A City View - Beautiful People

A City View - Beautiful People

I’M NOT SURE how we qualified for the apartment; Steve and I were neither young enough nor pretty enough to live in that building. The fire alarm went off one night, and we all gathered downstairs in the lobby, spilling out into the circle drive. Never in my life had I seen such a concentration of so many physically gorgeous men and women (except in Newport Beach, California)! Dressed to the nines in designer duds, they should have been living inside the pages of Vogue. But they’re not all beautiful people.

My perception of beautiful people changed drastically after our move.

While I’m an ardent believer of “pretty is as pretty does,” I guess I hadn’t seen it played out with much contrast until we moved downtown. Like many young people today, my neighbors rarely said please, thank you, or pardon me. They drop their candy wrappers in the hall; they leave their cups by the pool; and oblivious to those around them, they stand and stall in the hallways, expecting others to move around them. Contrast these well-heeled, well-educated young adults with our city’s homeless.

Of the seven hundred people we serve during lunch, I estimate that only a handful have not repeatedly said thank you and please and then extended another note of appreciation for our volunteer service. As I watch nearly a quarter of them bow their heads to say their own personal thanks for the tuna sandwich sitting before them, I am as starstruck by these beautiful homeless people as I am dumbfounded by our so-called beautiful society.

Don’t be concerned about the outward beauty of fancy hairstyles, expensive jewelry, or beautiful clothes. You should clothe yourselves instead with the beauty that comes from within, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is so precious to God. (1 Peter 3:3-4)

How can we teach gratitude when we have had so much?

How can we teach grace when we rarely extend it ourselves?

How can we teach the power of an apology when we’re never wrong?

How can we teach the concept of beauty when, in reality, we have forgotten what it looks like?