in, started reading or watching a film, maybe adjusted my ipod to listen to music, and then I glance out the window and there is a vista that appeared out of the clouds. I’ve seen majestic sunsets and glorious sunrises, clear views of the land below – I remember an incredible view of the Grand Canyon once that impressed me almost as much as seeing it ‘live and in person’.

Today it was a combination of clouds that made me feel I was looking at a different world. That’s one of the aspects of airline travel that you get nowhere else on earth – the feeling that you have transcended one world and have been given access for a moment to another. A science-fiction feeling, almost: it could be anywhere, and nowhere, and somewhere all in one. Pale gauzy clouds drifting lazily above…a thick stream of cloud just above what appears to be a horizon…mountainous clouds that could be land, or sea, or cloud…and a flowing sea of cloud that looks like waves, rolling and tumbling and yet making no sound at all. And a glimmer of light shining in from the side, as though to light up this eerie world from a source I knew not.

It was an unearthly beauty, and I drank it in. It disappeared so quickly – clouds rolled in and we flew on and soon there was nothing of general interest at all, and I went back to my book or my music or whatever had captured me before. But I won’t forget this beauty of the heavens – because for me it’s a reminder that there is another world, high above this one that we live and move and work and walk on. There is a heaven that can’t be imagined, and sometimes we get a little glimpse of it.  "It has always seemed to me, ever since early childhood, that, amid all the commonplaces of life, I was very near to a kingdom of ideal beauty. Between it and me hung only a thin veil. I could never draw it quite aside, but sometimes a wind fluttered it and I caught a glimpse of the enchanting realm beyond -- only a glimpse -- but those glimpses have always made life worth while."  (L.M. Montgomery, Alpine Path)  Flying is one of those privileges we have that reminds us that we are actually quite small and insignificant, and our little world that we think so much of is quite insignificant, also, when compared with all the other worlds we’ve forgotten about – and the greatest new world that we will one day be catapulted (or drawn slowly) into. It’s hard to believe, when I’m tired or sick or weary or weighed down with cares, that this world is so short and will one day disappear – and it will all be the new world, the impossible-to-believe world, the new heavens and new earth for those who have seen beyond this one. Because if this life is the best you can imagine, there’s not much waiting for you. But if this world pales in comparison to the possibilities, what beauty will one day be seen!

Beauty of Bailey's

A few weeks ago I stumbled across the Bailey's Facebook page, on which they were offering free samples of their new 'biscotti' flavour. I'm a big Bailey's fan, so I ordered mine and then promptly forgot all about it.  Recently my little sample arrived in the post, and it made for a beautiful morning - and a beautiful blog post!

It came with a little postcard  saying "With love from Italy".  I loved the picture, and just sat staring at it for a few minutes...one of the places I've always wanted to go is the Amalfi Coast in Italy, and this reminded me of it.

Blue skies, warm sunshine, turquoise waters, ancient crumbly buildings, green grass, and everything covered over with a sort of amber haze, like the entire country is steeped in romance and history and sepia-coloured photographs, even today.  I haven't been to Amalfi, but I've been to Rome, and it's one of my most favourite cities in the whole world.  The richness, the 'flavour' of the whole city just capture your heart and your senses all at once.  The colours of the Bailey's bottle and the drink itself just goes so well with it all - a creamy, vanilla-brown, smooth and thick and sweet. 

Bailey's is an amazing drink because it's so versatile. You can have it on its own (poured over ice in a pretty crystal glass); added to coffee (I don't usually like anything in my coffee, but Bailey's makes everything beautiful); poured into cheesecake or another kind of dessert - even chocolate chip cookie dough! Try it!  I went with the simple beauty of just pouring it out - and I've made my one little tiny sample bottle last for a week or more that way.

I'm realising, again - still? - that beauty truly is everywhere.  You can find beauty in a sample that arrives at your door - a small bottle - a warm drink - a photograph - anything.  It hides in secret places sometimes, and others it's right before your eyes, you just need to look.  If you would see beauty all around you, you must...

Stop.  Stop what you're doing and even what you're thinking. If necessary, physically stop and just stand there for a moment.

Set Aside. Now put down (physically or mentally) everything you're carrying around. If your hands are full, put things on a counter or desk. If your head is full, tell yourself you will set all that down and you will pick it up later. (It will come back, never fear.)  We don't want to set down because we fear we will forget something hugely important - but if your mind is at rest you will remember more, not less.

Focus.  On the beauty, on the world around you for the beauty in it.  It may be a person (your small daughter dancing, your sister trying on a dress; an object (a flower, a bee, a bowl of strawberries); a place (a beach, rock formations, a creek).  Whatever it is, now that you've stopped and set aside, turn all your mental energy to this beauty before you. And...

Investigate. Go deeper. Often the greatest beauty is in the detail. Flower petals. Stitching on a dress. Your daughter's tiara, or brown eyes, or the colour of her hair.  Pebbles sparkling on the beach. This is what children do - they go deeper. And they call us to beauty. "Look! Look!"

Stop and look today.

The Beauty of London

I love London. I always have, since the first time I visited it, tired and footsore and riding around on the top of a double-decker red bus even though it was cold and grey and windy and raining hard. I love the magic and mystery of it, the old-world beauty, the coming-to-life of Dickens and his ilk, the glamour and sophistication meeting the poor and downtrodden, the museums, the Tube, and the people – oh, the people! Frothing about in a mass of humanity such as is rarely ever seen. Brushing past each other with blank stares, slipping into and out of the stream of people with hardly a touch. Cycles, taxis, buses, and walkers. Men in dark suits with comfortable white trainers; women in fur coats; homeless men in rags; small children with balloons; tired mothers pushing prams; posh mothers having left their children behind; important-sounding businessmen talking, it seems, to nobody at all, staring straight ahead and seeing nothing. The way people walk directly under Big Ben or Westminster, or through St James Park, without even seeing it. The constant movement, lights, motion, sound, beauty.

