I’m often taken aback by the amount of simple goodness there is around me at any given moment. I’m not even talking about the most beautiful of blessings bestowed here on this earth, but the simple and the subtle. In many ways, the smallest.
And yet, sometimes, more significant than we realize at first glance.
Now, lest you think me some unicorn-loving, smile-be-happy, ever-so-bubbly girl, let me assure you that is not what I am nor what I’m saying.
In my darkest, most dreadful days in this world, I learned something along the way I will never forget, something that kept me alive in more ways than one. It was that no matter how deep the darkness, how grim and despairing a night might be, there was always something, something around me I could physically gaze upon to remind me of a Light in another place. A Light that could not be put out by anything or anyone no matter how hard they may try. It was those unimportant things, those shimmers in rain puddles, wildflowers in weeds, strips of blue sky though broken windows, that whispered Hope was somewhere, even if I wasn’t sure where at the moment.
Perhaps I searched so long for these ‘insignificant’ things that I cannot help but notice them now, everywhere I look. And though some may find me childish for doing so, I consider it a blessing and form of wisdom I cannot otherwise explain or define.
I cannot be ungrateful now , for I’ve known the night and the goodness of God in such times, often in the form of things most overlooked. I’ve seen Him in the most humble of places and unlikely of forms, never letting me forget He was there with me all along.
And such gratitude does something to one’s soul, something that changes the way you look at everything.
I’ve never been too good at taking actual photographs, perhaps because I’m usually too busy getting captivated and drawn in by whatever I’m looking at. However, every once in a while I remember to do so. Here are some of the ‘shimmering rain puddles’ that will stay with me forever.
“No man knows till he has suffered from the night how sweet and dear to his heart and eye the morning can be.” – Bram Stoker