In Search of Better Stories

Beauty and Brokenness

The sun streaks red in the sky above the snow-capped mountains.
It is beauty
Why am I impressed?
Now the rising sun glints off the high rises in front of me.
They all turn to gold.
More beauty
I appreciate it
I am thankful
Why?
The water has gentle waves this morning.
It turns the golden towers into swaying slow dance partners upon its surface.
It’s beautiful.
Why does all this magnificence make me feel warm, happy, and whole?
Is it God?
A homeless man, long addicted to some substance, crashes into my contemplation.
He yells angrily to no one.
He pulls out an imaginary gun.
He shoots the snow-capped mountains.
He shoots the red-streaked sky.
He shoots the golden buildings.
He shoots the gentle waves.
Why?
Is it God?
Such beauty
Such brokeness
I don’t understand.

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