Click on images to enlarge
Artwork and Words by Cindy Bouwers
of Airdrie, Alberta
Part of my artist statement reveals that my intention in making art is to bring viewers “a moment of pleasure – a recognition of beauty.” What is beauty? To me it is a value, like goodness and truth. A universal need embedded in our humanness, and when it is ignored leads us into a spiritual desert. Beauty can be a balm in the suffering of life, a consolation in sorrow and an affirmation in our joy. I particularly love this quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson: “Never lose an opportunity of seeing anything that is beautiful; for beauty is God’s handwriting – a wayside sacrament.”
The Beauty of It All
(written somewhat in response to Psalm 16:11)
By Rusty Foerger of Edmonton, Alberta
Aren’t all disappointments signs that aim at our heart and say:
“Here alone is fullness of joy”?
And the beauty of it all is
I never saw it coming
I never deserved Your kindness
To fill me with such wonder
And flood me with such awe.
And the beauty of it all is
I could look for it and still be surprised;
You could be in front of me and not seen
Until that spark finally ignites
Until Your passion burns in me.
And the beauty of it all is
The endless loops of wonder
The dendritic pathways of discovery
The labyrinthine journeys of joy
All found in You, from You, with You.
And the beauty of it all is
“Here alone is fullness of joy.”
“Singing His Song”
Harmony through Harmony, a network of singing ensembles
Video submitted by Beth McLean Wiest (Harmony through Harmony’s Executive Director) and her husband Reid McLean Wiest (Creative Director)
Music by Reid McLean Wiest. Performed by Harmony through Harmony, based in Calgary, Alberta.
Recorded remotely due to COVID-19.
Beauty for Ashes
by Dr. David L. Gustafson
Executive Director
Community Justice Initiatives
Langley, British Columbia
We were exhausted. We drove on, mile after mile, along the west bank, high above British Columbia’s Okanagan Lake, saying little; each of us quieted, reflecting on the experience of the past few days. Each of those days had been spent with survivors of serious crimes committed against them and their loved ones: the senseless murder of a son, a brother; a decade of torturous child and adolescent emotional and sexual abuse in a totalitarian ‘family’ cult. We had just left the survivor of the latter–a woman of indomitable spirit–yet grieving the loss of so much, and facing into tomorrows which, to her, hold out a prospect almost as bleak as the forty years of yesterdays.
Listening, listening. To the stories of pain and unmet need, respecting the tellers’ sense of what is still required for them to find a greater degree of healing, and closure. They are the experts in their history, their day to day experience, and we, at best, are positioned and equipped to be the cautious process guides.
In each case, over these past few days, we have been given a sacred trust: each of these people have made decisions to begin to participate in a program run by our agency which works with victims of the most serious crimes in the Canadian Criminal Code, and with the perpetrators incarcerated (and who take responsibility) for those crimes.
As I drive, I reflect on how little we have to offer in the face of such immense human need, such lingering grief and darkness. Yet, I know too, the truth of what they tell us: that our caring, a combination of professionalism and devoted personal attention, increases hope and offers them greater prospect of healing than anything else they have received so far in the search for justice. Small comfort.
The scene as the road stretches out before us seems fitting commentary for our thoughts. Counterpane and counterpoint, the interplay of light, and deepening shadow. Dusk comes on, hastened by the approach of ominous charcoal storm clouds, boiling up the valley, vapour in a venturi, jealously, petulantly pulling the shade on the magnificent vista to the horizon, obscuring our view of the Cascades to the South. Sheets of rain, like slates on a medieval roof appearing softened at the edges by the distance, began to layer the hillsides along the entire eastern shore along the lake. Ancient builders atop a mountain cathedral, laying slate.
The road ahead is dry. Only whitecaps on the lake and sharp gusts at our elevation augur danger, anything amiss. We are miles west of the Storm, watching as the remaining wash of pale background sky is painted over with what seems a slashing broad brush, by thickly applied raw umber–no apparent room for subtlety–the storm is winning. “Where, when we need them”, I try to lighten up, “are the Group of Seven?” Grey, black and umber hues scroll up, from the middle of immense Lake Okanagan to highest heaven. We drive on, no alternative course, toward deepening darkness and collision with the storm.
