A few months ago, I got a message from a singer/songwriter who told me their group was working on a new project called “Poets and Saints.” She wanted to know if I would sell my domain name so they could use it for their record. Truthfully, I’m a big fan of their music and she had been very kind, but I couldn’t see myself going with another name.
So I politely declined, explaining that one of my goals was to minister to those going through grief and loss. This blog was a community of the broken and beautiful.
Although the record had nothing to do with my blog, she got the name “Poets and Saints” from the same place I did, a play called Our Town.
In Thornton Wilder’s play, two characters have this conversation:
“Do any humans realize life while they live it?”
“No, the poets and the saints do. They do some.”
Wilder revealed something important in this brief conversation. He shows us that few people stop to realize life as they live it, except for those who look for the eternal (saints) and the beautiful (poets).
The saints recognize the eternal in the everyday by loving others, extending grace, and living like Jesus. The focus of their lives differs because of their perspective. The poets are drawn toward seeing beauty in the mundane. By stopping to look at the blooming crocus or the blood orange sunset, they recognize creation’s glory.
Both of them take time for what gives life gratitude and meaning.
But realizing life, every blessed second, shouldn’t be left to the poets and saints.
The truth is I’m not a poet or a saint– just a sinner in need of God’s grace–but I can still live with the perspective of one.
As a fellow griever, hope-sharer, and Christ-follower, I try to live in the tension of searching for the beautiful and eternal in the everyday.
I open my heart to the what-might-be’s, the beautiful messes and the bruised souls. I walk through the suffering and celebration of a people who do not call this world home.
I spend my time stretched thin, the unending meals that bring us together in fellowship, the piled up dishes, the stacks of papers, the half-done home projects.
Where do we experience the beautiful and eternal if not from life?
Sometimes I leave the dishes in the sink and go out to the garden and soak in something my soul has been craving. A moment small. A glimpse of Eden. A taste of God’s glory.
I’m beginning to understanding what the poets and saints have all along.