These days, it seems that all that is certain is uncertainty and most news we hear isn’t so good.

And, yet, in the midst of stark realities and bleak statistics, somehow light endures.

Not only is there light, but it’s blindingly beautiful at times.

In my ordinary life, like many of us, my usual days are spent going from one event or appointment to the next. I see the usual people in my usual places: at the gym, at work, at home with family, and out with friends. It’s all so usual, so ordinary. So every day. Like autopilot, they’re all there.

As the old adage goes, “you don’t know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone.” Now, I don’t mean to sound dramatic. Of course, in reality, all of those people still exist, are still alive and present in the world. And for that I am very grateful.

It has assuredly swept the nation.

The craze and the hobby that is the selfie.

That quintessential self-portrait that declares I’ve been there and done that. We are a nation perfecting the art of image crafting; on our vacations, in our family life, in our bathroom mirrors.

“Want to do a gym selfie for Beach Body?”

Her daughter stared up at her, wide-eyed and suddenly excited, “Sure!” She exclaimed. “What’s Beach Body?”

I was at the YMCA doing some stretching as I watched the exchange between the school-aged girl and her mom. She had been patiently waiting for some time, watching her mom do a weight lifting routine and seemed thrilled to join when her mom offered the mother-daughter selfie opportunity.

That moment you realize you missed seeing Chip and Joanna Gaines. That’s right. I had the chance to see them and I totally missed it.

It was clear something exciting had just happened when I arrived at the Dream Big Conference at Magnolia in Waco, Texas. Confetti afoot. Mason jars half-filled with sweet tea. I was arriving during the last moments of a great party, where people were packing up and things were winding down. Yet, I could feel the lingering energy of what was.

About six months ago, I saw it advertised for the first time. “Dream Big with Bob Goff at Magnolia” in Waco, Texas.  It’s as if Christian pop culture had conjured all of their creative and marketing efforts to fashion the ultimate event and there it was. They had done it. Equal parts Bob Goff inspiration and Chip and Joanna Gaines allure. The formula was perfect, the bait was set, and there I was falling prey to the trap.

Waiting. Vulnerable. Looking for their loved one. Who accepts them. Where they belong.

That was the scene when I drove up to the baggage claim at the Minneapolis airport. I went to pick up my husband, but what I got was a reminder of our common humanity. We are all pretty vulnerable in the end. We are all looking for a place to belong, for someone to accept us as we are. I think that’s one of our deepest human needs and desires.

It’s a bit overwhelming, how the idea of beauty has been co-opted, warped, even disfigured in Western culture. In so many ways, beauty has become synonymous with “perfection,” with thin, with “toned,” and with looking youthful. In this way, it seems “beauty” has been reserved for the genetic anomalies and for the fiction that inhabits print ads that have been “touched up” and then retouched some more.

It’s decidedly inspiring to watch someone find their stride. I’d even say beautiful. Watching someone come into their own, so to speak. A toddler grinning from ear to ear as they take their first steps, literally finding their stride. Doing what they were born to do.

Like many things, on their own, numbers are pretty neutral. It’s how we use them that give them meaning. Do we use them to deplete life and dehumanize (think tattooed arms of Holocaust survivors) or do we use them to bring about life and joy (think of that old doorframe in your house with your kids’ heights sketched in pencil, marking the miracle of growing up)? Simply put, numbers can be a powerful thing.

Funny enough, I was at the gym when she said it. I was minding my own business when she started telling me all about a show she had been watching that morning called “The Last Ten Pounds.” This friendly woman, whom I had never spoken with before, went on to tell me all about the show’s premise: losing those pesky ‘last ten pounds’ before some event or reunion or with the hopes of fitting into those skinny jeans or that cocktail dress.

What on earth was I doing there, I wondered. There I sat at a writer’s conference in Nashville, Tennessee. Far from home and wondering what I had gotten myself into.  Me, a therapist and introvert, had somehow found her way into a room full of strangers where I was being invited to stand up and tell everyone about my writing idea. A room full of writers. Simply terrifying…

We come by it honestly. We live in a culture where image is everything. You are what you wear or you are what you buy. I don’t know if anyone says it outright, but it’s implied by every ad we see or hear on our Smart Phone, iPad, TV, or radio. You are a champion for the environment if you drive a Prius, you are rugged if you drive a Ford truck, and you are fitness guru if you wear Lulu Lemon. In the midst of selling products, companies have also learned the art of selling an image.

These days I can’t help but think about the version of beauty our kids are learning. Childhood is such a tender time, when impressions of the world and constructs of social acceptability are being learned every moment. Every day. Recently, my sister sent me a picture from Target. There it was, the magazine wrack in the checkout line. Who isn’t familiar with that quintessential checkout line display at the grocery store, Target, or airport? My sister knows I am unusually concerned with popular culture’s brand of beauty, so she kindly sent me that day’s version.

It was striking. To the point I had to pause and appreciate it. It’s as if the universe stood still and waited for me to take notice. Otherworldly beauty poured into our oh-so-ordinary living room. Streams of glorious light flooded the room as the strength of the rising sun found its way between the pine trees in our yard and into our bay window. So simple and yet so astounding. The beauty seemed too good to be true.