Every year I come careening into summer vacation at the breakneck speed of May, and then splat on the sidewalk of June, not entirely unlike a bug splayed on a car windshield.  It takes a week or three to get my summer legs underneath me as we recover and ease into some semblance of summer routine.  

So here I am, posting this more than two weeks later than I had planned.  But honestly, besides just being a bit off kilter, I have also genuinely been at a loss for what to say.  

I’ve felt the theme of making things beautiful rolling around in my soul like a loose marble for a while, but I have been struggling to catch it, to make it concrete. 

What does it even mean to make something beautiful?

I think maybe it means to do the work.  

For example, I’ve been doing some yard work this past week.  We’ve already established that I do not have a green thumb, and our yard has had some perennial problems ever since it was put in. Taking care of it is an uphill battle, beyond the realm of casual maintenance.  Sometimes I hate it. The weeds rolling in from the fields behind our house are never ending. Our soil is terrible and many plants die. I am scared of bugs and rodents. I could go on and on. 

And yet… 

I dream of a beautiful yard. I love beautiful flowers and trees, and have been known to embarrass my children by stopping to smell the neighbors’ lilacs, or photograph their trees’ autumn splendor. I contribute in a small way by conscientiously replacing stray landscaping rocks when I go on walks. 

Mine is not, on the whole, a beautiful yard.  But when the frustrating mixture of grass and weeds is freshly mown, it looks passable (at least, in the front yard).  When the weeds in an area are, for a time, cleared away, the eye is drawn more to the actual bushes and trees. For a brief window in the spring, the amazingly resilient weeping cherry tree bursts out in pale pink blossoms. For a few fabulous weeks, the tulips delight my senses, and I exclaim over each new one that blooms. Too inept to correct all the problems with our watering system, I selectively lavish extra water on my two burning bushes–one in front and one in back–watching for months as they get bushier in anticipation of the moment in the fall when, if they’ve had enough water, they burst into a blaze of crimson leaves. I smile every single day that the colorful annuals survive in pots on the porch.  

In short, precisely because there is such a wide gap between the ideal and the reality of my yard, I savor every single little part of it that IS beautiful.  Is it everything I want it to be?  Absolutely not.  AND because I care, I am grateful for every little bit of it that IS what I want it to be instead.  

I think, perhaps, that in the world today it is likewise easy to feel overwhelmed by the uphill battles.  We see broken systems, broken people, broken bodies, and broken relationships all over the place.  As with my struggling sprinkler system and the weeds that are quick to encroach, sometimes it feels like the problems are too pervasive to get the upper hand.  

And yet, when I zoom in, and work on one specific area, it improves.  Magically, the joy I receive from one beautiful, living thing is disproportionally great compared to the little space it takes up in my yard.  It expands and transforms into something significantly greater than the sum of its parts, and focusing on it motivates me to do just a little more. 

So, even though the month is half over, this is my invitation: look for small ways to do the work to make something beautiful. Pull the weeds. Make time to talk. Use one of your talents. Give a compliment. Listen.  Then watch for what beautiful thing comes of it, and let it swell and fill up your heart with delight, till your eye is drawn more to the good than the bad. 

Need a few concrete ideas to get you started?

• Clean up a mess. Enjoy the tidy space.
• Prioritize an important conversation.
• Get up early to watch the sunrise with someone.
• Invite someone to go on a walk or exercise with you.
• Prepare a healthy meal and share it. 
• Put your phone away. Make eye contact or hold hands instead. 
• Listen with the intent to understand, even when you’re tired. 
• Pull weeds. Plant flowers. 
• Make a repair on an object or a relationship that you have been procrastinating.

“Making things beautiful is WORK, not the magical efflorescence of ‘talent’ or ‘passion’ or any of the flimsier things we sometimes call ‘art.’“  
Kristine Haglund, “The Beauty of Holiness,” “”Wayfare Magazine“”