Where Beauty Lives

I was completely enamored.  Somewhere around 8 or 9 was my first visit.  It was a special trip, not something we did often.  We could still drive right up to the house and park.  Oh, to get out of the car, throw my head far back, and let the wonder of it all wash over. 

My mom and I were just two of a handful of visitors.  No big crowds or hype.  Very few barricades and ropes.  No coffee shops or winery or barnyard or outdoor center.   Just this house that would forever ruin me for the ordinary. 

Every room held some new delight, another cause for wonder. And, as we wandered through the heavily curtained rooms, I remember how my fingers danced along the ropes itching to touch those objects so strategically placed just out of reach.  I felt as though one little contact might transport me into another life. 

Most of us live like my childhood self.  We walk through this new life in Christ with our hands behind our backs, fearful of touching what we believe isn't ours.  We dance along outside, itching to cross that line into the beauty that feels confined to the extraordinary.  Roped off.  Meant for special occasions, special people.  Just beyond the reach of our ordinary existence. 

But the promise, the point of Easter is that Beauty Himself tore through the curtain, reached across and led us by the hand into the wonder of His life.  Everyday.  In the ordinary and not just for special occasion.