Unfolding Beauty

I'm restless like a tea kettle trembling under rising pressure.  I feel fists tightening, anger brewing under the surface. Questions without answers spew from within, adding to the intensity of it.

Why do we clench fists, keep hearts tight and closed? Is it control?  Are we gripping something we don’t possess, deceived into thinking we can find it if we fold into ourselves?

I remember the rose bud the kids and I saw in the drug store yesterday, how they couldn’t wait to take a turn pressing the button that began the process of beauty unfolding in a matter of seconds. 

But hearts aren’t mechanical, and beauty happens over time.

They watched in awe as the flower bloomed, opening up slowly, becoming completely vulnerable there on aisle four.  Inside the very center was a love message in curly letters along with a tiny, plastic heart.  More enthused by the cause and effect accomplished than anything else, the kids raced each other to press the button once more, watching as the flower reversed its bloom and closed its petals.  All I could see in this flower shriveling under the weight of pressure was a fist clenching tightly.

Again and again, they pressed the button that made the flower open and shut.  Open.  Shut. Open.  Shut.  They were in control because of that tiny blue button.  But we do not have control, and pressing a button does not make a life beautiful. Pressing a button does not melt away anger.  Pressing a button does not remove what weighs a relationship down.

As I write these words, my three-year-old places a stethoscope gently against my heart.  He tells me I need a check-up.  Yes, I do.

He is scribbling furiously with a fat, purple crayon in his sister’s Doc McStuffins notepad.  He is working on my diagnosis.  It’s a rare thing that she is letting him play with her things.  He turns the pink pad to me, and examining the fat, loopy scribbles, I ask, “What is it? What’s wrong with me?  Is it my heart, Doc?”

He shakes his head, no, and tells me it’s my arm in a way that makes me wonder if he’s right.  He is so sure of it that he nods an affirmative right before he slaps a bright, pink band-aid on my wrist.

I realize he is right.  A heart issue always shows up elsewhere.  Either arms wrap up in self, folded and closed, or they stretch out to embrace others.  Palms close attempting to gain control or they open up to offer grace.  Fingers can clench tight into fists that shake at the sky or they can lay loose on hands that lift themselves up in simple surrender overhead.

I know the things I’m holding tight are expectations.

Of myself.

Of others.

Of God.

Perhaps the greatest love chapter of all is found in 1 Corinthians 13.  It was read at our wedding.  Maybe you’ve heard it before, too.  I find myself going back for further explanation and deeper meaning again and again.  This love stuff isn’t easy, after all.

"Love bears up under anything and everything that comes, is ever ready to believe the best of every person, its hopes are fadeless under all circumstances, and it endures everything [without weakening]." 1 Corinthians 13:7 (AMP)

Love bears up under anything and everything that comes, even unmet expectations.

Love is ready to believe the best of every person, because it is looking for the best.

Love's beauty does not fade nor does it wither away.

It seems to me that my eyes are involved in the condition of my heart as well, that where they are directed affects whether my arms are open or folded. It’s choosing what I focus on.  It’s deciding what I will see.

Releasing expectations

Releasing results

Releasing relationships

Releasing the need to understand

Releasing control I never had in the first place

Releasing is what opens arms to receive His love, His peace, and oh yeah, His Grace. This is where Beauty begins.

But I have lost track of Beauty.  Full bloom is the greatest state of beauty, the fat dictionary lying open next my notebook tells me. 

I think back to the week-long cruise to Alaska we took many years ago.  A quiet little town in Canada called Victoria stands out in my mind today.  Even its name makes me smile, as if it is sure of its beauty, of its purpose here on planet Earth. 

Victoria's climate has given it a reputation as the "City of Gardens." This place attracts people from all over the world with its presence of flowers that bloom during the winter and early spring, including crocuses, daffodils, early-blooming rhododendrons, cherry and plum trees.

I’m turning pages in the photo album, staring at the images we captured, memories to keep with us and return to when we need to remember. Then I read these words about this charming city from a memento stuck in between the pages.  Something stirs inside me and makes me read it twice: “Every February there is an annual "flower count" in what for the rest of the country and most of the province is still the dead of winter.”

Beauty. Death. These are found in nature, but they are also the great themes of this life.  And all of a sudden, I have a new appreciation, new awe for this enchanted little city.  This place named Victoria is thriving victoriously over death through its beauty. 

So many different flowers, unique in shape, size and color, yet one thing is common to all.  The center.  None are identical, but all thrive from the central part- the reproductive organ- the heart.

 
Jesus is my center. 

Just as flowers open, empty hands- not clenched fists- receive grace.  And maybe the most astounding part is this: Jesus is Beauty that multiplies.

What I receive is multiplied not for my benefit, but for others.  Grace received spills out of my hands into the lives of others, because my hands could never hold all of the grace and love that flows from His heart.

In the beginning of creation, on the pages of Genesis 1, I see this repetition of evening, then morning.  Darkness, then light.  A cycle of death and then life and it happens over and over and over again to awake us to remember that morning always follows the darkest, emptiest night. 

And beauty always triumphs over death.

So could it be that blooming means letting the outward petals- like expectations- fall away to make room for His Love unfolding?  Is the uncurling of fingers wrapped around control necessary for extending grace?  Is adjusting my gaze upward instead of inward what leads to recognizing the miracle? 

And now I can see.  This Beauty, this Jesus, He is the only place where expectations may thrive. Placing my hope, my expectations, anywhere but in Him will lead only to withering death.  In Him, there is Beauty and in Him there is Life.  Abundant life that blooms fully in the presence of death.  Fully.  Victoriously. Beautifully.

I can never believe the best about another soul without believing in Jesus.  I can never fully release control without surrendering everything to Jesus.  I can never love fully without Jesus dwelling in my heart, because He is the most genuine, most profound Message of Love, waiting to be revealed. And this Beauty is so much more than an empty promise and a plastic heart. 

This Beauty is life-changing. 

This Beauty is victorious over death. 

This Beauty not only blooms; it multiplies.

 

In the morning, O Lord, you hear my voice; in the morning I lay my requests before you and wait in expectation.  Psalm 5:3 (emphasis added)