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!

Day 6: Beauty In Languages

I generally don't write blog posts on the Lord's Day - I take a rest from writing - but the search for beauty is, if anything, intensified on a day that is focused on God, so I'm using my rest time to dwell on the beauty of God I saw in this day.

Today I was part of a joint worship service between the Greek Evangelical Church (GEC) and Trinity Christian Community Fellowship (TCCF).  These two churches, as well as the Larnaca Community Church, are some of (if not the only) Christian evangelical churches in Larnaca, and so do many things together. There is an inter-church youth group comprised of young people from all (and sometimes none) of these churches, and the enthusiasm and warmth and camaraderie seen in all these liaisons is indeed a beautiful thing. When denominations are few, things are simplified.  Long drawn-out theological discussions on minute matters seem to dwindle away, and in their place come real, direct, Jesus-focused conversation and actions. It is of course not impossible for this to happen elsewhere; but in much of the worlds I have experienced, there are so many churches and so many denominations that things of little import (things that are not 'issues of salvation') grow larger and larger until they can overwhelm the things of great import. 

The joint service today was a beautiful thing.  The beauty I particularly experienced was in the joint singing. Those who spoke Greek, sang in Greek; those who spoke English, in English. The tune was the same, and the cadence of the words roughly similar (so that some singers were not drawing out words whilst others were moving on to the next line), but the Greek words to me were almost intelligible, and I'm sure that this experience was the same in reverse for some of the Greek-only speakers.  At first I sang very quietly, not feeling very confident in singing at my usual volume when all those in the row next to me were singing strongly in another language, and there was no one sitting to my right. I felt a little alone, and on the spot. But as the singing went on, and we sang additional psalms, I began to realise that the point, as always with worship, was not about me.  In one sense I am made to be beautifully irrelevant. If my singing is, in my own mind, particularly tuneful, it is changed by the voices around me.  As well, if I am not singing so well, or don't know the tune, or am struggling in some way, the voices around lift me up, lift us all up to a glorified whole. I cannot be proud of my singing, for it is swallowed up in the group and the languages; and I cannot also be ashamed and put down my own singing (or sing less or not at all), because I have the help and encouragement of the believers surrounding me with their joy and their worship.  Singing praise to God then becomes a truly unified experience, and 'reminiscent' of heaven, if I can use that word to explain my feelings of what I long for and hope that heaven will be.  There, we will have no languages, no barriers, no Tower of Babel to prevent us.  There will be no need for translation, and I will miss nothing.  We will be wholly one in Christ, and we will be gloriously unimportant as we praise, because all our attention and focus and desire will be for the One in Whose honour we sing.

There were other beauties, too. The sermon was preached in sections, almost in fits and spurts, with every sentence or so translated into Greek.  I loved the opportunity to actually think about each sentence preached, and have time to write down the thoughts that came.  During the prayer time everyone was encouraged to pray "in the language of their preference", and the heartfelt prayers that I could not understand reminded me of the God who understands all and misses nothing.  I was tempted to distraction, too, during the times of translation, or during the children's service when there was no translation (as all the children knew Greek), but when in my own language have I ever been undistracted? Even in an entirely English service I am constantly thinking of this or that thing, constantly struggling to bring my thoughts back. 

Until the next world, we bear with these frailties and challenges. But there is great beauty in the unity we can have even down here, in the singing, the prayer, the kindness of those who suddenly notice that a joke has been told in Greek and they quickly translate it for others.  (There was even an instance of Greek being translated into Greek, since for some dual-speakers it is hard to distinguish in the mind which language has just been spoken!) 

Later this evening I went down to the Larnaca Community Church, where a roomful of young people had gathered to sing and praise together, give testimonies, and share what God had done in their lives. It was a very similar experience: concurrent singing, translated speakers, and a hall filled with people who were going to praise God together no matter what the challenges. 

May you enjoy the beauty of worship today, wherever in the world you are.