There are particular beauties I see often in London – but I love that I always see new ones. This time it was an immense and sparkling array of gemstones in the Victoria & Albert Museum; the huge Christmas tree standing at Covent Garden, and the matching baubles hanging from the ceilings inside; the shadowy image of Sherlock Holmes at the Baker Street Tube stop; the incredible intricacy of autumn leaves frozen into the South Kensington ice rink; and the ever-changing beauty of the Harrods window displays. I stopped to stare at each one – it’s as good as shopping to walk around the entire Harrods store, and to me is a thank you to the artists who spent hours and days and perhaps even weeks preparing each display. The sheer extravagance and sparkle and expensive-ness and creativity compacted into one display was enough for me to stop and stare; and there is an entire city block of these to enjoy.

It seems, then, that the beauty I love in London is its marrying of consistency and variety. Like the seasons, which every year are the same, and yet every year just a little bit different, London as a city is also reassuringly the same, and yet with new glories to discover around every corner. I love going to the same shops, or to the Camden Town markets, with joyful expectation of a particular place that is there every time, and yet getting surprised by something new I’d passed several times and never before seen. Or looking out on the Thames to see it look as I’ve never seen it before.

Or people-watching on the Tube and being never-endingly fascinated by the variety, the faces, the hair, the shoes, the things they are carrying. Quite calmly, a man with a large potted plant pushes his way onto the Tube. Or a woman with a massive bouquet of flowers; a small child with two stuffed animals; a student reading a book and not even looking up as he navigates the doors. Sometimes I choose just one thing – like shoes – to look at on my journey. Tall brown boots; black patent leather shoes; sandals; fur-lined parka boots; little white ballet shoes; comfortable trainers; pointy alligator shoes; impossibly high heels, in varying colours; little kitten heels; and a plethora of others that go by in rapid succession, standing and sitting and shifting and stepping and sliding and every other kind of movement you can imagine. I also like trying to guess the face that goes with the shoes – and I’m very often surprised by the results. The patent-leather black shoes belong to a student, or the impossibly high heels to an older woman. Once again, London has been consistent, and surprised me at the same time.

Ancient Beauty: The Lewis Chessmen

Today I got to see the set of ivory chessmen that were found on the shores of Uig, Isle of Lewis, over 900 years ago.

I had visited Lewis last summer and spent a week traveling around, taking photos, and generally being amazed by the light and space and quiet.  When I got to Uig, there was a huge wooden chess piece standing on the side of the little road that led to the beach, and a notice explaining that this was a large replica made based on the little ivory chessmen that had been found there in 1831.

Apparently these chessmen date back to the 12^th century, being Scandinavian in origin, and were found washed up on the beach by a local man. 

There was something about these little chess pieces that fascinated me.  Not only their incredible age, but the distance they had travelled.  Lewis is a remote, quiet, almost too-quiet place that is still fairly sparsely populated.  And on one of its beaches – far from Scandinavia! - is where these little carved figurines appeared, washing in with the tide, lying almost hidden under the sand for this man to find.  He obviously knew that these were no children’s playthings, for almost 200 years later I am standing in the National Museum of Scotland, looking at ten small chess pieces in fascination and wonder.

The detail is incredible.  You can still see the intricately carved lines, the eyes, every line of the little sword, the hats, the hair, the robes, the horses.  My friend Whitney and I stood for a good ten minutes discussing which one we thought was which – obviously that there was the rook, and this one the knight, and that one the bishop.  We debated for a while over which were the kings and which were the queens, and my favourite was a little man with his teeth bared over his sword.  I bought a replica in the gift shop as we went out – whenever a museum that good is free, I like to make my contribution via the (nevertheless overpriced) gift shop.  It eases my conscience and brings me a little joy too!  (Or someone else, if I’m actually buying a gift.) 

I know very little about chess (I’m not a strategic-game-player: the most I go for would be Risk because despite the strategy required, it still comes down to the roll of the dice), but the game is so beautiful that I will no doubt one day own a very classic and clever chess set.  The carefully designed characters, each one different from the other and yet following a similar pattern, standing like sentries on their designated squares, obedient to a particular route and rules, waiting patiently while their masters consider and ponder and plot their way through the game.

It’s much more than a game: it’s a military directive, an organised array, a battle that has all the time in the world.  I think it’s the pace of chess that I like – the pause for thought, the hand on the chin, the furrowed brow, the calculating wheels of the mind that are barely betrayed with a slight movement of the eyebrow, the eye, the head.  Then, swiftly, a decision is reached.  The hand goes out, the piece is chosen and shifted, in an instant the entire situation is new and different and (perhaps) surprising.  And after that there is silence again.  More consideration, more thought and planning and quietness, until the strike comes again.  And the pieces – those beautiful, carved, ivory pieces – sit in silence and patience with complete trust in their owner, moving in whatever direction he deems right.

It is, indeed, a beautiful game. 

Delicate Beauty

I went out this morning to find that there was a full, complete spider's web built onto the wing mirror of my car.  There is something so intricately beautiful about a spiderweb, especially first thing in the morning when every section is touched by a drop of dew, and the whole thing sparkles in the early morning sun.  It must have been the work of a night - it wasn't there last night when I drove the car in.  I stood for a moment entranced.  It completely covered my wing mirror, and being covered itself in dew or rain, it prohibited my view.  For the sake of the overnight worker, who had carried out this work with such skill, dedication, and beauty, I quailed at the thought of destroying it - but not being able to see what is behind me or to the right does not a safe car journey make, and away it must go.  I captured it, first, but of course my quick photo on the phone didn't in the least do it justice.  What incredible skill was here.  I have worked for days on projects that are far less beautiful - and this creature, one that had already moved on, had left me a gift of beauty that I had to remove.

I felt like I should apologise as I wiped it away.

Beauty In The City

Took the train into Glasgow tonight to meet some friends for dinner.  It was still light when I arrived at Queen Street Station, and I hurried along the streets thankful I had chosen to wear my big brown coat with the fur lining.  Autumn arrived this week and has begun warring with winter, both of them struggling with each other for the rights to the cold.  Autumn insists that it's his responsibility to usher in the crisp air and biting winds, and winter tells him to just give up the fight and let him come in with all the power of his arsenal.  I avoided them both with my furry coat, but I notice that I and my fellow city dwellers are beginning the winter hunch...both shoulders turned in a bit, head down, hands in pockets, feet moving quickly.

