Imagine slowly walking up an old, creaky and jaded staircase in a Victorian-style mansion that consequently, once at the top, advances down a bare corridor with nothing but a few ancient wardrobes and largely pinned up frames against the wall in an orderly manner, taking step after step until ending at an old-fashioned door a little bit worn and maybe torn from years of steady use or the lack thereof, yet when you gently turn the old, rusty doorknob you enter into a dome library all the way from an exquisite chandelier down to the unswept, lightly layered in dust wooden flooring.
However, between the two, books upon books of every story, fiction and non-fiction, historical and modern, simple and complex, fables and tales, primitive and sophisticated, literature of all kinds flooded with poetry, parables, allegories, metaphor, and similes sit steadily in place. You excitedly climb the untouched ladder as your skin crawls with anticipation and you glide from shelf to shelf with your outstretched fingertips sliding down each worn binder, your emerald eyes steady upon the title of each book.
At last, in the palm of your weathered hand lies a time-worn book with delicate pages and a frail binding from years of turned pages which would unravel an enlightening story along with artistic paintings portraying a photo of a thousand words as page after page is gently turned, fulfilling the mystery of the story that is unfolding before you now.
Intrigued and in fascination by the wonders of everything worn and maybe even a bit dusty, there was something that had caught your untethered heart. And sometimes, I wonder if it wasn’t for the curiosity that led you up to that old stairway to discover the beauty etched in each shelf and booklet if you would have ever discovered all the simple, yet unexpectedly wonderful places and people in the stories of each book.
And I feel, the same is often true for everyday, real-life people. We often dismiss who they are by appearances and quickly formed up conclusions of who everyone is, but it’s once we get past the worn and torn of every untold story that is begging to be bravely told, as of course, all of us have had battles to fight and some have come out with scars to remember them by which we often tend to judge far too quickly, but I wonder what if we would take a mere moment and look way past every layer of pretense bravery, the jagged edges, and every facade of built up expectations we feel we must live up to and go straight to the heart and soul of the matter. The vulnerable and raw, past the scarred and hurt, and straight to the beauty of humanity that He has so intricately instilled in each of us.
From underneath the surface of our pride and to the humbling fact that we all are simply humans living each day in need of His endless grace.
The doorway that leads to our stories may seem so rough and worn and tattered, but may we learn to give second chances and extend more grace than we expect in return. May we take our timid hearts and bravely believe that there truly is more to the cover and title of each story, that far beyond the depth of what our eyes can see there is much, much more to be told.
May we not judge from the chapter we assume people are walking through for we may never know the whole story, but rather step into it with them, right by their side, just as He does for us every morning when the sun rises to display that there is still mercy and grace past what we often think there is to be.
Love & blessings,