Day 5: Love and Beauty

Tonight I went to a 'Variety Show' put on by the youth from a variety of churches here in Larnaka. There were sock puppets, violin and keyboard playing, singing, a choir, various skits and sketches, and more that I can't recall just now. There was singing from the Phantom of the Opera, and the playing of the Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairies from the Nutcracker. And songs I'd never heard before. There was a variety of talent, and a vast amount of enthusiasm. There was laughter and a great deal of clapping and whistling, and even waving of arms and snapping of fingers. What impressed me tonight, especially in my journey for beauty, was that even when there was an error, or a missed note, or a missed line, or a dropped microphone, the sense of joy never went away. Young girls played the guitar and sang on their own and wrote and acted in their own mini plays. It would be very easy to pick out mistakes or false notes, or do a comparison to more professional acts, but what I saw tonight was the beauty that flows out of love. 

Love honours the work of all.  It doesn't show preference, doesn't put one or another person down and lift another up.  The only thing it does is show preference to others over itself - as St Paul said, "Be kindly affectionate to one another with brotherly love, in honour giving preference to one another".  This was done tonight, and it was beautiful.  There was beauty in the Phantom of the Opera solo; and the Nutcracker dance took me back to the last time I saw it performed in London.  There was beauty in the voices, in the smiles, even in the embarrassed laughter at mistakes. And there was great beauty in the cheers, the whistles, the smiles, the gracious heart of every person who participated. 

Beauty does not require perfection. Beauty actually often appears in a more powerful way when perfection is not reached, when there's a little failure sprinkled in with it.  Partly this is because we recognise the struggle.  There is a depth of beauty in a fight, an effort, in practicing, in trying.  "I can live with losing a good fight; but I can't live without fighting it". (I remember this line very clearly from a film, but I can't remember which one, and my best guess is Million Dollar Baby.)  I think we rejoice so much in the beauty of the trying because we all know what it feels like to struggle - or to fail - and we salute those who step up and beyond.  I was supposed to sing in a similar type 'variety show' when I was about 13, and I was absolutely terrified. The group of girls changed their minds at the last moment - some mockery from the boys they fancied, I think - and I remember pretending to be mad, too, but really being completely relieved.  But now I see it differently. It's a shame that these girls didn't sing their song -and me with them - regardless of the response. It's a shame that the one thing that held them back was the mockery of their so-called friends (or even the guys they liked).  How unlike the show tonight, where everybody and anybody was welcomed, and no one was mocked or belittled, and the world was a beautiful place for everyone, at every level of talent. 

So I encourage you this weekend to look out for the beauty in the effort. Rejoice, and laugh, and applaud, and love. Because where that beauty is honoured is where it will flourish the most. Smite it, and it will die - crumpled and lost in a corner, pretending to be angry or uncaring but in actuality hurt and disappointed. We celebrate with small children at any effort - first stumbling steps, simple drawings, spade-and-bucket sand castles.  And so too does God for us. I'm really missing my quote book, because I'm remembering vaguely one by, perhaps, CS Lewis, about God rejoicing at every stumbling step we take towards Him, not waiting for the beauty and perfection of completeness, but simply taking pleasure in our desire to be with Him.  Let us do that for others, and see great beauty there.

My walk tonight was a bit longer than expected as I went ten minutes in the complete wrong direction, but I found beauty there, too. In the lights shining on the old buildings, blue shutters, dusty front doors with huge round handles, iron gates, open doors gazing into comfortable homes where people sat comfortably and talked comfortably.  In the starry night above the buildings on my right and my left.  In the splash of water lapping at the beach's edge.  And in every 'stumbling step' I took, even when it was in the wrong direction. There was still beauty all around, all a part of the journey.

Love brings beauty out.

Day 4: Cleanliness Is Next To Beauty

"Cleanliness is next to Godliness", the saying goes. I have learned (especially today) that it is next to beauty, too.  I would even go so far as to say that you cannot have beauty without some cleanliness - and the dirtier and messier things are, the uglier they get.  I moved into a flat today in which the fridge had been turned off with many things left inside it and the freezer.  There was a slight smell in the front room, but when I opened the fridge...I am not going to describe it to you, because it was that bad.  Suffice to say I don't think I've ever smelled anything worse.  My powers of description are too good, and I don't want you giving up on this post before you've finished reading it.  Believe me, beauty is coming, and how I thank God for it.

