I noticed a tree on my walk today, displaying six giant Christmas balls hanging from its bare branches. It is late January here, and the Christmas decorations should be long gone. The balls adorned an ugly tree in the front garden of a rather house grisly house on a gloomy, grey day. They looked ridiculously beautiful. Perhaps that same tree will be a wonderful addition to the garden in the spring and summer. It will make the old house come alive with its greenery and shade. But for the moment, the madly coloured balls in silver and gold and red are the only things that give the plot its gucci.
Our faith allows us to be adorned for all seasons —fake balls when we are bare. Dormant. The generosity of fig leaves that hide our shame and inertia. The rich greenery signalling times of flourishing and thriving. I am thankful for this faith screen of grace that allows for the good and bad seasons.
We are beautiful when we have nothing new to share or learn.
Beautiful when we are going nowhere.
Beautiful when all our tricks and toys are packed away, and we have nothing to give.
And then, beautiful in our gowns of revelation and deep love.
We must learn the self-love of every look.
Worthy as we go out and come back in. I find peace in that.