Arresting Beauty

My heart tightened in my chest. My eyes widened. My breath caught—then spilled out in a torrent of laughter.

I stood on a hill surrounded by farmland on all but one side, where the sea met a cliff’s edge and winked with every silver splash. The distant hills of the Highlands had turned a royal purple with the setting sun and the world was cast in golds and blues and pinks, the colors of wonder.

Sheep decorated the hillside, as if each was intentionally placed, and stood upon a tall crag nearby—perfect silhouettes against the ruby-colored sky.

Down below, nestled between the sea and the folds of the surrounding hills, lay a town—a “royal borough” as the friendly locals called it—just on the edge of sleep. The windows of its houses glowed faintly, and as the sun slipped from the valley, those pockets of light gave the illusion that a net of golden stars rested upon the place.

Glancing toward the sea I was treated with yet another great sight. Rising from the low-hanging clouds above the sea was a nearly-full moon. It was one of those glorious autumn moons that seem to grow to twice its normal size along the horizon. As it hung in a pink and purple sky, it looked more like a great pearl button on a cushion of silk than a heavenly body thousands of miles away.

Just in case you thought I was exaggerating.

I am well prepared to face most kinds of beauty, but this place took my breath away in the truest sense of that phrase. It arrested my heart, and I hope—I pray—it never lets me go for the wonder it has given me in return. As I gazed upon it all, the sheer splendor was almost more than I could bear. So I sank to my knees and laughter broke from my lips. Why? Because there was nothing else I could do at that point, but laugh.

With this laughter came a feeling deep in my soul that this was one of the best ways of all to discover God. When face-to-face with beauty of this magnitude, time slows, “reality” pauses and the wonder of the moment takes your heart to new heights. Resting upon that hill felt like a glimpse of a truer reality. As if waking from a dream, I had a feeling that I was being let in on some great secret—that this was the heart of God. No hymns sung off-key in a quiet church could quite compare to the majesty and mastery of God in His element. This is the God I know. This is the God I worship. This is the reality He calls us to.

There is a richness in this arresting beauty that refuses to be commodified. It cannot be bought or sold, yet it can be sought. And only in the seeking will we realize that we were the ones being sought all along. C.S. Lewis—and countless other great writers—have noted that even if a person were to never hear the gospel or read a bible, they could still come to know God and how he pursues us through the world He created. In just a single sunset I discovered how true that could be.

Sunset along the northeastern coast of Scotland.

A Lesson on Exploration from a Canadian Fjord

 “A ship is safe in harbor. But then again that’s not what ships are for.”

—Admiral Grace Hopper

So far in 2017 I have escaped to Canada three times. Retreating from the loony American politics and the gloomy Seattle weather, a few close friends and I have gone to a little cabin north of Vancouver, located in a mountain-rimmed fjord. It’s only accessibly by boat, so there are no cars making noise or people walking around. Just the sea, mountains, and us—in a word: perfection.

Most of our mornings were spent blissfully caffeinated with a cozy fire at our backs, marveling at the view outside. However, one morning I decided to not just gaze at the mountains and sea, but to get in the midst of them on a kayaking trip to the northern part of the inlet with our Canadian friend, James. The water was abnormally choppy that day as the wind had kicked up, but we were determined to at least give it a try. So I dressed in layers, grabbed a life jacket, and met James at the dock.

The start of our journey was effortless as we kayaked out of the cabin’s sheltered cove. However, once we got beyond the protective rocks we were hit full force with wind gusts and waves. The water was almost indistinguishable from its usual glassy calm. For over an hour we hugged the cliffs along the edge of the fjord in an attempt to avoid the brunt force of the wind. Though eventually we had two options, either cross open water to reach the other shore or to turn back.

A beautiful and old abandoned power station from the early 1900’s sat on the other side. I had been itching to visit it since my first trip to the area and it taunted me, as if waiting to be explored. So after checking our energy levels (and gumption), we decided to make the most dangerous part of our journey. We would cut across the wind and waves, all coming at us sideways, to reach the power station.

While the other photos are mine, I snagged this one from google because I couldn’t stop to take a picture from the water.

Though the sky was blue and cloudless, it was bitterly cold and the wind relentless. The sea was so riled-up that 2-3ft tall waves slammed against our kayaks as soon as we abandoned the safety of the rocks. Those waves might not sound large, but try sitting half submerged in a little plastic tube sometime, with nothing but the lip of a kayak to keep water from leaping a few inches up and over that ledge and inside with you.

It didn’t help that after we hit the first few whitecaps James called to me across the waves, “You know, we would only last about five minutes in the water at this temperature… so don’t fall in!”

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Story Feature: Beyond the Stereotype of Young Refugee Men

Meet Muhammad Ali and Fahad, two individuals who may help you break the stereotype you have of young refugee men in Europe. They were both students from a small Kurdish town in Syria before they fled the war, and have found themselves unable to get farther north than Slovenia on their journey into Europe.

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When I asked them about their hopes for the future, Muhammad responded, “I cannot think of the future I want—I need to go back to school, I need an education for my future. I like to learn and need to learn new languages. We left because of the war and fled through Turkey’s mountains with no food and no water for three days trying to get to Europe. And now we are stuck here. No, I cannot think about the future.

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3 Types of Beauty

The way I see it, there are three types of beauty in life.

The first is the kind that we casually pay lip service to, without attaching any significant value. The second is a beauty that dazzles for a time, but quickly fades because it lacks real substance.

However, the third type of beauty is the one I think we all strive to find. It is a kind that touches your soul in such real ways that it leaves you feeling like your lungs will stop working or that your legs will cease to hold you. It is a beauty that leaves you with sudden tears in your eyes and a smile in your soul. This third type of beauty is one that doesn’t fade easily, it sticks with you and reminds you of a special secret your heart remembers, but your mind does not. A beauty that brings joy, peace, and childlike wonder. It is a beauty that speaks of the place we all came from, somewhere our hearts instinctively tune to when we allow ourselves to hope.

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Scary-Beautiful Change

Let me be honest; I’m not a fan of change. You see, I celebrate some changes–like new seasons and scenery–I just hate when change penetrates deep enough to affect my “constants.”

We all have things in our lives that we think of as constants; our childhood homes, families, friendships, even our annual vacation spots. We hold these portions of our lives close to our heart because they can often seem unchangeable in world that is constantly changing. However normal this tendency may seem, I am learning that this is no way to really live.

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