beauty

Canyons

~ Alina ~ 4 Comments

Canyons are a bad idea.

As my family and I roadtripped around the American Southwest at the end of May, we saw a lot of them. They’re fissures in the earth, weird yawning abysses. I thought of Dante’s Inferno or C.S. Lewis’s The Great Divorce. In fact, it looks like I wasn’t the only one:

A sign from the Grand Canyon shuttle route

Canyon hiking is an especially bad idea. Besides the abnormal elevation at the rim, the increasing temperature as you descend, the arid landscape that sucks out your body moisture, the sheer drops at every turn, the risk of poisonous snakes and scorpions, possible claustrophobia, and rapidly changing weather conditions, you have to deal with this fact:

Down is optional, up is mandatory

Unlike with mountain hiking, in a canyon you hike downhill first, while you’re fresh. But you’d better hike to only about 1/3 of your energy–because then it’s twice as hard to come back up. When you’re already tired.

So canyon hiking is a really bad idea.

But…

…if we never took risks…

…if we never ran with an idea that might fail…

…if we never did anything just a little bit crazy…

…we’d miss out on this.

Bryce Canyon, Utah

And this.

Grand Canyon, Arizona

And this.

Antelope Canyon, Arizona

Sometimes risks aren’t worth the payoff. And of course you have to plan for them accordingly. But sometimes…maybe unexpectedly…risks can reveal life’s beauty.

Ever taken a risk that made you glad you did? 

Tiaras

~ Alina ~ 2 Comments
I am writing this post while wearing a tiara. (It’s quite fun; you should try it sometime. I think maybe it helps me to write better.)
It came from a women’s retreat, where I was privileged to address a group of lovely women last Saturday. We gathered to discover what “Once Upon A Time” (one of my favorite phrases in the world) means for women trying to live as Christians in an often confusing world. 

I don’t love large crowds of strangers, and assumed I would feel awkward at this retreat. Although these glittery tiaras were temptingly arrayed on the tables when we walked in, I self-consciously left them there until I saw the other women putting them on with gusto. Green, blue, pink, purple crowns sparkled in gray hair, red hair, black hair, sparse hair. Women who had fussed with their straightening irons or their ponytail holders before coming, now laughed and let the plastic combs do their worst. It was time for me to learn to go with it. I was glad I did. Because for a few hours, we all got to be little girls playing princess.

Playing princess: something I have practice at

Some of the things said at the retreat were quite serious. We talked about destructive messages about outward beauty and the constant temptation to be self-centered. The longing to be beautiful consumes many women, who turn to eating disorders, plastic surgery, or a constant negative self-image as a result.  Some women appear very beautiful outwardly, even while they climb over others to put themselves first. It broke my heart to see the nodding and tears in the audience as we discussed these personal and painful issues.

Image courtesy of stock.xchng and zielnet

Beauty is often portrayed as something to be bought; a hopeless ideal that no woman without an airbrush can ever really achieve. The recent Dove beauty commercial takes strides toward achieving a more realistic standard, but its focus is still on the outside. Real beauty, that doesn’t depend on age, ethnicity, acne, freckles, height, weight, or whatever, comes from the inside. It’s the beauty of quiet strength, of a servant heart. It’s the difference between cheap, glitzy rhinestones and hard-as-nails diamonds.

Image courtesy of stock.xchng and jc_2086

But at this retreat, we did not neglect to be silly as well. With games like purse scavenger hunts (even I was surprised at what came out of my purse) and toilet-paper dressmaking, this group of strangers was soon laughing like a gathering of sisters. One of the sweetest sights I’ve ever seen was a woman in her seventies, dolled up in tissue paper and masking tape. Instead of turning up her nose at the situation or soldiering through it disapprovingly, she pulled out a pair of sunglasses and slipped them on with sass to complete the look. Because winning a dress-up contest is a serious achievement, to be embraced with glamor and pizzazz.

I guess last Saturday was one of those events where I went expecting to give, but unexpectedly received. I learned from the teaching and the singing. But more significantly, I was dazzled by the beauty of the women God has made. As they carried crock-pots and stacked chairs, cracked jokes and sang snatches of Disney songs, sorted the junk that came out of each other’s purses and twirled girlishly around in plastic tiaras, their spirit–their faith–our new-forged friendship–took my breath away.

What have you learned about beauty lately? About friendship? 

Beauty from Storm

~ Alina ~ Leave a comment

Yesterday morning arrived in gusty, wet glory.

When I lived in Seattle, waking up to gray morning after gray morning, nothing but sunshine seemed beautiful. But here, where sunshine is the norm, a really stormy day almost takes my breath away with its power and awe-full majesty. Sheets of rain cascade and collide. Leaves–mauve and orange and gold–scatter like trails of magic, effortlessly puffed down the street. Delicate tree branches bend and sway, threatening to snap at every moment in their reckless dance. It is inspiring as well as terrifying to watch.

