I find it so radical and mind-blowing how God fashioned snowflakes. Swirls of dancing ivory, each carrying their own story. Think of thumbprints. Each one uniquely, intricately swiveled and spun, even for the purpose and simplicity of just being different. God has breathed this concept of anti-conformity into all things- and it is a beautiful gift on the occasion of meeting a person who has grasped their purpose that is completely unlike anyone else?s. Even people who have yet to be beckoned to the truth of His meaning and journey for them can express their sense of uniqueness he so delicately placed in their hearts. This is a testament to their audacity and beauty. To His creativity expressed through them. May our eyes continue to be opened to the simple enlightenments waiting to be discovered in each soul we meet.
One of the first snowflakes I had the opportunity of coming across was extremely beautiful because of how it fell so brightly amidst a sea of nonchalance and uniformity. I was at a concert for one of my favorite bands, and the opening band was playing. People were either grazing over at the merchandise table or sitting in apathy, anxious for an act of significance to appear before utilizing their soon-to-be-jumping legs. No one really paid attention to the band. My friend and I attempted to stand out of support for their endeavor of entertainment, but were quickly reprimanded by a sea of spectators for ?being in the way? (ironic due to their apparent interest in the band). So we obediently sat ourselves down and ?supported? from a lesser position. This was when we noticed him. His name was Caleb. Well, actually, I have no idea. But for the sake of personability (I realize Webster and I disagree on the reality of this word) I will name him as such. He wore with great dignity a letter jacket, jeans, and a baseball cap- the typical attire of an all-american-boy. But typical he was not. Amidst the silent sighs of carelessness he approached the very edge of the stage with strides of an Olympic champion- screeching every lyric to every song with every ounce of fervor his body could possibly supply. He bounded up and down, the air not being able to hold him long enough to rocket himself back into its grasp. And he was completely alone. The band nodded in appreciation and played their hearts out for this one adoring spectator.
I?m not sure why Caleb was so attractive to my friend and I, but just seeing that kind of passion in an arena permeated with apathy made us want to join him, even though we had no particular affection for the band (However, that was soon to change, and the band has now become one of my selected favorites). This is the kind of ache and heart-stirring fervor Jesus exhibited, the same he prayed we would exhibit. When he carried that scraggly, flesh-piercing cross he did not do it in the presence of an ounce of complacency. Everything he was screamed of extremity. He was the epitome of passion. And people wanted that, even if they didn?t know what it was for just yet. Just like we felt when we saw Caleb. It encouraged me to own that kind of intensity and love for God so people can?t miss it and want it too. May we all be Calebs, screaming of passion, deaf to whispers of judgment and apathy.