Beauty

Dear Eugene,

I have done quite a bit of walking in the last two days and seen many beautiful things.

Every beauty I see points me to something else, tells me that I don't belong here but must stay squarely at this place, where I am not ultimately made for yet am called to sojourn, to work out a vocation once forsaken yet never fully forgotten.

Am I going home, or have I not even begun? Am I growing up or waiting to be born again? Am I striving to live or am I learning to die?

I saw a house just now and I said how peaceful, warm and secure it must be to stay close to its heart of hearth in the winter months, Christmas time, how lucky one must be, how lucky I would be. And then I realized anyone who longs for what God longs for would want to see everyone be that lucky one. How far and away I am from the heart of God.

Today in the park I heard someone singing in French. I didn't even know what he was singing but it drove me to tears.

Yours, Alex

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