I was looking at the mountainside the other day, admiring the fall colors. The trees were putting on quite a show, each seemingly doing its own thing.
Some were brilliant shades of red and orange. Others were yellow, and still others hadn’t quite gotten the memo that fall had arrived. Mixed among them were evergreens, shrubs, and patches of bare rock.
Nothing matched.
And yet, somehow, it all worked.
It was harmonious in an almost discordant way. Nothing matched, but everything belonged.
My first thought was how wonderful it would be if people could get along that way. Different personalities, different beliefs, different backgrounds, all sharing the same mountainside.
A little let’s-all-hold-hands moment, if you will.
And I still believe that. I think we could all stand to be a little kinder, a little more understanding, and a little more willing to make room for one another.
But the longer I thought about those trees, the more I realized there was something else I needed to consider.
I had looked at that mountainside and appreciated all of it. I hadn’t wondered whether the yellow trees were as beautiful as the red ones. I hadn’t thought the evergreens should try a little harder to be colorful. Even the bare patches of rock seemed to have their place.
I simply enjoyed what was in front of me.
Why is that so much harder to do with ourselves?
I can recognize beauty, talent, and goodness in other people. But somewhere along the way, appreciation can turn into evaluation. Instead of simply admiring something wonderful in another person, I find myself wondering what it says about me.
I don’t want to do that.
I’d like to remember how I looked at that mountainside. To carry that same perspective into other parts of my life. To appreciate what I see without immediately evaluating it, comparing it, or wondering where I fit in.
There’s a lot of beauty to go around.
Look at that. I found grace on a mountainside.
