The Mighty Beautiful

On average, I go to the library once a week.  The routine has been fairly steady for more than a year now, and each trip usually includes a visit to the children’s section.

Though, today as my family and I were going about our regular library business, I saw something new.

“That must be wallpaper,” I said to my husband, while approaching a back wall.  “There’s no way this mural could’ve just been painted.  Briggs and I were just here last Sunday.”

I was now running my hands over the walls that had been transformed by familiar picture book scenes and imaginative gardens.

“It’s not wallpaper.”  I turned to my husband even more confused.  “How can that be?”

Then, I looked up and to the left and discovered the most brilliant, delicate stained glass windows depicting butterflies and ladybugs, hidden eyes and outstretched hands.

“These are gorgeous.”

Dumbfounded, I approached the librarian and asked how the mural and stained glass were all installed in less than a week.

She smiled and gave me the rough history as gently as she could.

“They’ve been a part of our children’s section for more than twenty years.”

This art has lived in this library for twice as long as I’ve lived in this town.  I’ve been beside it, in front of it and next to it time, and time, and time again.  And still, I could not, did not (would not?) see it.

But today I could, and would, and did.

And suddenly, the worry of missing (and having missed) was pulverized by the mighty, beautiful present.

mural

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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