I'm learning that there is a great connection between rest and beauty.  In order to truly rest, I need beauty.  Or at the very least, things must be clean.  And today I've learned that cleanliness is beauty, and leads to rest.  I'm not talking about a few things scattered about here and there, some dust, piles of clothes or chairs or DVD's.  I'm talking about things that should never have been left out, or left in, and the decaying sense of time turning them from things of beauty into horrible, horrible things.  If there was ever an argument for the fall of man, and that fall affecting the world we live in, it was this fridge today.  So I found myself unable to sit, or read, or write, or go for a walk, or lie out in the sun, or do anything today until that fridge was clean and cooling down, the bed was made with clean sheets, the bathroom was tidied, and the porch cleaned off.  And this is because we need beauty.  Perhaps me more than others.  There are some who could simply set down their things and make the best of it, go out for a nice meal, a walk on the beach.  But my joy in the beauty around me is diminished when my senses and my soul are constantly attacked by a lack of beauty, by an ugliness that swarms over and embraces everything into itself.  I'm extremely sensitive to ugliness, to dirtiness, to harsh noises.  A friend of mine once pointed out that when something or someone is incredibly loud or shrill, I wince noticeably even if no one else does.  I was standing next to someone once who put a whistle in his mouth and blew at the top of his lungs.  I was literally shaking and crying for a few minutes afterwards.  Part of that could be the health issues I have had...my sensibilities are extreme, and my body and nerves particularly alert to harshness.  But I think it goes together, too, with my desire to see and share beauty in my life.

Tonight things are looking a little better.  I keep trying random variations on the buttons on the front of the fridge, hoping that suddenly it will start to cool down and act like a fridge again.  If not, we'll get someone in to fix it and that will be that.  I was reminded today that some of my greatest frustrations come with a change in expectations.  I expected to come to Cyprus, get let into the flat, sort myself out with food and maybe a little cleaning, and go on my merry way with my holiday.  Two days, seventeen difficult conversations, a locksmith, a fridge that could be a horror film all on its own, and a full day of cleaning later, I'm still hopeful.  After all, the locksmith did turn up. And sorted the door.  And I've learned a great deal about Samsung 721 EX fridges.  And the sunset was still beautiful, and my chicken kebab out of this world, and I am not homeless on the seafront, and as Scarlett O'Hara would say, 'Tomorrow is another day'. 

Bring on the beauty!

Day 3: "Hey, Cinderella" Beauty

Traveling can be truly amazing.  Just today, for example, I drove past green fields and sheep on my way to Edinburgh, saw a golden moon rising over Vienna, and leaped from a high cliff into blue, blue waters of the sea caves in Cyprus.  Each of these things are glorious, and truly enjoyable, and fill me with a great thankfulness.  And they all remain when the frustrating or difficult chapters experienced on the way there are forgotten.

One of my favourite country songs is called "Hey, Cinderella" by Suzy Bogguss.  She tells of a girl who wears the white dress, marries the prince, and drives away in a white mustang to her castle in the sand.  But the song opens up years later, and questions the hard days, the difficult bits, and asks the beautiful Cinderella, "Does the shoe fit you now?"

I thought of this tonight as I wandered down to the beach and had a lovely walk through the water, getting some solitary time after a very full day.  I love the Cinderella part of travel - driving along with the windows open and glimpses of sparkling blue sea, diving into that same sea and tasting the salt of the Mediterranean, trying the "Special Sandwich" from what everyone calls "the van at the side of the road" (which it literally is) and happily waiting a half an hour to eat one, because they're so good.  But like in our song, there are times when the shoe doesn't quite seem to fit.  When the airline insists on playing loud band music instead of just leaving me quietly alone.  When I rush to catch my flight in Vienna, but my suitcase apparently doesn't feel it has the same energy, and remains behind.  When the man who is supposed to provide the key to the flat I'm staying in doesn't bother to return from either Yugoslavia or Bulgaria in time (we're still not entirely sure where he is) to give it to me.  When the first jump from the sea cliffs is legendary, but the second one has me rising with coughs and splutters and more seawater in my nose than air, and a favourite ring lost to the depths of the waters.  These are the 'Hey Cinderella' moments.