Not quickly enough though, as I noticed a man sitting against a wall with an old coffee cup in his hand, coat pulled tightly around him.  I still don't know yet what is the 'right' thing to do every time you see someone in this situation - especially when in the city, and you pass four or five in an hour.  None of them are ever in the same place twice, which makes it very difficult for any relationship building.  I used to wrestle with this in my mind every time, and avoid it entirely by simply walking on.  But a few years ago that got to me also.  If I'm really a believer in Jesus Christ, and trying to be more like Him, I know for a fact He wouldn't walk on.  Matter of fact, it's pretty clear from everything you can read about Jesus that He was homeless Himself.  No regular place to put His head, no kitchen, no family to take care of Him.  Matter of fact, they all showed up once when He was speaking to a crowd and demanded that He come home - not because they wanted to take care of Him, but because they thought He was quite literally out of his mind.  He went around proclaiming He was God, and they were going to save Him from Himself.  It didn't work, and Jesus went on with what He was determined to do, and here I am two thousand years later with hundreds of people that I don't know how to help who are constantly asking me for help.  I have finally decided on a personal philosophy, and it is just that - personal.  It's not what I think everybody should do, and certainly if it's what we all did it wouldn't be enough.  I think we all have to look deep inside and see who we are, what God has given us, and how we can help, even in the smallest way, these people who sit in doorways and against walls and in bus stations and hold out their hand for help.  Mine is to, if I can, buy them a cup of coffee (or some food), and find out their name.  It has never taken me more than five, or maybe ten minutes, out of my day.  Sometimes I stay and talk, other times I don't.  Sometimes I have appointments to keep and people relying on me, and I don't always take the time.  Sometimes I offer and they say no thanks.  But almost every time they are full of thanks, and I am glad that I met their eyes and did not look away.  Yes, I know all the arguments.  They're going to spend money on drink, or drugs, or whatever.  There are missions and hostels and homeless stations everywhere, and these guys are just professional moneymakers.  You need to really get alongside them and get to know them over a period of time.  It doesn't help to just speak to them the one time, especially if I don't even live in that city.  But if they are anything else in the world, they are a human being made in the image of God, and I cannot think it can be right to always pass by when it is so cold outside.  I wouldn't want to be sitting on a cold ground against a cold wall with religious people passing by on the other side all night long. All this flashed through my mind in a second, so fast I could hardly process it, and I promised myself I'd get him that coffee when I came by him on my way back.  If he was there.

We came out of the restaurant afterwards, and stood for a moment enjoying the sparkling beauty of a city at night.  I love going into a restaurant when it's still light out, and then coming out to fairy lights on the trees, a clock tower rising far above our heads against the blue-black sky, people moving more slowly now, not the crazy rush of employees but the comfortable walk of people who have been well fed.  We smiled at the city and it nodded back, pleased to be of service.  And then I remembered the man I had passed, and my inward promise.  I quailed a little, as you always do when there is something that makes you stand out from your friends, but I've ignored that feeling before to my detriment, and for the love of God, it's just a cup of coffee. So we rounded the corner and there he was, the same man, still collecting.  It was as though my feet stopped of their own accord, and I asked if I could get him something - some coffee, perhaps.  His eyes lit up and so did mine.  It was a very short section of my day.  A few minutes to find a coffee shop, a few more minutes to wait in the queue.  A minute or two for them to make it, a few minutes to walk back, and a minute to ask his name.

His name is John.  He is part of the beauty of the city, tonight.

Beauty in Jane

Tonight my friend and I had a Jane night - watching Jane Eyre as well as some Jane Austen. Sometimes I forget that Jane Eyre is not an Austen book, but a Bronte one...but watching the film I was reminded of the differences.  Bronte is darker, deeper even.  Austen wrote out of a desire to see all her characters get "after a little bit of trouble, everything their hearts desired".  She pleases us with beautiful women and handsome men, dances, kindnesses, prayers, familial love, and cups of tea.  Even the self centred men who do the heroines wrong sometimes have a little pang of heart.  But Bronte seems to enjoy scaring us a little with the truly evil side of people - Jane Eyre brings us harsh stepmothers, cruel taskmasters, talk of hellfire and a raging inferno taking over a castle, jealousy, anger, horror, insanity, and a truly great struggle between good and evil.  Two people make that struggle in their own hearts, choosing actions in their lives based on what they think is right and wrong.  One chooses to set aside that little niggling thought of conscience and do what the rest of the world would surely agree is right; and the other listens to it, flees in the midst of rain and storm, and wrestles with her own soul until right comes.

After watching Jane Eyre, we turned to Pride and Prejudice - almost for some relief.  We made dinner and were about to set it out at the table, when we decided that my very long dining room table would make an ideal opportunity for a Jane experience. We set the plates out, one at one end and one at the other, as though we were in one of those huge draughty dining rooms with candles and tapestries and servants.  We set candles all over the table, and used the long stemmed glasses for our sparkling wine.  And just as we sat down, we realised that we couldn't have this kind of dinner without dressing up, so we raced to my closet and picked out two beautiful dresses and some pearls, and sat down to eat our first course in style.  It was really lovely, "dressing for dinner".  How often do I make something quickly in the microwave, and eat it while working or reading or even standing at the breakfast bar.  And how rarely do I set aside three courses, with wine and candles, and time to talk, and the mobile phone somewhere else in the house where I can't hear it.  Because there's something not quite right about stepping back in time several hundred years, but trying to bring your existing century with you.  They don't fit.  You must have one or the other, and tonight we chose the other.


There's great beauty in both Janes.  Charlotte Bronte's Jane is plain, with great beauty within.  Jane Austen's women are beautiful inside and out, renowned for their beauty and chosen even when they are poor.  And there's something about the times gone by that makes us wish for it a little - the horses and carriages, four poster beds, family meals, dinners out, ruffled dresses, balls...so tonight we enjoyed it all, from the comfort of my twenty-first century flat.

