Oh, to discover again the beauty of what is near

There is much of fretfulness in life, of discontent, remembering often what we want, forgetting often what we have, and letting precious things become commonplace. We all go through these periods perhaps, getting lost in routine, in the trivia, sometimes in a social circuit; sometimes overworking at work, sometimes overworking at play; sometimes overloading ourselves with things that don’t mean much—only to find that they can become a burden. And we sometimes find ourselves restlessly running. “Is it not marvellous how far afield some of us are willing to travel,” wrote David Grayson, “in pursuit of that beauty which we leave behind us at home? We mistake unfamiliarity for beauty. … I have only to come up through my thicket or cross my field from my own roadside—and behold, a new heaven and a new earth! Things grow old and stale, not because they are old, but because we cease to see them … a tree at our gate … a flower in our dooryard. … Vibrant significant worlds around us disappear within the … mists of familiarity. … [Oh] to see and feel and hear things newly … to discover again the beauty of the near …”¹—with a little more perspective, a little more appreciation of clean things, of honest people, of health, of wholesomeness, of life, of loved ones; a little more appreciation of the simple essentials, as we come at last to understand—with more kindness and compassion, more gratitude for what we have, more simple honest sincerity, perhaps somewhat as James Whitcomb Riley said in his “Prayer Perfect”: