We had just interred my mother-in-law after her staggeringly quick battle with pancreatic cancer. As we headed back to the funeral home, rain darkened the already dreary Utica sky. Questions, tears, anger, and grief all drove with us in the limo. And then God broke in.
A maple. Achingly beautiful. Perfect shape. Perfect setting. Perfect colors. Perfect timing.
When I was a young girl, I often ventured into the woods behind our New Jersey home. Had you asked me why I spent so many hours alone, amidst the brook, the rocks, the trees, I would have quizzically shrugged my shoulders. I was searching and nature’s return exceeded every other option. It fed me. It comforted me. It eased my sadness, but also left me wanting more.
Eventually, adult responsibilities prevented me from spending time in the woods. I gradually became utilitarian and pretended that beauty no longer mattered. I married and birthed three boys. Boys who cared passionately about sports and large portions of food, but not beauty. Simplicity reigned. Worn carpets, not gleaming hard-wood. Ikea, not Pottery Barn. Daisies, not dahlias. I accommodated.
A decade ago, marital speed bumps, the relentless demands of parenting young children, and persistent health issues resurrected my need for beauty. Walks to the local arboretum became non-negotiable. Cut flowers found their way into my grocery cart. Gradually, I began transforming small sections of our city plot. Weeding. Digging. Planting. And then waiting. Eagerly, hungrily waiting for beauty to emerge.
In that season, I began to understand why nature and beauty failed to completely satisfy me. I wanted from the created what only the creator could give.
CS Lewis wrote, “The books or music in which we thought the beauty was located will betray us if we trust them. It was not in them, it only came through them and what came through them was longing.” (Transpositions and Other Addresses)
Beauty offers us a profound gift. Its transcendent nature calls us, lifts us up into something totally other. It is both mysterious and powerful.
“Beauty captivates the flesh in order to obtain permission to pass right to the soul. It constitutes another way in which the divine reality behind the world invades our lives.” (Simone Weil)
I no longer see beauty as a final destination but rather an invitation to cross a threshold. On that grey September morning, the beauty of this maple pierced my flesh, making it possible for the divine reality to pour in. While the gift of God’s presence did not erase the loss, it sustained me and reminded me of the more. Thank you, God. Thank you.