But what struck me most was what was left in the wake of the wind and rain. When the loud forces of destruction quieted, I went tromping around with my camera and galoshes, noticing the tiny, quirky miracles left behind.

Things like mossy green baby-tears springing up between paving stones, the soft blooming to surround and overcome the hard.

Or the fact that almost all the maple leaves were stuck face-down to the sidewalk, leaving their stems sticking straight up into the air like the tails of curious puppies. 

What I thought was most interesting of all, though, was the sight of our lawn. I looked out the window and noticed that the helter-skelter whipping and tearing of the storm-force had mingled dead autumn leaves with flowers from our bougainvillea vine.

Life mingled with death, the shedding of a tree’s old coat beside pink crepe butterfly-delicate petals. The dying of the old year beside the flowering of the new. Autumn and spring scattered side-by-side. It made me think of Tchaikovsky’s Dance of the Flowers. 

It also made me think that even November storms that make the house creak, that strip the trees of all their finery, that force in bare branches and winter before I’m quite ready for them, can leave beauty behind them as well. Gales can even bring the beauty, sometimes: the same violent  winds that destroy can scatter the lawn with flowers.

Maybe–perhaps even this–the beauty wouldn’t come without the storm.

Haute Couture

~ Alina ~ 8 Comments

You can start laughing now.

If you’re not laughing yet, realize that fashion is never a word that has belonged in the same sentence with my name. Maybe I would be at the height of it if I walked into a medieval castle, a Civil War ballroom, or a British tea party–but as for the fashions of today, I’ve been chronically clueless since I was old enough to dress myself.

That’s not to say I don’t like to look good in my clothes. Or that I don’t have a sense of taste (however eclectic it may be). But I’d consider that more “personal style,” a notion of what I like and what looks good on me, than an awareness of what Parisian designers are sending down the runways this season.

However, in the last few months, fashion hasn’t been as far away from me as in the past. For one, my mom and I have been faithfully following a BBC show from the ’90s, The House of Eliott, which follows a pair of sisters who start their own fashion house in 1920s London. Besides having a great story with compelling characters, the show’s costumes are gogglingly gorgeous. And as I learn more about sewing and design, it helps me to better understand an industry that once seemed mysterious and ridiculous.

Beatrice and Evangeline Eliott, protagonists of  The House of Eliott

Last month I also went with my grandparents to a San Francisco museum exhibition of fashion by Jean Paul Gaultier in San Francisco. Though Gaultier is known as the enfant terrible of French fashion and I would never actually wear any of the outfits I saw on display, it was a fascinating glimpse into fashion as an art and science. The very name haute couture (French, of course) means “high sewing.”

Gaultier fashions on mannequins with moving faces!

In addition to the costumes themselves (displayed on mannequins with moving faces!), there was a documentary tracking the last 48 hours leading up to a Gaultier fashion show. Backstage, away from all the paparazzi cameras and snobbish facial expressions, was a busy hive of incredibly talented seamstresses who specialized in turning one man’s eye for whimsy into precise creations of stitches and sequins. Every garment for a fashion show is made completely by hand, some of them representing 200 man-hours or more.

A galleon headdress made entirely out of red beads

There’s also an enormous amount of creativity involved. Again, while I didn’t see any of the garments as really wearable for myself, conceptually I found them very interesting. Gaultier experimented with unexpected materials and combinations: artificial crocodile skin and crochet, knit and tulle, gold lame and seashells, leather and feathers, even human hair. He also chose themes for his fashion shows that tickled my fancy as a writer: mermaids, madonnas, even human body systems.

So, while you may never catch a glimpse of high fashion in my wardrobe, I have gained some respect for the field as a creative art and a highly skilled craft. I do prefer wearing my personal style, though. It’s my humble opinion that people always look best wearing what suits them, rather than whatever happens to be trending at the moment.

And now I pass the fashion-commentary baton to those more qualified. For further reading, check out this mash-up:

Bear Ears: original knit designs and patterns
Cafes and Closets: vintage and gothic style blog
Adelle Gabrielson: shoe love
Fashion from Literature: modern-day outfits for literary characters
My Disney Fashion Dreams: Disney-character-inspired fashion collages

What are your thoughts on fashion, style, and haute couture? 


Cracks in the Floor

~ Alina ~ 2 Comments

Last Thursday I went hiking with one of my dearest friends. We have a favorite trail that takes us through four miles of hill country, but the highlight is the lake at the halfway point. Jade-green and hidden by hills until you’re almost on top of it, it’s always a spectacular sight, like a snippet of the Amazon in California.