Elegance and Beauty

"While beauty, in its purest physical form, is nature's gift alone to bestow, elegance, grace and style are infinitely more democratic.  A little discipline and a discerning eye, along with a generous helping of good humour and effort, are all that's needed to cultivate these admirable qualities."  -Kathleen Tessaro

I picked up a small book at a local charity shop called “Elegance”, a novel about a woman who becomes frustrated with her own lack of this quality and seeks to pursue it.  It really is true that you are what you read – even after just a few chapters, I found myself appraising my wardrobe plans for the next day.  Apparently, comfort is out where elegance is concerned.  "When comfort becomes an end in itself, it is the Public Enemy Number One of elegance." I think that’s always been one of the challenges I have faced when it comes to dressing ‘elegantly’, or even nicely: women’s fashionable clothes, particularly shoes, are not created with comfort in mind.  It’s presumed that women will gladly endure a great deal of pain in order to best showcase their charms – and this is presumed because we see it carried out on a daily basis in cities all over the world.

However, there is something to be said for dressing nicely.  "There's something about a slow moving female in the middle of rush hour traffic. Everyone, everything changes. And I discover that moving slowly is one of the most powerful things you can do....I appear to be walking because it amuses me, not because I have to. And in the sea of darting pedestrians around me, I have become majestic." I read this and wasn’t sure I entirely believed it…so often these novels about women who don’t consider themselves beautiful just frustrate me, because they only need to lose a few pounds and go to the gym for a month or two and they’re practically a supermodel.  But I decided regardless to dress today with elegance primarily in mind, and practicality second, and scoured my closet accordingly.

To my own surprise, I discovered a long tartan skirt in green and grey and pink, with tall grey boots to match and a long green coat I had picked up in a charity shop in Glasgow’s West End.  I decided to spend a little extra effort on my hair, choose out a necklace (again surprised to find one that complemented my outfit colours perfectly), and at the last minute added a jaunty grey hat my friend Helen gave me for my birthday many years ago.  I was amazed at what you can bring together from random shopping trips, birthday and Christmas gifts, and a hair dryer and straighteners.  Feeling a little better about myself on the ‘elegance’ side, I sallied forth.

I couldn’t believe the difference.  Perhaps a large part of it is in the mind: if you know that you look well, you walk more confidently and aren’t afraid to meet people’s eyes.  But I couldn’t ignore the fact that people looked me in the eye and even smiled; taxis stopped to let me go past; and the guy trying to get me to contribute to the charity of the day began his spiel with “Well, you look really nice today!”  And the thing was, I knew I did. 

I still maintain that, partly for me and my own personality, and partly because of the world we (or I) live in, striving for elegance every single day is not just exhausting, it’s (horror word) not “practical”.  There are days when I just put on a pair of jeans and work from home.  Or when it’s absolutely chucking it down, and wearing a nice, dry-clean-only coat will be something to regret later. 

I’ve re-read this quote on elegance and beauty, and I disagree.  Beauty is not simply something that 'nature', or God, bestows on some and not others, and you have to just make the most of the hand you have been dealt.  I think that striving for elegance leads to beauty.  When I make an effort to choose my outfit more carefully, and add accessories that match and highlight, others take pleasure in the result.  My cheerful green coat brightens the world a little bit, and so does my smile when I’m feeling pleased.

Have a beautiful day.

Day 17: Beauty In The Word

I've been reading and studying the Bible since, I think I can safely say, before I was born. I'm confident that my parents read it to me and preached its truths to me whilst I was still in the womb. This is a great blessing for which I am and have always been very thankful, but it does mean that there are times in my life when I read parts of the Bible and simply see what I've always seen, and don't learn anything new. To combat that last year, I decided to study through the entire Bible focusing on one particular topic.  The topic of greatest interest to me was that of rest - how do you truly rest, what does it mean, how do we as Christians overwhelm and exhaust ourselves, and what does God have to say about it?  I bought the ESV Journaling Bible and began in Genesis noting everything I could see about rest.


This has been the most powerful and helpful experience I've had with God's Word in many years.  The journaling Bible has wide margins with room to write in - no longer do I have to squeeze my little notes in at the side, or fill countless scraps of paper that I lose, or create a complicated system of colours to note verses about this or that topic.  (I've done and still do all those things in my other Bibles.)  The best part is, when I've finished studying the whole Bible, I'll have an excellent reference book on what rest truly is, and I can begin again with another journaling Bible.

Well, as I said the experience was so good I couldn't wait to finish the first one.  And the second topic that I am the most passionate about is, as you've seen in this blog, beauty.  So I bought a second journaling Bible, for which to note what God has to say about beauty.  Where is it found? How do we seek it?  What can we learn from it?  I'm now in the midst of both Bibles - I'm focusing on the rest study still, but every once in a while I come across a verse or a chapter that really highlights beauty, and I switch over to the beauty Bible and jot down notes in that one.

One of my favourite verses in the Bible about beauty (so far) is from Psalm 96.  I like it best in the old Scottish metrical version of the Psalter, which I have come to know and love since living and worshiping in Scotland.  "Great honour is before His face, and majesty divine; strength is within His holy place, and there doth beauty shine."  There is so much richness in this one verse describing who God is!  Honour, majesty, strength, holiness, and beauty.  I love that beauty is left for last - it's the crowning glory of these characteristics of God in His temple.  He's not just amazing and powerful and strong and to be feared...He is beauty personified.  No one can encapsulate the kind of beauty that radiates out from God.  If you want to be blown away by it, read the book of Revelation.  Many people spend ages reading it and trying to figure out when God is coming or how He will come or what way He will take His people up to heaven with Him.  When I read it, I see two things: one is God's victory, and the other is His beauty.  The whole book is full of it.  Phrases like "His face was like the sun shining in full strength"..."Before the throne there was as it were a sea of glass, like crystal"..."The earth was made bright with his glory"..."The marriage of the Lamb has come, and His bride has made herself ready"..."And the city has no need of sun or moon to shine on it, for the glory of God gives it light, and its lamp is the Lamb."  Everything shines, and radiates, and sparkles, and glows, and shimmers, and is blindingly beautiful in the presence of God.  Anything that is not so perfectly beautiful cannot stand before Him.  It is breath-taking, awe-inspiring.  The kind of feeling you get when you're standing behind a waterfall, seeing the drops sparkle and glisten as they catch the light...or watching the sun set in a blaze of glory, lighting up the world as it descends.  The Grand Canyon, lit up with reds and oranges and yellows and colours you hardly knew existed.  A dark blue stormy sky, with shafts of light striking through the clouds and lighting up a small, dusty portion of desert.  When I see these things I just stand there for a moment, amazed. There are no words, and try as I might I can't seem to capture it with my camera lens.