Then Light. One tiny shard. Piercing through the darkness at what appears its thickest point. And as it comes, the scene becomes transfigured. Words don’t describe the transformation. We don’t try. I try to get my head around the science: isobars and millobars, a wedge of pressure splitting cloud, systems colliding and recoiling. I give it up in favour of mute witness. The light breaks through, opening the rent created, transforming everything it touches. Umbers are eclipsed, turning to magenta, then deep rose. Soft purples, emerge, then blues again, scarlet, and myriad greens. The shaft of light itself is all of these, combining, at its heart, in a vein of purest gold.
I dare to break the silence, to quietly voice a thought, a scripture taught me by my mother:
“A light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has never overcome it.”
And suddenly I see our work, our vocation, in a new, more humble yet more adequate way. It seems fitting to risk a few more words, though I am humbled, a man of unclean lips and on holy ground; words written by a friend and fellow-sojourner that seem to describe what we do, inviting still others to join us:
War Weary World
Come and see.
Maybe our lives can be a sacrament,
Love’s presence, in a world that’s bent.
Another’s first foothold
On the way
To hope.
-Martha Keys Barker
Beauty
Photos and Words by Charlie Grove
of Prince George, British Columbia
Some forms of beauty, and places of beauty, are created by others in a deliberate fashion, such as in art galleries and gardens. Other forms of beauty burst forth from within your spirit or magically in front of you, spontaneously, in nature. I run daily in the forest along trails, and I always begin and end these runs with a silent moment of expressing my gratitude. The trees I run alongside are earthly gifts, not natural resources. These runs increase my glimpses of natural beauty but also are a gift of time in which I can be reminded of my internal dreams, thoughts, and plans to try and move towards a more loving and caring life.
The winter is a uniquely soul-stirring time of beauty in the forest. Trees communicate to each other, and I know they certainly do great favours to me. They shade me from the sun and the wind and the blowing snow, and are signposts so that I am never lost. The deep snow absorbs all man-made sounds so you have this silvery silence that heightens sight, hearing ability and retention. You are enveloped in a beauty that is distracting. The run becomes a meditation in motion – this time to contemplate and clarify and consider values, priorities and intentions.
I also love the surprises and unplanned gifts I receive on my runs in the forest. A bend
in the trail might bring me into contact with a stranger, which often leads to a very come-by-chance, illuminating conversation…and a new friend made. On other days I regularly see deer, moose, coyotes, wolves, and giant white swans overhead. Another sign I see on the trail, which I perceive as a form of societal beauty, is the trust more women feel to run or cycle or walk on their own through the forest.
This time along the forest trails clarifies my personal vision of who I want to be and elevates my spirit. It has also enabled me to more quickly and clearly see the beauty and goodness that resides in other peoples’ souls and hearts and intended actions. This beauty in others was always there, but a run in the woods somehow strengthens my vision and awareness of it, and my belief in it. Beauty runs (literally) in circles, in a real sense and a spiritual one.
starlings being a scourge
by Curt Gesch of Quick, British Columbia
starlings being a scourge
and crows a murder
owls a parliament
strangely
and peacocks
quite rightly
an ostentation
and birds in general
a congregation or dissimulation
you’d think that someone somewhere
would have just the right noun
for grosbeaks
not the waxy, yellow
puffin-aspiring glossy
evening types
that gorge and depart
without a fare-thee-well
but the others
the ones we have (“mine”)
the pine type
that gather on roads
to scatter at the approach
of a horror of cars
and sit at the tops of tall poplars
singing for God’s sake
and ours
in the middle of winter
during dawn’s early glimmer
these pine types
of gentle browns and reds
of beauty muted or startling
these treasures
of the snow season
I say
we should term
a pleasure. . .
a pleasure
of grosbeaks
yes
Homage to an Orange Dahlia
Poem and Photo by Caroline Woodward
of the Lennard Island Lightstation, off Vancouver Island,
British Columbia
You tilt your head toward the sun
Or bend your face down to the earth
Your body braced for wind and rain
You offer us another way to welcome sunrise
By Bruce Anderson
Director, Core Gift Institute
Vashon, Washington
I have a friend who is fond of saying that most of us are running backwards towards death, afraid both of dying and also of answering faithfully the question, “How did all this begin?” We are addicted, each of us in our own way, to the blind safety of not knowing…a temporary relief from what looms ahead.
