The father has his daughter, the lover has his beloved, the girl has her sister, the artist has his muse. All of us a person or persons in our lives who seem to just mesh with our souls, brining the glow in our hearts to an even brighter flame, making difficult times seem manageable, weaving laughter where the fabric of pain once hung. It’s amazing the power of one person to enhance the life of another. So let’s appreciate these gifts of God in our lives, and strive to be that person in the life of another.

I was thinking about those in my life who do that for me, and I wrote these two reflections in tribute to them.

You were a stunning rose that twirled into the storm of my day.

Just when I wondered if God was forgetting about me,

your beauty and tenderness was proof that He wasn’t.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

A skilled illusionist, that’s what you are.

Through some seemingly mystical power,

you entertain me,

dazzle me,

make my jaw drop in awe and wonder.

You’re a magician who makes bad days disappear.

 

For the people that guide us, shape us, and make us who we are, give thanks.

“You’re so close, but still a world away…”

That’s a line from a cheesy 80′s love song. I’m kind of a fan of cheesy 80′s love songs. And by “kind of,” I mean I love them. A lot. I was listening to one of them on the way home the other night and this one line jumped out at me.

Because that’s really happened to me.

Each of us have had this experience at some point in our lives, being right next to someone and yet they remain a millions miles away.

Then there’s Buddy the Elf, who discovered he was actually worlds away from his biological father and set out to bridge the distance between them by leaving the North Pole and heading to New York City. First, [he] went through the seven levels of the Candy Cane Forest… Then, [he] went past the sea of twirly, swirly gumdrops… And after that: [he] walked through the Lincoln Tunnel. Only to discover that he and his father were just as far apart as they had always been because his father refused to let anyone get close to his heart.

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Mystery is what keeps us alive. Without mystery, we’d fade away. Like dying stars we’d burn out, disappear, choke on the boredom. – Josh Riebock, Heroes and Monsters

Yesterday I started thinking about how much time I spend trying to figure things out. I devote all of this head space attempting to understand love and relationships. I spend hours studying and pouring over resources to help me get a grasp on faith. And I find myself frustrated at times because I’m in my forties and I still don’t get it all. The depth of love continues to elude me, the intricate layers of faith continue to dance on just out of my grasp.

Until I am reminded that without mystery, love and faith cannot exist in their purest and most rewarding manifestations. Indeed, mystery is in their DNA. Those who claim or feel they have everything figured out are only settling for compromised, impure, safe versions of love or faith. All of the edges have been smoothed, all of the questions edited out, all of the danger taken away. Along with every bit of the excitement and adventure our souls are desperate for.

You can’t figure it out and experience life the way it was meant to be lived. Not on this side of things.

Mystery is required.

You can have mystery without beauty, but you can’t have beauty without mystery. Same is true of faith It’s just a part of it. Like a great piece of art, you can’t fully (or even partially sometimes) explain why it moves you so, but you’re absolutely certain that it does. It’s more than just a feeling. Feelings are as cheap as gumballs from a machine. It’s a sense that your soul has connected with something, something deeper than you can explain, something that is shaping you, re-setting your inner compass, making your life more, more rewarding.

We don’t go to museums to figure out art. We don’t normally go because we want to study the artist’s life. We go to appreciate the talent of the artist, the thrill of her creation. We go because it’s an experience of the heart, of the mind, of the soul. We don’t take notes, or feel angst because it’s confusing, or give up on the whole idea of art because it doesn’t make sense to our own mind. The museum is not a laboratory, it’s a show room; not a lecture hall, but an interactive workshop. We go to connect with something outside of us, to be inspired, to appreciate supernatural talent, to feel and know the glory of the combination of beauty and skill in all its fullness.

Then I started thinking about other mysterious things that add such depth and meaning to life. Laughter, affection, the comfort of the right embrace, the otherwise absurd practice of putting your mouth on the mouth of another person, and even beauty itself. The list goes on and on. Mystery weaves it’s way through everything. Our stories would be almost meaningless without it. Nobody would want to read them.

Maybe we’re not meant to figure things out. Maybe that’s part of the joy of this life, knowing there’s someone greater out there who has it all figured out for us. Maybe there’s comfort in knowing we don’t have to know it all. Maybe love, and faith, and beauty are not puzzles to be solved, but paintings to be observed. Rich art captivating us, enriching us, moving us, pointing us to something grander and more miraculous than we could ever even believe or understand.

Maybe this world is our museum, everyone around you a specially designed masterpiece, astoundingly intricate in detail, yet unique in every way. Fields of bright colors dazzling to the eyes, sunrises and sunsets etching lines into our hearts and enriching our memories with a fiery pinkish-purple glow, sounds and aromas so delightful they take your breath away. Everything too complex, too ordered, too intentional to be there by accident.

Maybe we need to stop trying so hard to figure things out.

Maybe we should just let faith and love and beauty and mystery have their way with our souls.

Maybe that’s what the Artist had in mind all along.