This time, though, there was something extra-special about it. A whole flock of seagulls (inexplicably far from the sea) was camping out on the water. Then, as one body, the flock rose into the air, fluttering on wings that “gleam and dart,” as W.B. Yeats would have it. Moving like an airborne whirlpool, they formed a column of light and air over the lake. Something about that moment–the surprise sight of so many birds in an unexpected place, their movement in perfect unity, the way their half-translucent wings caught the light–was unspeakable. It was like a glimpse of the Old Testament’s pillar of cloud, the visible presence of God that guided the wandering Israelites through the desert.

The sight got me thinking about such moments, moments that jump the gap between heaven and earth. Life here isn’t perfect by any stretch of the imagination. The road is peppered with suffering, unfairness, betrayal, fallings-short. But more than any rational argument or logical progression, it’s beautiful moments like these that make me certain that there is a God–a God of tenderness, breathtaking beauty, and an astounding imagination. C.S. Lewis called these moments “joy.” I like to think of them as cracks in the floor of heaven.

I caught sight of another one the weekend before. I spent the weekend in Seattle, driving down to the Portland area for the wedding of a former roommate and dear friend. Though there was a lot of preparation and clean-up work involved, when all the cheese cubes were arranged and the dozens of chairs unfolded, the wedding was beautiful. One of the things the bride and groom did during the ceremony was braid a three-stranded cord to symbolize the intertwining of their lives with each other and with God. Watching a friend step out in love and faith to make a decision that will last a lifetime, transforming before my eyes from an individual into a couple bound together for life was one of those moments that was piercing in its shock, its newness, and its beauty. 

That continued as they danced their first dance, sometimes uncertain in the steps, but completely oblivious as they rocked in their own world. Human love is one of those mysteries that leaves us curious, wondering, and feeling the eternal echoes reverberating within. Clearer even than a swirl of white birds over a hidden lake, it’s one of those things that stops us in our tracks and hushes our words. Those moments are enveloped in bubbles, untouched by the incompletenesses and disappointments life can bring. They make us pause, look up, and catch a glimpse of light sparkling through the cracks overhead.

What cracks in heaven’s floor have you caught sight of lately? 

Raindrops on Roses

~ Alina ~ 16 Comments
Last week, it rained almost all week. 
When I was living in Seattle, the rain frustrated me. It was constant. All I could think about were wet socks, frizzy hair, cold fingers, dirty puddles, indoor mold. 
Now that I’m back in California, where showers are balanced with sunshine, it’s easier for me to be thankful for the rain. Now I go out in my rain boots with my camera, enjoying the beauty that the rain brings, especially to the rose garden. I’ve always loved taking close-ups of dew-studded roses. I hope you enjoy the results!

They’re little miracles, reminders of the beauty brought even by hardship, signs of joy even in the rain. They remind me of the song from The Sound of Music:

“Raindrops on roses, and whiskers on kittens…

 “bright copper kettles, and warm woolen mittens…

“brown paper packages, tied up with string…

“these are a few of my favorite things!”

Happy Monday! What’s beautiful in your world today?

“Smile, Beautiful”

~ Alina ~ 14 Comments
Well, spring doesn’t officially start until tomorrow. But the plum tree in my backyard doesn’t know the difference. Every year, it bursts into a puffy cloud of fragile pink blossoms. 
And every spring, it draws me irresistibly outside, camera in hand. 
Macro (close-up) photography has been one of my interests for a long time. In this world, it’s often the biggest, flashiest, noisiest things that attract the most notice. But macro photography focuses in on the tiny, the delicate, the overlooked, perfectly-formed, miniature miracles hiding in plain view. 
Like plum blossoms.
And to make things even more fun, this year my good friend Audry showed me some techniques with camera apertures. Oh boy. 

Turns out smaller F-stops (lens apertures) focus on smaller depths of field. They draw your eye to just one tiny part of the image.

Instead of getting overwhelmed by the whole, you can focus the intricate beauty of one part–and maybe see something there you never noticed before. Look at the different textures of the pink petals and the red encasement–smooth and bumpy, frilled and veined. So much detail in such a small space!

Isn’t God amazing? All this beauty, like getting a card in the mail for no reason. It’s just God saying, “Smile, beautiful. I made this for you.” 

 Happy spring! What tiny miracles can you find in your world today?

Rhinestones and Diamonds

~ Alina ~ 11 Comments
I am blessed to have some of the world’s finest girls as my friends. They volunteer with the deaf, they start small businesses, they cook up exotic dishes with unpronounceable names. They’re going to graduate school, writing books, getting internships around the world. But not only are they energetic and talented; they are kind, loyal, dedicated, and faith-full people as well. They won’t tell you about the time they spend behind the scenes, supporting tired parents, making cupcakes for church events, encouraging their coworkers, starting conversations with the “fringe kids” on campus. They are the quiet gems in their communities, and I am honored to know them.