Although scientists, poets, and mystics make vocations of trying to answer that question, it must also be true that the answer is available to the commoners like me—carpenters, dry-cleaners, teachers, and ships’ captains. This is not a question we ask experts to answer for us—it is meant for all of us to struggle with. For in each of our answers, we have uniquely said, “This is what is worth living for.”
For me, it all began with beauty, which is love expressed. The seed of all creation is love. It is the core of all things visible and invisible. All acts of good and evil have beauty waiting to be revealed, celebrated, or healed.
At their core, the gifts we exchange with each other are loving acts expressed and received as beauty. So, collectively, our communities increase in beauty the more gifts are recognized, given, and received. I know I am my fullest self when I am able to see the gifted beauty in each one of you amidst the chaos, irritations, and distractions of my daily life.
I believe I will be satisfied at my death remembering it all starts and ends with love expressed as beauty. It is where I have been, where I am going, and where I will return. It is what I am faithful to.
Photos and Captions by Vincent Hanlon
of Lethbridge, Alberta
One Step at a Time: This photo is the unexpected beauty of the stairs at my local Y.
The Giant’s Pen: The giant is learning to write with her own barbed wire script
Starship Enterprise: This Sunday sourdough loaf is going where no loaf has gone before…
What is Beauty?
By Maria Morales of Calgary, Alberta
(originally from Mexico)
What is beauty?
I’ve always wanted to know.
I have found beauty outside
and also inside.
Beauty is symmetrical
and sometimes it is crooked.
Beauty is perfection
and also chaotic.
Beauty is so much more
than what we can see.
Accept the beauty life brings to you,
no matter the shape it came with.
Artwork by Leila Ward
of Vernon, British Columbia
The Rocky Shore (Ellison Park)
The Praying Tree
On Beauty
by Anne Ingledew of Edmonton, Alberta
(originally from Jamaica)
I vividly remember my mum saying to dad on many occasions, “John, do look at that sunset/flower/view. Do look!” and he would give an appropriate, appreciative response while I rolled my eyes. But highlighting such beauty nurtured my sensitivity to it. Now I find I am saying similar things to my husband, for beauty in nature awakens a God moment for me and I want to share it – He is alive, He surrounds us and He blesses us profoundly with His creation. It is for us to take a moment to see it and thank Him.
Enjoying Beauty in Unexpected Places
Photo and Words by Jean and Steve Imbach
of Abbotsford, British Columbia
On Discovery Trail, Abbotsford, B.C.
While walking on a nearby trail, my husband and I were attracted to these bright leaves standing out against a dark rock wall. We chuckled as we realized they were blackberry leaves and not the most favourite of garden invaders! Yet we had to admit they were most charming in this setting – giving brightness and yes, beauty to this dark wall.
The Gift of Beauty
By Mike Bowors
of Benalto, Alberta
The beauty of mountains, of blue skies and seas
The beauty of prairies and trees
The beauty of childhood so joyfully free
All eclipsed by the beauty of three
Three in a dance filled with frolic and glee
Calling to others come join in the spree
Delight in each other they’re unhindered, free
The essence of joy flowing out from the three
The rustle of leaves…sstsstsssts…as wind blows through trees
Listen, the cadence of soft flowing breeze
Wistful the spirit now flirts in the lees
Of hearts young like children or bees
So rise up my soul in great joy, if you please
Join whimsical rhythm of wind in the trees
Don’t mince words or thought, simply reach for the keys
To the kingdom now present in sight, sound and breeze
Words and Photo by Elaine McMurray
sent from the unceded territory of the Okanagan Syilx Peoples
Seeing and being present with heroes and heroines…that is beauty for my soul. Praise God for their courage and example…we are called…
Let every action be an action for justice.
