The Architecture of Hope: Finding Beauty in the Blurred
Jennifer Camp
3 min read ⭑
It is small, a dandelion-type orb, circular and fragile, disconnected from any stem, any plant. It sits there, perfectly itself, on the dirt path this morning at just-dawn. If I kicked it, brushed it with my toe, it would disappear, its shape a pouf of seeds flying in the air. And yet here it is, quiet and unassuming and beautiful, the jeweled top of a fairy’s wand held in the hands of a child, capable of magic, of stories where the child is unconquerable, brave and strong. I see her willing to pack her backpack full of the necessary accouterments for a trip of adventure. And here, the jeweled top — a seed, merely a seed — that I am stepping over carefully, I am struck by its beauty, all that it is, currently, and all, also, that it could certainly be.
I want to hold a magic wand — so, I decide, I do — a magic wand that helps me imagine how anything is possible — especially beauty, help me see beauty. And as I walk this spring, mid-May day, the trees are speaking their language and the wind is singing its song and the birds — this one, the one jumping through the brush — plump and brown and laced with ivory, a curved stripe of wonder on each wing — Hello, what is your name? — scratches leaves with its tiny feet near the creek, water moving gently through the redwood grove.
Seventy minutes of walking, heavy rucksack on my back, and I am back home. Justin is in the garage working out, and I go inside to shower — windows open to the garden. As I dress, I peek out to watch sunlight dapple purple salvia, catch a hummingbird darting into the bulky-flowered Cuphea near the orange tree, its beak plunging into long, tubular flowers. “And I will sing of Your love forever/ Sing of Your love for all eternity/ And I will sing of the cross of Jesus/ Sing of how You laid down Your life for me” plays through the speakers — and my heart, it sings, too.
* * *
The man at the coffee shop counter wants oatmeal cookies, but the cafe thinks it is fancy — the cakes are glossy and slick with glacé and decorated fruit in tiny molded mounds. I wonder what oatmeal cookies represent to him, why they are important, why he dared ask the kind lady behind the register if they had any, and not the tiny cake under the glass the size and shape of an orange, a bright green frosted leaf decorating the top.
So at home that night, I bake chocolate chip cookies, my favorite, one of the first things my mom, who loves to cook — the house was filled at all hours with amazing scents from her kitchen — taught me how to make. The recipe is in me now, the ingredients and quantities memorized — but then, I squint to see the oven dials — anything tiny is blurry without my reading glasses — and I realize, too late — until the smell of burnt chocolate fills the kitchen — that I have turned the temperature dial too high, and the cookies tops are too dark, the bottoms too crisp and burnt.
I open the kitchen window, the night sky black and clear, and then step outside with Justin, who shows me his sleeping bee hives. With much excitement, he had just taken down the bait hive he had strapped twenty feet high into a cedar tree in the front yard — and taken down by himself, from a ladder, in the dark, full of now-quieted bees! — a new swarm. He is giddy, and I am happy too.
“What will you dream now, my love?”
Later that night, in bed, having little success reading my book, my eyes heavy with sleepiness, I give up the struggle and snuggle down, imagining me, his sweet girl, breathing deeply against his chest. What will you dream now, my love? Not magic wands, maybe, but hope.
* * *
Around to Say
Let my heart be heard, and yours
too, gorgeous as it is, galloping
gentle soft, no disguise (I see you)
in whispers winding towards
one another to say let us
believe in beauty now,
absence of fear,
no trembling, just
longing to let
loosening begin,
open hands, hope, and
the figment of
thought: I don’t know
when or where or how,
but let, let
ourselves believe.
Jennifer Camp is a poet and listener who delights in investigating the deeper places of the heart. She founded Gather Ministries with her husband, Justin, is Editor-at-Large of Rapt Interviews and manages Loop Collective, a community for women who reject complacency and pursue connection with God.
