Beauty for beauty's sake.

I believe in beauty,

and it's one of the themes

I like to write about.

I believe that beautiful things

give us glimpses of God.

And appreciating the beauty of things

makes you more of a person.

Like beauty in a landscape,
or in words,

or in a film.

But what about beauty in people?

via

Appreciating a person

just because that person is beautiful

doesn't seem to expand your soul.

It makes you shallow.

In everything else in this world,

I espouse

beauty for beauty's sake.

But in people,

it's so different.

You're not allowed to appreciate a person

just for being beautiful

because they didn't do anything to get it.

They were born that way.

But we would never look at a sunset and say,

"That sunset doesn't deserve my appreciation

because it didn't work to be beautiful."

I guess we should look at beauty in people
and appreciate humanity and the chance to live
instead of consuming it on our lusts.

Because really,
people are the most beautiful thing

on this earth!

They of all creations

should be pondered

and admired

and found beautiful.

Mona Lisa.

I really don't like Brad Paisley at all,

(to my roommate Ashley, I apologize)

but I recently heard this song.

I feel like the frame

that gets to hold the Mona Lisa

and I don't care

if that's all I ever do.

I found it interesting

that that's even a song.

When I go to art museums,

I often like the frames as much as,

if not more than,

the paintings themselves.

Let's be honest.

That's a beautiful frame.

Better looking,

I would submit,

than Lisa herself.

The throb of it.

I love words

because sometimes they themselves

are more beautiful 

than the thing they're describing.

Example.

There were none of the signs of spring

for which I used to watch in Virginia,

no budding woods or blooming gardens.

There was only--spring itself;

the throb of it,

the light restlessness,

the vital essence of it everywhere:

in the sky, in the swift clouds,

in the pale sunshine,

and in the warm, high wind.

Here comes the sun.

I just had my first fresh peach

of the summer.

Conclusion:

It's been a long, cold, lonely winter.

Victory, O Lord!

All paintings should be like this:

Crazy eyes

and brambled beards

powerful bodies

under corrugated garments.

Painted by our good buddy John Everett Millais

of the PRB!

But then again,

I also think that we should portray our presidents like gods,

(Washington, Horatio Greenough)

so maybe we can't trust me

after all.

Or Walk By Our Lilac Tree

The other day, I smelt lilac for the first time this year.

That was a good day.

There is a row of lilac bushes that I pass on my way to campus.

Last spring, walking past them daily became one of life's simple pleasures.

And when the cold crawled in and they died, I said to myself,

"The next time I see those bloom,

it will be spring,

and good things will happen."

Truly.

I don't like to walk past them without stopping to inhale.

I feel like I'm wasting a precious chance.

The frailty of spring weighs on me a bit.

More often than most people, probably, I wonder which sense I would give up if I had to give up one.

Usually I say smell because sight and sound are too precious to me.

But I'm glad that I can smell lilac.

I'm glad to live in this beautiful world 

Heavenly Father created for me.

Beauty.

I think the cross-section of an orange is one of the most beautiful things God has created.

Everything is good.

Everything is good.

Everything is light.

Everything is happiness.

Like going inside a temple that the pioneers spent 40 years building

and touching 120-year-old doorknobs

that they made with their consecrated hands.

Like sitting around with your FHE group

reminiscing about the 90s,

eating cookies and scratching each others' backs,

and feeling the Christmas feeling 

that you feel when Jesus is among you,

even though it's February.

Like making a kite from scratch,

and running around like a little kid

trying desperately to make it fly

while the streamer-tail is made to dance

by the wind a-blowin' all day long.

Like appreciating the snow

because you've got boots on

and it falls silently.

How silently, how silently

the wondrous gift is giv'n.

Like talking to someone

and feeling better afterward,

not worse.

Like party rockin' in the house tonight,

dancing the night away

in a group of people that you love so much,

you can't blink that strobe-light grin

from off your face.

Like looking at the cute baby in Greek class

that the dad in the front row brings with him,

thinking about the magnificence of man

instead of learning your grammar.

Like listening to Neal A. Maxwell

use words so artfully,

with such careful concern,

that you are moved to tears.

Everything is good.

Everything is light.

Everything is happiness.

Count Every Beautiful Thing You Can See.

Today, I realized there are so many beautiful things about life.

Like driving up the canyon,

past beautiful, strange rock formations,

to where there is snow on the ground.

And eating pork goulash

and vegetable lasagna

in a lodge 

near a crackling fire.

Sipping hot cider

and basking in the charm.

And then driving down the mountain,

leaving the winter wonderland behind

for another day.

If you're unhappy, it's because you've chosen to be.

Because there are too many beautiful things

to just not be happy!

Indian Summer.

Yesterday, I decided definitively that the best kind of weather is any

unseasonable warmth.

aka,

Indian Summer.

Or, if it's warmer than usual in Winter, I call it--

drum roll--

Indian Spring.

Yesterday, for instance, was the day before Thanksgiving,

and I wore a t-shirt and flip flops during in the afternoon.

Unseasonable warmth is even better than anticipated warmth.

There's a slight chill on your arms and bare feet

that gives you a bit of nostalgia.

Makes you feel like you should be in love

and go on an adventure.

Indian Summer whispers in your ear,

"Remember summertime, when you ran free?"

Yes, Indian Summer. I remember.