Beauty Waits
There are things in life in which time changes our perspective.
Yesterday, I was walking through Wal-Mart and saw a fruitcake for sale in the bakery. They always surface this time of year and remind me of when I was younger. My Mawmaw made the BEST fruit cake. I would eat it until I nearly burst. And then one year, she stopped making it because I was the only one eating it. So some time later, I asked her to make it again, just for me—and quickly realized why I was the only one eating it. Let’s just say its deliciousness did not live up to my memory.
I had a similar situation when sweet husband and I first started dating. I was raving about Chef Boyardee pizza that my mom used to cook when we were younger. He couldn’t fathom that he and I could be remembering the same pizza from our childhood. So I set out to prove him wrong by making some—and we had a good hard laugh about how it too did not live up to my fond childhood memories.
Sometimes when we are in the moment, too close, it’s hard to see things for what they really are.
The door that closed for the job that was supposed to be a sure shot.
The relationship that ended that was supposed to be forever.
The wrong turn that ultimately led to the right path.
Time changes things.
They say that time heals all wounds, but I really don’t agree. I don’t think time heals, but it certainly changes things. The pain may still feel just as fresh, but the perspective has widened.
It’s been two years since Jacob left. Two years since I held his little lifeless body and memorized every line in his face. Two years since I watched my husband, with strength unfathomable, walk through the cemetery carrying a tiny box that was light as a feather and heavy as an ox.
And the pain feels just as fresh today as it did two years ago. But time works to change my perspective.
Perspective that my head knows, but my heart aches to understand. Perspective that reminds me that God is good in ALL things. In the summation of everything, He is weaving together a perfect and lovely canvas in which the pain holds the key to the purpose.
I was recently listening to a podcast with Mary Beth Chapman. Her family saw the tragic loss of their daughter through unimaginable circumstances. Mary Beth recounted part of the eulogy that her son gave for their daughter in which he said, “What if we are just nose to the canvas?”
“What if we are just nose to the canvas?” That hit me hard. And I have clung to it in days since. Nose to the canvas.
What if we are just nose to the canvas so that we cannot see the grandeur of the beautiful and glorious picture God has painted for our lives? Now, we see only what is right in front of us. And it is difficult to understand the beauty in our limited view. But as time passes and we very slowly inch back, taking in more and more of His masterpiece, we can see how ALL things truly do work together for good.
Whatever you’re facing, whatever you’re walking through, whatever tomorrow seems to hold—remember you may simply be nose to the canvas… don’t lose heart. Beauty waits in time not yet passed.
