Oklahoma is nothing like Montana. One is filled with mountains and those who have witnessed my life from its origin, and the other is filled with red soil and new beginnings. They are strikingly different, but both beautiful.
Not all beauty needs to rise from the landscape in an obvious display of God's workmanship. Beauty is not limited to the weight of snow on looming pine trees in the winter time, or moaning that a lake makes when it thaws for the first time in spring. There are many kinds of beauty, and though my red soil home lacks in some ways, it is bountiful in others.
There is a different kind of beauty here. The beauty of warm days breaking through winter's tyranny. The beauty of ice settling quietly onto the grass, encasing each blade in its own winter cocoon. God's workmanship lives here too, in the hearts of the family he carefully fashioned for me to join, and the friends he sent me when my life was slipping away unwitnessed.
There is beauty here, and though it is not the kind I expected, perhaps this is the kind of beauty that I need.