But here’s a mystery. Most of them spent a lonely Valentine’s Day this last week. I know that most of them came home that night to reheated leftovers, a movie by themselves, maybe some homework or e-mail. Why? While there’s certainly nothing wrong with singleness by choice, many of these girls haven’t even been offered the choice. In a world where their initiative and servanthood is exceptional, why on earth weren’t these young women of character, intelligence, and sincerity asked out to dinner by every available man on February 14?

A couple of weeks ago, I needed to clean a few pairs of earrings. I love shiny things, but I am a writer; thus, my jewelry is made mostly of tinfoil and rhinestones. To my chagrin, the Internet informed me that it is difficult or impossible to clean rhinestone jewelry. It comes down to the difference between rhinestones and diamonds.

Rhinestones, according to the all-knowing Wikipedia, are imitation diamonds made from crystal, glass, or acrylic. They get their glitter from a reflective backing that refracts the light, creating sparkles and rainbows. They can be cheaply mass-produced, which makes them attractive options for impoverished English majors (and people looking for ridiculous stilettos):


This budget glitz is all fine and dandy as long as its reflective backing doesn’t get wet. Water washes away the glitter, revealing rhinestones for the plastic they are underneath.

Diamonds’ scintillating coruscation (dictionary break!), by contrast, will never wear out or wash away, no matter what they go through. That’s because their legendary luminescence comes from within one of the world’s strongest crystal structures, used for grinding metal tools or containing high-pressure lab experiments when it’s not perched atop engagement rings. Peerlessly beautiful and virtually unbreakable. I guess you get what you pay for.  

So if diamonds are where the real value lies, why is it rhinestones are so much more plentiful? And in higher demand? And for that matter, why were many of the best girls I know single on Valentine’s Day?

Cost, I think, is the answer.

It’s definitely easier to be a rhinestone than a diamond. A nice haircut and new heels are far less expensive than a heart of integrity and sacrifice. Developing those is back-breaking work that will take every day of your life and constant prayer to build. And when just a little lipstick and a flirtatious smile seem to garner instant attention and admiration, why go the distance to become a diamond on the inside?

Key word here is seem. To seem is to have one thing going on the outside and another on the inside, a double life—the opposite of integrity, being one person within and without. As women, are we all about the fragile falsehood of appearance? Are we nothing more than painted paper masks? Or can we say, with Shakespeare’s Hamlet: “I know not seems…I have that within which passes show” (I.2)?

So if it’s more costly to be a diamond, why do the boys so often choose the rhinestones? This question is even asked in the 1936 novel Gone with the Wind (which I have at last begun reading; only 1,215 pages to go!): 

Scarlett: “Why is it a girl has to be so silly to catch a husband?”

Mammy: “Ah specs it’s kase gempmums doan know whut dey wants. Dey jus’ knows whut dey thinks dey wants.” 


Cost again. It’s far easier—and seems more attractive—to accept the first girl who waltzes into your arms than to labor to win a woman who has a strong character and developed beliefs.

But rhinestone beauty washes away under pressure. I know for a fact that life will throw you curveballs (if it hasn’t already). When you lose your job, when a family member is diagnosed with cancer, when you have to make a hard choice between the easy thing and the right thing, which do you want supporting you: glitter-backed acrylic, or the world’s hardest rock (which also happens to be one of its most beautiful)?

I have met these women: those who choose God’s will even when it means laying down their own, who believe in His big-picture plan and are willing to wait for it, who sacrifice for their families, who show kindness to strangers. They may not always have time for makeup, but they make time to listen to friends in need. They practice the discipline of putting others’ good before their own and seize singleness as an opportunity to serve God. They are beautiful even through suffering, through service, through sacrifice. This is the kind of beauty that withstands hell and high water. Charm is deceptive and beauty is fleeting, but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised. 

Men, I’m not going to lie to you. You’re not going to win the heart of a woman like that easily. It takes a lot of work and prayer to become a person worth having—believe me, these women know. But set your sights high, because their value is beyond price. Diamonds, as the ad says, are forever. No water, no hardship, no struggle can wash away the radiance that comes from within such jewels. No amount of bad hair days or wrinkles can ever touch their beauty. Time cannot tarnish them; no storm can shake them. Many women do noble things, but such diamonds surpass them all. 

So here’s to the diamonds, the ladies who are of such great beauty in God’s sight. Here’s to the single women who choose to spend their time giving, laughing, discovering instead of wallowing in self-pity. Here’s to you who keep on serving even when nobody sees; who keep on praying even when God doesn’t instantly say yes. To you who reject a superficial life of mask-wearing and take the hard road of integrity: your worth is far above rubies. 

Happy Valentine’s Day.

Who are the diamonds you know? What makes them so special?