But what is amazing to me is that these all fade.  They're fading already.  My suitcase, feeling a pang of disloyalty, has magically appeared, rushing to my side and sitting patiently next to me while I write, a disobedient puppy that longs to be forgiven.  My ring was beautiful, but it was simply a small memory of something greater that I cannot lose, friendship and joy and the country I love.  The key will appear tomorrow, and I will probably be pretty thrilled with the place I'm staying at.  And I can hardly remember the seawater in my nose, but I can see with perfect clarity the incredible blue water as it rushes closer, closer, and feel the shock of the surface and the surprising warmth of the waves as my dry body meets the sea. 
 
I really hate complainers.  I hate it in myself most of all, and that's why it frustrates me so much to listen to it.  Or to read it on Facebook.  I'm actually shocked by the level and amount of complaining that goes on in that very public place.  People who hate their jobs, hate their lives, hate the weather, are annoyed at every little thing that goes wrong and want the world to know about it.  I'll give you that I have my bad days, too, but the fact is there's always a 'Hey Cinderella' side...but the good thing is that means there's a Cinderella side, too.  A time when the shoe fits and the prince shows up and the dance goes on till midnight and the evil stepsisters are repaid and the lights sparkle and the wine flows and the joy is abundant...those are the times we really remember.  Those are the moments of beauty that last long beyond the nuisances and annoyances and genuine really, really difficult times.  For the young mother who collapses in frustration after the third accident in as many minutes...the business owner whose biggest account has cancelled...the minister who is taken to task for a throwaway comment in a sermon...the single person who is alone, again...the child for whom the first day of school looms as a terrifying unknown...the teacher who feels that she just can't get through to anyone in her class.  Those are the Hey Cinderella moments, when the beautiful shoe just will not fit, and we fling it away in frustration and anger and some weeping.  But the true Cinderella moments are not restricted to the wedding day or the ordination or the birth of a child...they appear regularly, consistently, day after day for us to rejoice in.

Mine, today, was that moment of leaping off the cliff.  It was so brief, but it's captured in my mind with startling clarity.  That moment between earth and sky, eternity and time, wind rushing, water sparkling, and beauty rushing in.  Hey, Cinderella?  The shoe fits. 

Day 2: A Harsh Beauty?

Airport beauty, if it exists at all, is harsh and cold, which doesn't seem to match our concept of beauty.  Is it possible for something to be beautiful when it is also not soft or quiet? I think so, and the beauty is in the patterns, the rhythms.  There's something about line upon line extending into infinity that catches the eye.  It hints at a Designer, a plan, blueprints.  If I wasn't a photographer, I could see myself being an architect.  The orderliness, the coordination, the way it all fits together in smooth rolling lines - it pleases something deep in our soul, and that pleasing aspect is beauty, too.

