Earlier this month I had the pleasure of attending an open house at the Mass Ave. studio of local glass artist Krista Bermeo, whose finely crafted items marry color and light. It was a beautiful fall Sunday, and later, as I drove home along Washington Boulevard, I was repeatedly struck by the intense colors of the autumnal leaves. I couldn’t remember ever having seen them so vibrant, the colors so rich and deep. Several times I interrupted a conversation with the friend riding with me to exclaim, “Look at the trees!”

Each block revealed a different display of reds and golds glittering like gems and coins suspended in the branches. Again I exclaimed, “The trees are beautiful!”

After a few of these outcries, I realized my friend was not sharing my enthusiasm.  She’s not the kind to be offended if you speak out suddenly. She is a dyed in the wool nature lover, a gardener, hiker, and canoe enthusiast. Her response to the trees was affirmative, but it lacked my joy. Couldn’t she see what I saw? These trees were spectacular! Unique!

Ah — yes. I put one finger to my nose and slid my glasses down a couple of inches. That was it. I’d forgotten I was wearing sun glasses with amber lenses. Without my glasses the trees were pretty, but no prettier than any fall trees on any street in any year. They were red and yellow, not ruby and gold. My friend had been seeing them in natural light, while I had been seeing them amplified through my lenses.

I made the decision to slide my glasses back up and enjoy the show. But I wondered, was I seeing a happy delusion and my friend seeing a less joyful reality?

After turning it over in my mind for a while, I’ve decided that we both saw reality. Basic art theory teaches us that color is light. Red is never an absolute. Put a red ball on your yard and look at it at 6 a.m., noon, 6 p.m., and midnight. It will be a different color each time. And in July it will be a different red than it will in November.

I was enjoying the colors of the leaves because I was looking at them through lenses that altered the light. I think grace is like that because I think love is like light. It enables us to see what is around us, to see what is. But seeing people and events amplified through the lenses of grace makes them even more vibrant, more beautiful — spectacular, and unique. We want to cry out in joy at our discovery.

Maybe that’s not seeing the “real” world, but, again, I think “real” is what you make it. You can look at your surroundings the way you always have and see something good, but nothing that makes you exclaim and proclaim a wonder. Or, you can put on your glasses of grace and see life in a way that is amplified, enriched, and makes you want more.

I’m leaving my glasses on.

Wishing you a space for grace in your life today,

Kate