.what.i.ache.for.

Oriah. 
Now this woman is worth listening to. In her book The Invitation she writes, "It doesn't interest me what you do for a living.  I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing."  Later on in that same chapter she wrote these words that flawlessly walked away with my breath... a perfect theft, "I want to know if you can see beauty, even when it's not pretty, every day, and if you can source your own life from its presence."
I haven't gotten very far in the book, but this chapter and the following chapter blew me away.  After nearly every paragraph I stood in awe.  I read it.  Read it again.  &Read it again.  There is no wonder as to why I haven't drifted any farther than the second chapter yet, I haven't yet attained the courage necessary to do so.  Or the time to let it soak in as I read it. 

"I want to know what you ache for."

I ache to show others the beauty in this world.  Even if its not pretty.  I showed this invitation to a friend of mine, Frazee.  Once I read it aloud I just rambled for a moment of just how magnificently phrased it was, how deep and sincerely accurate Oriah meant it, and how true it is if applied to reality, to this world, to your heart. I rambled about all the little things that I believe to be beautiful, even if it isn't pretty.

Walking home a few weeks ago I dropped a gallon of milk.  It triggered a memory along with some tears.  The memory it triggered was one where Momma had told me a story.  A story about when I was a child with an older brother, an older sister and very little money was being brought into the house.  The three of us were telling momma we're hungry.  She purchased a gallon of milk which was all she had to offer.  My sweet big brother wanted to help mommy out by carrying it for, and he dropped it.  Three hungry children.  No money, and the only thing she could offer was a gallon of milk... that dropped and bled over the concrete.  When she told me the story I could only imagine the depth of her sadness and hurt. 
Years later I was walking home and Jack decided to rush at something suddenly which yanked me and my gallon of milk dropped.  I was hungry and I cried as I watched it bleed over the concrete.  My bank account was negative after unexpectedly having to send my family money along with my own expenses, I had two weeks left before payday to soothe my grumbling belly without depending upon another.  I cried, then I remembered my mother, my strong beautiful kind loving mother.  I was suddenly grateful that it was just me, I didn't have any children to feed.  I don't have any children to feed.  I survived until payday, though I most likely did lose a few more pounds.  I am currently the lightest I have ever been since junior high. 
I consider both of those precious gallons of milk bleeding over the concrete as beautiful.  When I reach my goals, when I succeed, when I help others, the gallon of milk that I watched bleed over the concrete will always have that photograph placed in my memory.  The hunger I have experienced and do experience on occasion makes me that much more appreciative of a warm meal.  I understand that pain, I understand that sadness, and I am so extremely grateful to truly know, to truly comprehend what it is like to be hungry and helpless.  I learned from that moment, my mother learned from her moment, and there are so many circumstances where I have learned from a sorrowful moment.  We shouldn't take sadness as a bad thing, we each have the opportunity to learn from our lives and I am so grateful to have strolled accross Oriah's words to know that I am not the only one who knows that not everything beautiful is pretty.