The quote, “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” actually is a paraphrase from a lengthy symposium given by the Greek philosopher Plato sometime in the 400s BC. Sprinkled with whithers and thous, he evidently was making the point, depending on how you look at something or someone and who is doing the looking, translates the depth of beauty. Without stocked shelves of products in the cosmetic aisles back then, I would imagine they would have had to squint real hard to consider some of the people lovely.

Beauty is subjective, that’s for sure, whether we’re talking about people, art, or music. How boring would it be if everyone saw beauty in the same way? That’s why some feel nothing is more beautiful than Mozart’s Symphony No. 3 in E-flat major while others consider In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida by Iron Butterfly the most brilliant thing ever written.

I think there are most likely fewer debates about beauty when we’re talking nature. God outdoes himself over and over. Just when I think there’s nothing more beautiful, something new shows up. Fall is possibly one of the most stunning times of the year. I say that now and when I wake up to the first snow, I’ll say that about winter.

The wonderful thing about beauty in nature is you’ll never hear anyone say something like, “Oh, she was so stunning until she opened her mouth.” Mountains don’t brag, streams aren’t devious and fields always keep their promises. I think that’s why our mom’s sent us out to play. We settle down when we go outside.

One Monday night in October several years ago I spoke for a women’s church banquet in a small community. It was a traditional annual outreach event that crossed all denominational lines. The steering committee plans a year in advance so no detail was left unattended. The decorated fellowship hall in the basement of the older church was warm and welcoming decorated with fall leaves, acorns, and candles. Every once in a while I caught a whiff of Frito Pie, most likely served at youth group the night before.

Two men were rolling up the basketball goals and the finishing touches were being added to the tables when I got there. The women’s ministry director showed me to a seat at one of the round tables by the stage. She made sure I had everything I needed before excusing herself to greet and fill out name tags.

The theme for the evening was “Skeletons In The Closet”. The committee asked if I would address leaving the junk of the past behind and moving on. Putting that together had been challenging. As I sat down to go over the notes my stomach felt like a snow globe turned upside down. This was baffling. I love what I do and don’t normally battle nerves. I haven’t been that nervous since a high school debate tournament.

As I sorted things out I realized why the near panic attack. So many people have kicked drug addictions, lived through multiple divorces, survived abuse and overcome the guilt of abortions. Who am I to tell 200 women how to leave the past behind? I don’t have a dramatic come-to-Jesus story and I have wonderful memories of the past. The only thing I have survived is everyday life. Besides my comfort zone is to encourage people and make them laugh. There’s nothing funny about closet skeletons.

As I walked to the podium, still praying it would all come together, I noticed a large woman in a suite and a lot of jewelry sitting about 10 feet from the stage. She flashed the most comforting grin when I made eye contact with her. “OK, I can do this,” I firmly said to myself. Evidently she thinks I can.

For the next 45 minutes the lady in the suite and jewelry laughed loudly sprinkling in “that’s right” and “amen”. She not only encouraged me, she energized the entire room. After I left the stage I went to the table to thank my cheerleader, but she was gone. I asked several women if they knew her. No one did. When I asked the women’s ministry director she said, “I wondered who that woman was, too. I have been here for 25 years and I know just about everyone in this community. But, I’ve never seen her before and she didn’t have a name tag. She was a joy and obviously had a wonderful time.”

I never found out who the woman was or where she came from but for 45 minutes she was my angel of encouragement. You’d have a hard time convincing me otherwise. In the fellowship hall of a church in a remote community I was once again reminded ... you never know when all someone may need is a smile and a kind word.