Kensho

I can tell you that he was an orphan who told us to honour our parents.

That he forgave and embraced the same people who exiled him from his home.

That he loved the poor and gave away all of his possessions.

That he didn’t care for leadership and rejected it when it was offered to him.

That he loved his wife and grieved after her passing for the rest of his life.

That anyone who spoke to him, felt tempted to ask if he loved them most, because thats how they felt in that moment.

That he would pray for us at night instead of sleeping until his ankles would swell.

That he emancipated slaves.

That he commanded men to honour women.

That if he was offered spoiled food, he would eat it anyway so he wouldn’t hurt the persons feelings.

That he gave his undivided attention and care to people we wouldn’t think twice about.

That he used to shorten group prayers if he heard a baby crying.

That he forgave people who stoned him and asked God to forgive them. 

That he would address people who did wrong by their good nature and virtues of their character first.

That he never refused to give to anyone who asked of him.

That he commanded us to love and be kind to animals.

That he was always smiling.

The constant movement. The change.

But why does it hurt? It hurts because we hold onto what we know, and fear what we do not know. We find comfort and security in the familiar. But what if we didn't see it that way? What if we could let go of fall, knowing that winter has its' own beauty too? What if we truly, truly, believed that no matter how scared or unsure we were, that we are never, ever alone?

What if we understood that there is beauty in all seasons? In all conditions of life? What if we saw that God can decorate every moment, not only the ones we cling to? And that He can beautify every part of the journey--not only the parts we recognize.