That kind of beauty, the kind we see on earth that takes our breath away for a moment, will completely pale in comparison to Beauty personified in Jesus Christ, in heaven.  That's the kind of beauty I'm seeking to see in the pages of this journaling Bible.  And it's everywhere.

May you see God's beauty today.

Day 16: Our Best Impulses

"Every day we slaughter our finest impulses. That is why we get a heart-ache when we read those lines written by the hand of a master and recognise them as our own, as the tender shoots which we stifled because we lacked the faith to believe in our own powers, our own criterion of truth and beauty...We are all part of creation, all kings, all poets, all musicians; we have only to open up to discover what is already there."  -Henry Miller

A friend of mine posted this on Facebook the other day and I've read and re-read it several times since then. It really resonated with me because every word is true in my life.  I have several books I want to write, a website to finish, thoughtful cards to make and send, walks to take, blog posts to write...and then I end up watching films or tv shows, chatting randomly to people on Facebook, reading articles, lying around, and coming to the end of the day having achieved no more than the day before in terms of the more major things of life.  And meanwhile books are being published and websites launched and businesses grown and I'm looking at them with envy, knowing full well that I could be doing the same. 

There is only one way to achieve great things, and that is by small steps.  The only things that have great results are the ones that have little starts, little middles, little ends.  It's now been weeks since I've blogged every day because I want to 'catch up'.  And so the days and the weeks go by, and I suddenly discover that my 90 day challenge is hanging loosely, uselessly while I achieve nothing in small spurts.

So today I'm starting here, from where I am.  I'm doing a few catch up posts, but it's time to just begin.  If I've learned anything from my previous challenges, it's that once you start to let the reins slip through your fingers, it's a great difficulty to get them back.  Imagine you are the driver of an old-fashioned carriage, holding the reins as the horses take you where you want to go.  You can plod along for hours holding those reins loosely, every once in a while pulling back sharply or turning slightly to the left or right; but whether through boredom or weariness you set the reins on your lap, and then let them slide away, the horses are going to wander off their own direction, and you'll be left with nothing but a beautiful carriage that is not going anywhere, and a long walk with great effort to get the horses back.

Today I am getting the horses back.  I have to leave the carriage by the side of the road and go walking for hours to find them.  Once found, I have to persuade them to return. Then hook them up to the reins and the carriage again, and get back in the driver's seat.  It's a long and weary process and it's very tempting to just throw up my hands, leave the horses and carriage in their respective places, and just walk on to I don't know where.  But there's no achievement or accomplishment in that.  Everyone else in the world is doing that, and they're bored and tired and frustrated, many of them.  So I'm not going to think extra hard about it - I'm just going to write a few past blog posts, go for my walk, and post these all.  Then, tomorrow, I'll start fresh and write no matter how I feel, and walk no matter how I feel.  But I think I'll hold the reins a little tighter this time.

Day 15: Getting Lost In The Beauty

Today we went to the performance of Les Miserables in London's west end.  It was absolutely incredible. I'd say there are hardly words, but since this is a blog and I'm a writer, I think there are words. I'm going to search for them, and do the best I can to display to you the awesome power, the intensity, the feeling - but as with most amazing things of this nature, I highly recommend you get on the next flight to London and experience it yourself.

One of the things I appreciate the most about going to a live musical is the opportunity to get completely 'lost' in the beauty, the music, the experience.  Your phone is off - and so is that of every other person in the theatre.  No one comes in or goes out - or if they do, the public outcry is great. (Being scowled at by others in Britain is probably one of the worst things that can happen to someone.)  When the lights go down and the stage comes up and the music begins to play, time obligingly stands completely still and lets you forget that there are train times and flights to catch and work to do and a life to live, and you are allowed to become completely swept away.

I'd never seen Les Mis before - it was Caitlin's particular favourite, so I booked tickets for her birthday and (by a combination of being-aways), four months later we were sitting in the red plush seats and ooohing and ahhhing at the glass chandelier, the posters on the walls, the decorations, the entire theatre.  Having never seen the performance, and only making it 1/3 of the way through the book thus far (although I will still highly recommend it, and am pressing on in finishing it by the end of the year), everything was new to me.  I had no preference as to actor or performer, and everything amazed me.  I began by thinking 'This is pretty good', and by the intermission was absolutely stunned.  There is an intensity in a musical, and in a live performance, that you never feel when watching a film on your computer or the tv.  I felt as though Jean Valjean was staring directly at me, that Eponine was singing to me, that the little wink the boy-soldier gives as he watches over the others is between him and me.  And someone singing their heart out on a small stage causes the sound to fill the entire place - there is nothing left for other thoughts, other distractions.  You don't care about anything else you have to do that day, as a matter of fact you almost forget who and where you are.  For three hours, you're in Toulon, you're in Montfermeil, in Paris.  The revolution is rising around you - the red flag is waved, the smoke billows, shots ring out, hearts are broken, love is kindled, sacrifices made, and lives are lived out before your eyes.  It's the most incredible condensity of lives: all the small details are there, and the main story is there, and you feel you have lived several lives in just a few hours.  When you come out of the theatre, blinking against the bright sky, it's a surprise to see someone breakdancing to loud music, people selling things everywhere, the Tube station, modern clothing.

It was an absolute pleasure to not only experience the beauty, but to get completely lost in it . To forget anything and everything else around, to be fully 'present' in a way we often are not.  Mobile phones, computers, Skype, Facebook....everyone is constantly in three or four or twelve places at the same time.  No one is content just enjoying a new food, a new country, a funny story - it all has to be on video or on Facebook or quickly photographed. I cut my hair a month or two ago and actually had people tell me that if I didn't take photos of it, they presumed it didn't happen.  That kind of bothers me.  Can't we just enjoy things, or notice them, without having to self-publish all the time?  Is it surprising that I can cut off a foot of hair and only one or two people actually notice, because I didn't take pictures and publish it on Facebook so everyone can make comments and only participate in life virtually?  I far prefer the Les Mis option, where we weren't telling people about the experience halfway through: we were there, living it, seeing it, loving it, actually experiencing it.