I saw this view as I walked Frankfurt airport today...what felt like many, many, many miles of Frankfurt (without even really seeing it).  Going through security...again...made me think of a quote I read in the Lufthansa in flight magazine.  It told the story of a concierge in a hotel in California, purportedly the "first concierge in the USA".  (I'm not quite sure how they identify these things.)  This concierge was well traveled in terms of understanding people, at any rate, and he said as he spoke about the kinds of people he dealt with that "Some people are independent, some are like teenagers, and some are babies".  The same, in my mind, goes for airport security.  I'm in the independent category.  I know to take my belt off, my laptop out of its case, even a particular hairclip out of my hair or else I will be pulled aside every single time, minutes of wasted life going by as I know what they are looking for but cannot help them.  I don't want the security man to (as he did today) talk me through each step as I go, as though I've never come through before.  The teenagers are people who (regardless of age) are either so excited about their trip that they can't sit still, laugh loudly at everything, and are constantly distracted.  They need continual steering, and they don't seem to notice.  And the babies haven't got a clue.  The little old man who doesn't understand why his belt and shoes must come off.  Who insists on explaining that no, he didn't pack his bag, his wife did for him.  The small child who is more interested in looking at the big machines than in stepping through them to the other side.  The hiccups in security come when one category conflicts with another.  The independent stuck behind the teenager.  The bay and the teenager together, trying vainly to be as prepared as the independent they see ahead.  It's an exercise in great patience, as our famous concierge whose name now escapes me would say. 

So, seeing a little beauty is a welcome thing, even if it's sharp lines and cold blue. It gives the impression of speed, and yet I am standing still, the great walkway moving me on whilst I pause to see this beauty, to take a little bit in before I rush on.  Isn't that an excellent reminder to us - and one of the reasons I'm doing this blog in the first place.  How quickly we rush, not just through airports, but through life.  How many people I see using the moving walkway to move them just that tiny bit faster, to hurry them along more than they could go on their own.  I used to wonder why anyone would not use the moving walkway, why any person would insist on using their own two feet instead.  Now I know.  They're taking in a little beauty wherever they can find it. 

My head is beginning a dull throb, my choices of meals are slightly discouraging, and I have flights to go before I sleep. But there is beauty here.  And when that beauty feels a little cold or man-made, I can see the softer side in the human beings surrounding me. Two small girls, dressed identically in white tops and black leggings, do a little pirouette dance as they move into and then beyond my vision.  A businessman orders a glass of white wine and inhales it slowly before the first sip - not to impress anyone, for he is alone and facing the window - but simply to enjoy the bouquet. A pink-and-rose frilly top on a lady, perfectly feminine and announcing that its wearer is ready for the sunshine, the rest, the peace.  And the beauty of being on holiday. 

Day 1: It Begins With Flowers

Have you ever noticed that almost every budding photographer seems to begin with flowers?  (Those, and doors or doorways.)  I used to wonder why that is.  I was never a big flower-photographer, even back when I was ten or eleven and carrying my little 110 camera around with me, the kind that was long and thin and had little flashes you could buy to stick on top, rising up like little towers and expiring with each use.  I went for the animals in the zoo, and my family members, and the cat, and our pool, to name a few.  But it seems that most people who get their first 'proper camera', or these days an SLR, immediately go out to the back garden or stop on their way somewhere and bend down to get the petals, the colours, the angles of every tiny plant they see.

When I stopped to think about it on my walk today - as I passed thistles and several other flowers I couldn't name - I realised that there's a good reason that the new photographer, who is on a search for beauty and to share it with others, begins down low.  A flower captures so much of what beauty is all about.  When you're not looking for it, or when your mind is otherwise occupied, the flowers are just part of the scenery, and often are missed entirely.  They carpet the ground, or hide away in corners, or stand alone.  They blend in, and can be fairly unobtrusive.  But as soon as you begin to notice, and your eyes are opened, and you bend down or look over or even pluck one from the ground, flowers display more than you ever realised.  There are depths of beauty there you never imagined, colours that go together that you never would have thought of.  And it goes on, and on, and on.  You can see the beauty from afar if you look hard enough, but the closer you get the more amazing it becomes.  The detail overwhelms you.  The shapes are so different.  And you haven't even begun to comprehend how all that has come to be, how this miracle of beauty has risen from the ground with thirty or thirty thousand of its mates, each one exactly the same, each one entirely unique.

