A thing of beauty. . .

Last night I stayed up a little too late to watch a beautiful movie, called "Bright Star" about John Keats and Fanny Brawne, a young woman who befriended and loved him and became his muse.  In one scene, Keats tried to explain poetry to her, but has a difficult time capturing the essence of it.  Poetry, he says, is a luxuriation for the senses as much as it is a means of communicating a thought.  I liked that.  I also liked that he was honorable in his behavior towards Fanny.  He knew he could not marry her, as he had no living at all, so he was guarded in the affection he gave physically, though unbounded in words.  I wondered if his honor lent to the strength of his vision of truth and beauty.  Can the Spirit better inspire a man in artistic ways if he is pure?

I thought of that questions as I rode my bike this morning, through the clouded dawn.  I took a camera with me, and captured some of what I saw.  Nature is certainly a muse for me.  In it, I believe, many of the mysteries of God are revealed, for those who care to see, and appreciate and understand.  I think somehow we know this, without knowing that we know, in the same way that we universally know beauty and respond to truth.  When an analogy is drawn from nature, it bears weight, somehow, and we accept it.

Perhaps I need to draw more from the creations of God--to consider and learn from them.  A plant will not bear fruit if it is not properly nourished, is a lesson I should take.  Also that a bulb must have a rest period in the winter to be ready to grow again.  I wrote a poem once when I was feeling dead inside:

The winter is bleak, Lord,
let me have a peek
of what is waiting underground
gathering strength
to bloom again in Spring.

I sensed that my period of depression (this was many years ago) was part of my growing process.  It was uncomfortable and not the bright, happy time I wished for, but it was, somehow, a preparation for that time.  We must know dark to know light, and I did emerge from the darkness and felt that my understandings were deepened and my sensibilities heightened because of that time of contrast.

Another winter, I watched as an ice storm overcame the trees of our area, and they were bent to the ground with the burden of the ice.  Some, not flexible or strong enough, broke and the trees or limbs died.  Others bore the load with painful patience, and though it took weeks, the ice did melt, and they stood tall again.  That was a bent-down winter for me, too, and I was far from my tallest and best.  I felt discouraged and disappointed with myself, until I saw those trees and realized the Lord did not expect me to function as I would in an ideal situation any more than he did those trees.  My task at the moment was not to be a pinnacle of perfection, but simply to bear the load in patience, so as not to break.  I did, and gained much of strength, patience and faith.