May you experience something fully today.

Day 14: Autumn Beauty

I've been very lax on my blogging the last few weeks. There are a lot of reasons, but the short version is that I set it aside for a time so that I wasn't overwhelmed and overdoing.  But now I'm settling back in to Scotland (having been to Cyprus for a few weeks), and it's time to get back into the good routines.

Today I walked to the Airdrie town centre and saw autumn leaves lying about, with the trees both full of and shedding them at the same time.  It's lovely to go away in one season and come back for another - really makes you aware of the passing of time.  I left Scotland in "summer", which for us could mean anything from rain, fog, wind, hail, and mist through to sunshine, warm weather, and pleasant breezes.  And I came back to a slight chill in the air and the leaves changing colour and lying scattered about in a haze of gold on the streets.

There's such beauty in the seasons.  It's hard for me to choose the one I love best.  But if pressed, I must say autumn.  I love the drastic change from summer - you go out one morning and suddenly need a coat, a scarf, gloves in your pockets.  The air has a nip to it, and the leaves are no longer green but are brilliant reds, golds, oranges - like a thousand miniature sunsets.  Autumn is so generous - the crisp, glorious leaves lie about in piles everywhere.  When it's dry, you can go crunching through them to your heart's content, or have them fall upon you from above as you're walking, with no messiness or cleaning up to do (at least of your person - if you have a garden you'll need to be cleaning leaves for many days!).  It's generous with wind, too - no longer the slight, pleasant breezes of summer: now the wind is released from its storehouses and goes whipping around in great enthusiasm, encouraging everyone to wake up and take notice.  It stirs the leaves up in little flurries everywhere - like excited children dancing about the streets, whirling this way and then that way, going crazy in exuberance as though suddenly set free after months of hanging on the edge of the tree branch. The chill air brings a liveliness to your cheeks, and even breathing it in makes you feel sharply alive.  Autumn doesn't allow you to be lazy, or weary, or sleepy.  It wakes you up, startles you, shakes the boredom out and flings you into a world that demands to be noticed - either in the glorious autumn colours, or in the wildness of the weather.

Either way, there is great beauty in this season, and we're on the cusp of it today.  Bring it on!

Day 13: Beauty In Detail

I've mentioned this before, I know, but it bears repeating.  There is a depth of beauty in the detail that we absolutely have to take the time to enjoy.  As a photographer, I'm blown away by detail, especially when I take out my Macro lens and focus in on something I've seen a hundred times in 'big picture' but am now seeing intricately. 

Today it was pomegranates and dragonflies.  I hung over the edge of the pool and various dragonflies flitted in and out, up and down, sometimes hesitating right at the edge near my arm, taking a drink and settling in for a few moments as I sat very still.  Dragonflies are incredible up close.  Their wings are intricate, lacy things that look as though they wouldn't lift a housefly, much less the heavier bodies of a dragonfly.  They actually sparkle in the sunlight - shimmering reds and golds and a hundred other colours that catch the sun's rays and reflect them back in my eyes.  And eyes that go round almost the whole circumference of the head: how fascinating to me that God would create a creature like this, with every detail not only beautiful but practical as well.  And to go to all this effort for a being that lives a few days or a few weeks or two months at the most, that flies around and eats other small bugs and then dies.  I was fascinated by them especially today since I was able to get quite close...they hung on to the edge of my chair and obligingly waited while I got  my camera and lens and crept up close. 

Later I did the same once I'd opened a pomegranate - the vibrant colours, the little pieces, the red fading to white in the middle of each seed.  I love taking a few minutes to experience 'tiny' beauty in this way - the kind that you usually rush past.  Oh, a dragonfly.  Here, a pomegranate.  Lovely flowers.  Blue water.  White sand.  Go, rush, walk, run.  But today was a quiet day, and I got to go deeper. 


May you see beauty in very, very tiny things today.

Day 12: The Beauty Of Dreams

There are some dreams which are very, very small and very powerful.  The kind of dreams I'm talking about are those little things that you want very much when you can't have them - in the same way that a prisoner longs for fresh bread and a soft pillow, or someone sitting in an office wishes desperately to be sitting on a beach with a cold drink in hand.

My little 'dream' is hot sunshine, a pool or beach, and an ice-cold Coke in a glass with a slice of lime in it.  The thing I love about this little dream is that it is entirely possible.  Like Hobbes in my favourite cartoon, I'm wishing for a "stupid field" - and I can get it.

So, today I got the beauty of my little dream. I sat out by the pool in the villa I was staying in, baking in the hot sunshine and able to jump into the cold pool anytime. I had an cold Coke poured over ice cubes in a glass (poured out of an original Coke bottle, no less!), and even a slice of lime to complete it.

(photo from www.gocomics.com)

I'm finding that there's something very fascinating about the word 'beauty'.  Sometimes it means physical beauty, as in something we enjoy looking at.  But it also includes so much more than that.  There's the beauty of a game well played; the haunting beauty heard in music; the beauty of a new idea that excites you and stirs up the mind; and the beauty of having something small you've wanted for a long time.  Beauty is a deep, many-faceted word with a plethora of meanings: something that strikes the heart, touches the soul in some way, makes you sometimes want to weep and other times to laugh and sometimes just stand still and take it all in.

May you experience the beauty of a little dream today.

Day 11: Beauty Of Times Gone By

Fig trees.  White sandy dust.  Olive groves.  Sandals.  Paphos.  The Mediterranean. Pomegranates.  Everything in Cyprus brings Biblical themes and stories to mind.  I mentioned this to my friend Anna, who grew up first in Egypt and then in Cyprus, and she agreed at first.  After a pause she added, “Actually I’m not sure what to say when people tell me that, because my whole life has been surrounded by these things.” For her, visiting the Nile River or going for a dusty walk in sandals was part of life.  For me, walking around Cyprus still captivates my imagination and brings the Bible just a little bit closer to home. 

