There’s this small church in my neighborhood. It’s in that church parking lot that all three of my kids learned how to ride a bike (no training wheels). It’s in the lobby of that church where I cast my vote every election, hoping for the best (and sometimes despairing my lack of options). It’s that church that worked with the Red Cross and other aid organizations to serve supper each night after a tornado plopped down in our neighborhood.
It’s a good church.
Well, the other day as my family drove past that church I told my husband I had to take a picture of something. He understands my whims, so he let me out.
What was it I had to photograph?
Flowers growing up out of the sidewalk.
Or, you might even say that I needed to catch a snapshot of hope.
We’ve all been feeling how blunt and hard this world can be. I’ve lamented about it here. But there is beauty still. There is the touch of the Creator who, in His whisper, reminds us that His art is all over. And that work speaks of His love, His sovereignty, His provision for His kids.
It’s the flowers in the sidewalk. The watercolor sunsets. It’s in the story a friend tells of how her church took care of so much after her mother’s sudden death. It’s in a mailman who collects books for a boy who wants so badly to read. It’s in my children’s laughter, encouragement from friends, when my husband winks at me.
There’s beauty. There is.
Sometimes we just have to tilt our heads, squint our eyes, and really concentrate to see it.
But it is there.