Look up.

I drove to work on Thursday through the very beginning of a thunderstorm. The sky was that dark green that portends tornadoes, it was sprinkling in a menacing way, and in my peripheral vision I could see bright flashes reflected in the clouds. I looked for something to appreciate on such a dreary day…

I came to a stop and looked up: the most fantastic streaks of lightning were passing between clouds in a mesmerizing pattern. How could something so powerful and deadly look so delicate? It made my breath catch. Seeing a definable bolt of lightning is so rare I felt privileged to witness it. Time seemed to pause for a split second as I watched the bright lines linger in the sky for longer than seemed possible. Like so many of the rarest and most beautiful moments in life, an event you expected to flash by all too quickly is suspended for just a heartbeat longer and imprinted indelibly in your memory.

I used to see God in every sunrise. As my faith faltered and my cynicism grew, my sight edged lower and lower until I only saw the ground directly in front of me. And it was wet. And covered in mud. And it would probably freeze later anyway, and I’d probably fall on my big fat butt in front of a crowd of cute, guitar-playing Frenchmen. I remember a day as a junior in college when I looked up on my way to class, and noticed not only how downward-focused I was, but everything I’d been missing. The beautiful colors of the autumn leaves. The way the sun found a hole through the clouds. A squirrel using his tail as an umbrella. Now I see the sunrise again, and although everyone else in Eastern Standard Time can look at the exact same thing, I feel like I’m the only person to see it.

Pay attention. There’s beauty all around you; there’s something to lift your spirit. Look up.