Went on a bike ride in the sunshine today. Short of going up to UBC, I followed the beach path along NW Marine Dr and stopped at the far western point. There’s a little roundabout which over the years I’ve notice people try to make it their own. Names engraved in logs, flowers planted in a tree stump…marks to show that someone was here, someone with a story.
A little ways away I saw a lone single rose placed on a park bench situated back from the beach line and against a sparse row of spindly trees. Another story. Another heart.
I’ve been learning that its easy to sit back and judge a person by their cover. Life is too easy for them. Why don’t they care about others? But one of the privileges I have is to listen to people’s stories and learn how they’ve been shaped and why they react the way they do. Honestly, I don’t always understand. I only have to look at my own heart to know how strange we are as humans.
Yet where is the balance between compassion and calling people to a deeper truth? The truth that we’re all dimmer shades of who we really ought to be. Sometimes we need the right filters to see ourselves correctly, full of rich colours and capable of beauty even in our ordinariness.
Of course we like to dress ourselves up to look better than we feel. Like showcasing our lives with Facebook or Instagram, it’s easy to hide behind manufactured lenses.
Who will take the time to hear my story? Or will they simply settle for the image that they have of me?