Painting Without Paint brushes

Thursday February 15th was a beautiful day. From my perspective around south Minneapolis it proved extraordinary.

I woke before the sun yesterday—2:35 actually. It had just finished snowing. It was a the kind of snow that sticks to everything, transforming ordinary landscapes into fairy worlds. And it breaks your back.

For the first few hours everything is lit up by the weird and fake colors of electric lights. There are no deep shadows, as on a dark night. The fresh snow and low clouds all reflect light everywhere.

Around six the sky starts changing, shifting from being lit by the yellow light below to being filled with the first echoes of sunlight. Around seven lights are turning off, and everything turns into pastels. The world turns into something more real, but altogether magical. In the emerging light the trees become ghosts with upturned arms, standing at every corner.

Everything is white, so that the color surprises. The random Barbary branch. A sprig of pine peaking out beneath it's white blanket. Red bricks. Soon the sun is out and the clouds dispersed. Now trees, shrubs, awnings, and snow all become variously-shaped chandeliers, fallen from heaven.

Every time you turn around, you see a painting. Every block affords views to compete with the Grand canyon. The way trees are positioned, in front of pointy roofs and a few wispy clouds, becomes masterful.

By the time I've finished my shift the first flush of beauty is gone. The world is whirling back to normal. I'm exhausted. And I did not get one picture. Oh, how I longed to wander, to capture with words and wonder and my camera all the beauty that was there. I wanted reflection and time to enjoy. I only witnessed this delicate wonder in passing.

But not all the beauty is gone. All these sorts of things remain:

• I worked hard, honestly, usefully,
• I took the harder jobs willingly
• I partook in the joy of creation
• I saw what God created was very good indeed
• I worked dependant on His strength
• I gave thanks
• I prayed for my love ones
• I was filled with enough joy to keep going

These things are beautiful themselves, and worthy. They may be fleeting. They don't sell at art shows, or online. Most of them don't bring admiration. But living a true life, living for the Lord, is beautiful. It's a painting without paint brushes.