So, on my quest to particularly notice beauty each day, it makes sense that I, too, begin with the humble flower.  The thistle, no less, which represents the beauty of Scotland.  It's beautiful, but sharp.  It has difficult aspects too.  Like Scotland, with its highlands and rocks and mountains, and its lochs that extend to infinity, and its pastoral sheep scenes, its flowers that nod (or fiercely hurl themselves up and down) in the wind before castles, the thistle is intricate and immense, even in its tiny self.  It is sharp to the touch, resilient, strong.  When crushed, it rises up. "O flower of Scotland, when will we see your like again? That fought and died for your wee bit hill and glen, who stood against him, Proud Edward's army, and sent them homeward to think again."  

The fact is, I saw so much of what makes true beauty today.  The thistle, in the detail of its tiny self.  The sun, which broke out from the clouds and lit up the world before me, flowers and grass and trees and the road I walked on.  The early morning, where everything is fresh and new.  And the transient nature of it all, where in moments the light was gone and the flower's glory faded and the morning passing and the road seeming dull and long again.  Beauty, in this world, will always be transient.  "For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal."  (2 Corinthians 4.18)

There is deep beauty behind what we can see.   It reminds me of the Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe, where the evil witch in the story knows the deep magic, and binds the great king Aslan to it.  But he breaks through it and triumphs, and the children, confused, ask him what it all means.  "It means," said Aslan, "that though the Witch knew the Deep Magic, there is a magic deeper still which she did not know. Her knowledge goes back only to the dawn of time. But if she could have looked a little further back, into the stillness and the darkness before Time dawned, she would have read there a different incantation."  When you look at the world around you, remember that there is a deeper magic, a deeper beauty than you can even see here.  Remember that those who are evil will take the beautiful and twist it for their own ends; or they will simply enjoy the beauty as though it is their own.  But you, if you are a lover and seeker of true beauty, can go further on and further in.  You can read a different incantation.  

In The Beginning...Beauty.

And now for the beauty. 

If you've been following my walking blogs, this is my third 90-day walking blog, of three this year.  My first, Walk In All Weathers, was literally the brainchild of a moment.  I was walking almost knee-deep in snow on a very wintry Scottish day, and thinking about walking and blogging and Just Doing Things.  All these thoughts came together and I suddenly realised that it doesn't matter how long you plan or think or imagine or dream you are going to get this or that thing done...at the end of the day you have to just get off your ass and do it.  Even if it's not perfect - even if it isn't quite what you imagined it would be - and even if you're not even sure whether you should go for it at all.  Starting, continuing, and finishing are incredibly valuable, and I've learned much about each.  You can read on for a summary of what I learned by walking every day, regardless of the weather (and Scotland has that in spades!).

My second blog, Tea In All Weathers, came directly after the first, mostly because I was beginning to lose impetus.  I found that without the push of a blog to write and photos to take and people to comment, days went by with no walk and no writing and the result was that I got grumpier.  I'm at my best when I'm out in the elements every day, getting fresh air and exercise and a cleaned-out mind and a glimpse of the world's beauty and then coming home to pull it all together and keep my creativity alive.  Every part of my life was better when the simple things were disciplined.  Certainly, there were days I just couldn't do it anymore, and days when the blog posts were short or the photos not really a work of art in my mind, but again there was much to learn, and you can read on about what I learned here.

This blog is actually the result of me coming across my list of Goals for 2011.  One of those goals, surprisingly, was "Complete three 90-day walking blogs".  I didn't even remember writing that one.  I definitely remember the first blog being a goal, but when I set up the second one I thought it was the brilliant idea of a moment.  It really has cemented in my mind the fact that setting goals - and writing them down - is an incredible way to see things happen in your life, even if you only look at them once or twice a year.  If you suddenly decide to make things happen, many times the 'thing' that you made happen is something you've wanted for a long time.

So my focus these next 90 days is on beauty. As a photographer, an artist, and a creative soul at heart, I see beauty everywhere.  And as a Christian, I'm conscious of its great import in our lives.  The beauty we see in this life originates with God, and reflects the true beauty that He has...beauty we can't fully comprehend until we move on to the next life.  So I intend to look out for beauty on my daily walks, and at home, and in friends and buildings and countries and little things....and even, some days, in myself. 

May you, too, see beauty everywhere.