where i think big and feel small

I grew up going to a big church. Huge, actually. The kind that has its own lake to do baptisms and its own ministry for the amount of cars donated. Willow means more than a tree to me. It’s huge, but it’s home. It’s home because I’ve planted flowers by the chapel with my dad. It’s home because of the smell the old auditorium has, and it’s home because it’s where I first heard truth and met others that lived truth out. This weekend the worship team led us through a profoundly simple hymn.

You made this world. You made this world. You made this world. Thank you. Thank you.

These words. Minimal and to the point. Repeated for affect, and so refreshing to me this week.

Upon entering Kristin’s brain and taking note of the popular thoughts over the past few months, one might be surprised to find a subtle cynicism towards this world, it’s issues, and the people in it. It doesn’t take much to dim the shade of my rose-colored glasses until all I can see is darkness. The oppression, the injustice, the overall craziness creates an angst in me that I don’t know what to do with.

You made this world. You made this world. You made this world. Thank you? Thank you?

If beauty is truly in the eye of the beholder, what exactly am I beholding these days? What view of this world would cause me to recklessly and radically thank the God that created it?

One of the most beautiful places I go is to the top of the hill at Indian Prairie elementary school. I visited this hill with Maisy, (the one dog I can have a full conversation with) after I got home from church on Sunday. There’s real beauty found on this hill because 1.) it floods me with memories of being young and free, 2.) it’s quiet and stoic and looks over a loud and busy town 3.) it forces me to think big and feel small. I watched my dog relentlessly concentrating to identify and enjoy each unknown smell, I closed my eyes as the crisp, fall wind blew the last of the season’s dandelion particles up the hill, and I breathed deeper the beautiful parts of the hill, the surroundings, the world. At least for a moment the overall craziness was no match for the overwhelming goodness in front of me. All I could think and quietly sing were those simple words, this time with reinvigorated meaning and penetrating authenticity.

You made this world. You made this world. You made this world. Thank you. Thank you!

There is good happening. There is hope being discovered. There is joy being lived out and there is unbearable beauty that should catch me and cut off my breath. Do I see this world as a masterpiece of a beautiful God? Or am I a piece of the problem the master longs to restore back to beauty? 

God, help me to behold the beauty you’ve put on display. May my shades of gray be warmed into colors that beam with your goodness. May my hardened heart be softened by the good you’re doing and still promise to do.  And may I find hope in a place that defaults to darkness, secure in the illuminating truth that the battle has been won.