the beautiful things

It’s a beautiful thing to wake up after a solid 10-hour sleep, to step out into the kitchen and be greeted with a “Good morning” from your grandfather and enjoy a nice quite breakfast of Wheat-Bix and coffee before heading to a hot shower. It’s a beautiful thing when the winter weather is warm enough for a good walk into town while your grandfather tells you the names of the trees and the blooming flowers that line the streets and yards along the way. Yes, a beautiful thing it is.

It’s a beautiful thing to spend a meal listening to stories of God’s faithfulness to a man who learned the same by experience. Stories of life and near-death experiences. Stories of miracles and cars and fire and water and rain. Stories of love and hope and truth. It’s a beautiful thing to sit and listen to the clock ticking on the wall in the silence of prayer and reflection while your grandfather reads and then reflects outloud with a smile on his face “may you live to see your children’s children.”

It’s a beautiful thing to look at the room of a man in love. Every picture, every artifact, every nook and cranny has a story and a meaning. Her portrait is displayed front and center, the place of honor in his sanctuary – a tribute, a blessing, a comfort. 

It’s a beautiful thing. And there he sits. Can you see him? His pin-stripped bathrobe is cozied over his slacks and buttoned shirt. Concentration sits on his face, just below his wide-rimmed glasses. The cross-word puzzle is probably half-way done by now. He is quiet unless spoken to, a man of many thoughts, but fewer words. A man of prayer and wisdom and love. A man of God.

He doesn’t need to speak; it’s a beautiful thing just to be with him. To know a man who knows his LORD, is to know that LORD a little more. To be with a man who enjoy’s God’s presence, is to enjoy God’s presence with him. And that, my friend, is a beautiful thing.


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