Would I Stop Yelling at My Kid If the Sun Was Always Setting?

 For a moment the ocean of reality comes and washes away the silt of life. The sky is a true masterpiece, the kind of wonder Bob Ross tries to paint above his mountains. We start to see things the way they really are, the wonder and awe, all the glory that the Lord has made. Refracted beams show us the possibilities, the beauty we miss all day long. 

Then comes dusk, washing all the silt back again. The broke down shed is still there. There's that pile of trash in my backyard, and all the toys the kids left strewn everywhere. And the plastic fence that always reminds us our neighbors got tired of seeing all this, or seeing us. And there's still me, wave after wave of forgetfulness, yelling just like my Dad did, like I vowed I never would. 

Would things be better if Beauty was more obvious. Should we clean up the backyard and plant rosebushes? Probably. As it is we're left straining for connections and memory. Hoping for one day when we will see face to face. When we will know fully, even as we have been fully known.