God the Painter

There is something that happens to me when I look upon the colors God has dotted and flung all around in this season called Autumn. I feel more alive...or maybe it's more glad to be alive. When rays of sun explode on leaves of yellow, red, and orange, my eyes feel too small to take it all in. I look and breathe and sigh and listen, using all my senses to absorb the beauty.

But I never do absorb it. Not fully. There is too much.

Much like C.S. Lewis' depiction of heaven in "The Great Divorce," I feel like my earthly body and mind and soul are too fragile and weak to even think of gazing upon God's glory without falling to pieces.

But I try. I try, and I often do fall to pieces. Other than muttering a few words of praise to God the Painter, words that will never, ever convey the awe I feel inside, I usually just cry. I drive and cry. I hike and cry. I ride my bike and cry.

And let me tell you, those tears that fall in the fall are some of the most refreshing drops to pool in my eyes and tumble over cheek, chin, shirt. I rather enjoy them. But only because they mean I'm enjoying God the way God is meant to be enjoyed.