Today I wandered the edge of the Akamis Peninsula in Cyprus.  All of these things were present - the dust, the olive trees, the blue of the mediterranean.  It was boiling hot, and we longed to cool our feet in the clear springs of Aphrodite's Bath.  There were signs posted warning us not to swim - probably because of this restriction, I've never seen waters so clear.  And cold!  On one side you have the white-hot dust that you don't want to walk on without shoes, and on the other a sharp coldness in the water that takes your breath away.  We swam, later, in Adonis' Bath - another area entirely, where you're permitted to swim, but many don't because it's heart-stoppingly freezing.  We did though - or at least, I did, and I persuaded Anna to walk in halfway before she ran out shivering.  It was the kind of cold that actually takes your breath away, where you try to plunge beneath the surface but come up in seconds gasping for air, as though you'd been down for hours.  

I'm fascinated by this kind of beauty, because it stirs at my soul and awakens thoughts and ideas and stories that often only hover in the unknown.  It helps me understand what it really meant for Jesus to wash His disciples' feet; to see Paul, embarking on a ship from the island of Cyprus; to really 'see' verses like the one we sang in church yesterday - "But I am like a green olive tree flourishing in the house of God" (Psalm 52).  I remember reading a book once written by a shepherd.  He went through Psalm 23 explaining every single aspect of it, describing how sheep act and what shepherds do and how a sheep's enemies come in and what a day is like - and by the end of it you realise that the Bible is not just a combination of some very good stories: it is perfect and complete in every intricate detail.  It's not just true; it's true in a way you can't even imagine, and the more you know the more right it is.  Walking on the hills of Cyprus brought this to mind today, and the beauty of the Word of God strikes with deeper intensity the more you read it. 

Walk on - and read on!

Day 10: Old Beauty

'Vintage' is a very popular notion these days.  Something old that's gathered beauty over the years and instead of just being dusty and past, it's imbued with an interest and a history that draws at the soul.  Wandering streets in Cyprus stirs up a lot of this kind of fascinating dust.  This 'Souvenir Shop' caught my eye as I wandered today - there's something about the handwritten sign, the cracked and peeling wall, the rusting letterbox, and the rusty colours that all combine to say, "This was something once".  It's fascinating to me that we can pass by something old and peeling and dusty without a second glance - and then a few steps later something else with all those same characteristics causes us to stop in our tracks and be amazed for a moment.

It's the beauty of history, of life gone by, of the potential that lives within those walls.  This was never just a shop - it was a place where life was lived and a living was made and families came together and heads shook over coins and treasures were bought and sold.  Where someone fell in love and someone else fell out of it; where old men waited and young men zoomed past and little children took stumbling steps.  There, someone fell and wept; here, another looked with anticipation out the window; and in that letter-box what epistles were expected and received and exclaimed over?  And when did it all begin to fall apart - what happened to the front-door key and the side window and the doorstep?  Was it sold, or just forgotten?  Is it possible that someone, somewhere, still has the big old-fashioned key sitting in a brass plate in their home - and they keep meaning to go by but never do?  Or perhaps they look at the key and can't even remember what it's for.  Or they're waiting for it to sell and have given up hope that anyone wants this tumbledown building.  And they begin to take other streets so they don't have to pass this way and remember the life that was so alive there, for several days or years or lifetimes.

That's the kind of beauty held in old, dusty buildings.  It's the beauty of potential, of mystery, of a story that is begging to be told, but is held mute by forgotten years.  I passed this beauty today, and for a few moments saw it, lived it, was enticed by it.

And then moved on.

Day 9: Chapter One, The Beauty

Yesterday I went up to the Troodos Mountains and spent some time with the youth camp spending a week up there. One of their tasks was to create a story for the variety night, and the requirements were that it include either Disney or Marvel characters, and some form of rescue (and potentially a spy). I got called in for help from one of the teams who were struggling to create their story, and within a few minutes we had an amazing story put together. I was not staying in the mountains long enough to see the fruits of our brain-labour, but on the drive home I typed this out on my phone. Further chapters to come!

CHAPTER ONE: THE BEAUTY

If she had to simper and cry one more time, thought Cindy, she would scream. She adjusted the strap on her shoe and glanced behind her with a scowl. Her two ugly stepsisters, again. It's like they were always behind her, following her, but badly. Surely they knew well enough to at least try to hide themselves. She shook her head and adjusted the shoe again, hoping the transmitter wasn't broken. It should be signalling the FGM, but it was hard to tell. She would give the stepsisters the slip in the orchard - they weren't smart enough to follow her there.

Thirty rows of apple trees later, Cindy sat down on a small bench and waited for the FGM to arrive. It wasn't long before there was what always sounded to her like a sizzling sound, and the image of the FGM appeared in mid-air with a small pop.

"Waiting long, dear?" the image enquired.

"Just getting rid of Oddit and Doddit over there," Cindy said, brushing aside her golden hair impatiently.

"Julia and Brandy?" the FGM said in surprise. "What were they doing?"

"I don't really know, but I don't trust anyone named after that particular kind of drink." Cindy said. "Now, on to business. Have you got the wand?"

"It's arriving on Thursday." the FGM said. "I couldn't get it from Carlos any earlier."

"Carlos!" said Cindy, surprised. "I didnt think you wanted to involve him this time."

"Well he is the only one who can make it to our specifications," the FGM said.

Cindy shrugged. "All right, just promise me he won't go all James Bond on me and try to spoil everything."

"Well, I can't promise anything, but I also know James Bond wouldn't worry your pretty little head anyway." said the FGM with a smile, and Cindy acceded this point with a nod.

"So, the ball is on Friday." Cindy said. "I think the invitation is supposed to arrive tomorrow?"

"That's a bit late notice," said the FGM.

"I know, but we need the element of surprise. I really am starting to wonder if this was the safest safe house we could get." She glanced at the FGM sideways.

"Don't look at me," that lady replied, unperturbed. "You were the one who said living with your stepmother would make everything easier."

