On my walk into work, I pass by an industrial-looking building. It has white painted cinder block, fluorescent lighting, stainless steel shelving, concrete floors, and generally hard edges. It’s functional. I’m sure it’s easy to maintain. It serves its purpose. Whatever.
I’ve walked by this building many, many times. Over a hundred? Definitely. Over a thousand? Maybe. And nearly every time I pass it, my eyes look at it, but I don’t really see it. (I’m finding that happens more than I realize – that I look without seeing, hear without listening, consume without tasting… but that’s a whole separate conversation for a different blog post.) Anyway, the point is that my eyes have come in contact with this building many, many times. But this morning, I saw instead of “just looked”; and I was shown a beautiful surprise.
In one of the cold, fluorescent, cinder-and-concrete rooms, I saw a small, thin panel of beautiful stained glass. It had segments of green, and yellow, and orange, and red; and the colors contrasted sharply against the early-morning darkness; and it was delightful.
And I was happy to have had the chance to see it.