Beauty

A little girl I know recently asked me why grown-ups cry when they are happy. I remember asking the same question. It seems so ridiculous, a sign that the world is completely unpredictable. I have now joined the inconceivable ranks of those who tear up at swells of music, a view from a mountaintop, a smile in the eyes of a friend. And still, I could not explain it to her.

Tonight I was overwhelmed by the glimpses of true beauty I see in the world around me. The tiny white flowers outside my door that greet me each morning, always surprising me with their simplicity and elegance. The paintings that one of my friends crafted, carefully swirling shades of deep blue until images emerge that reflect her sorrow and joy. Poems whose simplest words capture and distill moments, dreams, hearts. The gentle tones of a guitar interrupted by the sharp sweetness of a violin running through my headphones.

I am not convinced that my tears are truly tears of joy; I think they actually emerge from a deeper sadness than I can even recognize in the moment. Because, the truth is, all glimpses of beauty are only that--glimpses. My flowers will wither. The blues in the paintings will fade, or they will crack, or they will be sold away where I cannot see them again. I will forget sweet words, and no matter how many times I replay the song, it always ends a few minutes later. But if this is the whole truth, then truly "we are to be pitied more than all men." I think, more and more, that the tears I cannot explain represent the truth that we could not know unless God had placed it in our hearts--we were made for unending beauty. We are homesick for a place where flowers do not fade and songs do not end. In the same way my throat tightens when I cannot believe that I must say goodbye to a friend, my tears flow when my heart cannot comprehend why this beauty must end. And the only consolation that could suffice is the message that someday, it won't.