"That was before all the cleaning began," Cindy said, rubbing her feet. "And I haven't worn a proper dress in weeks. Is the ball gown ready?"

"It is - would you like to see it?"

"Yes please," said Cindy, brightening up and turning round.

"All right, here it is," said the FGM, and clicked a button somewhere. Immediately her own image dissolved and was replaced by a glorious shimmering thing of white and sparkle and lace.

"Ooooh, perfect," Cindy said, peering closer. "Full skirted, that's excellent, plenty of room there for backup weapons...tight bodice, no problems with that, need the prince to take some notice....lace sleeves, good, the wand will fit well there." she nodded, business-like, and the image dissolved back to the older woman who was holding her own wand.

"Double blade?" Cindy asked.

"Of course. Oh! And I almost forgot," said the FGM with a smile. "Your shoes." Suddenly there before her, in the FGM's hands, was the most beautiful pair of silver shoes she had ever seen. They were so silver they were almost white, and yet had a vintage look to them. The straps were encrusted with what looked like diamonds, but....Cindy peered closer.

"Recording devices?" she asked, impressed.

"Only the best!" said the FGM proudly, as though she had made them herself. "They will capture every conversation in the room if you cover the floor properly, and they will weed out any background noise, including your dancing."

"MY dancing?" Cindy said, pretending to be shocked. "I'm as light as a feather!"

"I'm sure you are, dear," said the FGM, "but those heels may click a little, and I think it's a marble floor."

Cindy nodded. "And the bodice is similar," the FGM said, flicking back to the image of the dress. "This will ensure we have your and the prince's conversation."

Cindy rolled her eyes. "Believe me, it will be excruciatingly boring. 'I love you, you're beautiful, will you marry me, yadda yadda..."

"Well, if all goes well, you won't have to, will you?" inquired the FGM passively, and flicked away the dress. "I'll bring that on Thursday with the wand from Carlos."

"Excellent." Cindy brushed off what she called her 'peasant dress', and got up from the bench. "What about communication to Control?"

"Ah- we did hit a sticky spot there," admitted the FGM, "but I think we'll just go with the shoe, as before. You'll need to use it as the primary communicator."

Cindy frowned. "What, pick it up and talk into it?" she said. "Bit obvious, don't you think, FGM?"

"I'm sure you can handle it," the FGM said calmly.

"That's what you always say when I don't like something," Cindy grumbled, "but you're probably right. Besides, it's a pretty easy job. The prince will be terminated by midnight, and you will be back in business, Fairy Godmother."

"FGM," that lady insisted sternly. "we're not in a fairy tale here."

"We certainly aren't," Cindy retorted. "When do you transfer the five million?"

"Five!" the FGM exclaimed. "It was one on contract and four on completion. I've already paid you one."

"The price has gone up," Cindy said calmly. "You've made things difficult with the shoe, and the wand won't be ready until the day before the ball, which means I'll only have an evening to test it out. Five million on completion."

"Four and a half," the FGM countered.

Cindy was unmoved. "I could go up to six," she said. "Or you could get Rum and Coke to do it for you," she added slyly.

The FGM frowned, but nodded once.

"Five on completion?" Cindy insisted, waiting.

"Five on completion," the FGM agreed, and it was done.

"Fine. Now I had better -"

"CINDER-ELLLLLLL-A!" came a high voice across the orchard, and Cindy winced visibly. "I hate it when they call me that," she muttered, but flicked a hand to the FGM, who disappeared instantly. Cindy headed back down the orchard paths, and behind her all was still.

Coming soon: Chapter Two, The Prince.

*Note: 'Cinderella' image is a placeholder, as I will be uploading photos in a few weeks' time!

Day 8: Rest

Tonight I am tired, a little sunburnt, and just generally a bit weary.  So, since I used my rest day to blog about the beauty of the joint service, I'm going to take today as my rest day, and not blog.  Enjoy your beauty wherever you are - maybe it's your turn to blog a little! Send me a wee comment about the beauty you saw today!

Day 7: Under The Sea

Today we went out to Fig Tree Bay near Protaras. It was absolutely 'heaving' with holidaymakers...people with very little on by way of clothes wandering about the shops; enormous blow-up crocodiles and dinosaurs; umbrella shades stretching for seemingly miles on end, every single one spoken for; and white-hot sand that burned the soles of your feet in seconds, so that you would every once in a while see someone go screaming past you on their way to their small spot of shade. 

But there was great beauty to be had, too - once I got in the water and put on the snorkeling gear that Rachel and I had purchased for the princely sum of 15 Euros, I snorkeled round the whole little island there looking at mini fishes, larger fishes, coral reefs, rocks, and the way the sun sparkled down through the waves to cause beautiful blue and light-blue reflections underneath me. I loved the feeling of being right in there amongst the fishes - whole schools of fish would swarm about me and I would swim along with them, their visible bodies invisible to the touch.  It was quiet, too - all the noise of the tourists and the locals and the swimmers and the boats just disappeared, and all I could hear was the breathing in and breathing out through my snorkel tube, and this mysterious quiet underneath.  I saw several fish that looked remarkably like Nemo (42 Wallaby Lane Sydney!), but they zoomed off before I could speak to them.  Every once in a while I had to drop my head to rest my neck from looking out in front of me all the time, but it was very relaxing and incredibly beautiful. 

I love the detailed beauty of things under the sea.  And the colours are so vibrant - bright yellows, brilliant purples, six thousand shades of blue and green...and the sun reflecting in and out in crazy patterns on the sea floor.  It reminds me that when I look out at the sea I think that it is a fairly calm expanse of blue...but there is a whole world underneath it that I can't see, and often forget about.  What kind of beauty in your life is initially invisible to your eye?  How often do we think that we see one kind of beauty, or all that there is, and when we dig deeper there is more than we could have imagined, that strikes us speechless as we explore?

I'm sorry I can't share underwater photos with you, but this was the kind of beauty that I can't take a photo of - at least, not yet with the equipment I have.  One of the purchases I would love to make would be the underwater housing for my Canon 7D...it's a beautiful thing. On the list!!  I will be taking more landscape photos later on during my trip, so watch this space.

And watch out for underwater beauty, or anywhere you can find it!