Heroes and Heroines
There’s Something About Nature
(inspired by beautiful British Columbia, Canada)
by Jasper Leung-Chau
of Chestermere, Alberta
There’s something about:
Nature that’s good for the soul.
Hearing the birds sing as the steady sun rises.
Sipping your morning coffee.
There’s something about:
Breathing in crisp clean air, surrounded by ancient forests and tall majestic 500-year-old trees.
There’s something about:
Watching the blue ocean flow, sitting atop a cliff.
There’s something about:
Walking along the beach and sinking into the wet shoreline.
Swishing sand between your toes.
Letting waves caress your soles and ankles.
There’s something about:
Feeling the warm sun, as it glistens over vast waters
Dimpling, bobbing, over and over again.
There’s something about:
Greenery, rolling hills and colorful flowers.
Hiking mountains. Reaching vista points.
Coming across deer and wildlife.
Unafraid of humans, knowing that they are safe.
There’s something about:
Drinking fresh water, quenching a long deep thirst.
Eating fresh local fruits. Sweetness lingering in your mouth.
There’s something about:
Taking off your shoes.
Wandering over soft grass, underneath bare feet.
Laying in a meadow, watching clouds float across the sky.
Forgetting time.
Photo and Words by Karen Toews
of the community of Middle LaHave, Nova Scotia
Nova Scotia Shoreline
After a lifetime of fifty-four years in land-locked Alberta, we moved to Nova Scotia, where I am never far from the ocean.
Thirteen years later, in this season of my gnawing hunger for beauty, the Atlantic shoreline unceasingly satisfies.
Its foreverness of tides and powerful waves, ruggedness and shadows. Calm pools.
a little bit of sun
(written when the summer’s smoke was at its thickest)
by Dolf Schoenmakers
of Lasqueti Island, British Columbia
a tree frog sleeps in a patch of sun
on an old tree stump
where the tide runs out
when the tide returns
and covers his stump
the tree frog wakes with a great big jump
with a great big croak
he begins to sing
and that is how this story begins.
the smoke stays
here for a handful of days
September skies seem too grey
it shouldn’t really be that way
yet today the tree frogs sing
their joy just blankets everything
they sense something in the sky
through the smoke, through the grey, way high
where the sun still shines.
tree frog clinging to a tree
a bit of jade in the greenery
it isn’t easy trying to be
a harbinger in that canopy
singing that you can surely see
that the sun still shines
the old ones hang about like leaves
spirit catchers in the highest trees
hearts beating like one big drum
sweet sap flowing along with that thrum
through the trunk, through the dark, way high
to where the sun shines in the sky.
all things rise,
the smoke, the sap, the tide
while the tree frog hides,
shy, but not afraid to sing
about a little bit of sun
a patch for everyone.
Artwork and Poem
by John Denham
of St. Paul, Minnesota
Hope is Rising (fused remnants of glass, broken mirror, wood)
What is Beauty?
Beauty is a love note to our hearts from God
Read it often
Beauty is a sacred encounter with the Divine
Come join the dance
Beauty is a foundation of human flourishing
Build upon it
Beauty is evidence of what was and will be
Ponder it
Beauty is a witness to a reality greater than ourselves
Let your soul come awake
Beauty is a salve for weariness, contempt, and despair
Use it often
Beauty is the breath of God
Inhale deeply
Beauty Heals
by Marilyn Phillips
of Regina, Saskatchewan
Fire and fireflies,
Buttercups and butterflies,
Mountains and mountain goats,
Oceans and clouds that float.
Lilies and lily pads,
Children and moms and dads,
Beauty in everything,
Creation… it makes me sing!
Sunshine and sunflowers,
Rainclouds and rain showers,
Forests and forest trails,
Blue lakes and fish that sail.
Autumn winds and autumn leaves,
Spider webs the spider weaves,
Snowflakes and snowy banks,
Beauty heals; I give You thanks.
A Favourite Quote
Submitted by
Julie Wilson Docherty
of Winnipeg, Manitoba
“The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched;
they must be felt with the heart.”
-Helen Keller
