It’s A Beautiful 24 Hours!

I grew up in New York, in an old three-story residence in the Bronx. While the first and second floors of the house quartered my family, the vacant third-floor apartment served what I believed to be a higher purpose: It was alternately my rec room and oasis, reading room and chapel. Under its high ceiling, I would pass the hours daydreaming, drawing pictures, and watching sunlight creep along the worn wood floors. The mystique of the apartment was augmented by quaint features that included a window situated low to the floor, and looking out on a tiny tarred balcony. Sometimes, when the weather was fair, I would climb out the window and onto the balcony. The broad view encompassed our grape arbor and a patch of leggy red roses, the neighbor’s plum tree, and a coop full of pigeons lovingly tended by the retiree next door.

One morning when I was about eleven years old, I woke up early and, for some reason, was taken by the notion to watch the day dawn from the balcony. My parents and younger brother were still sleeping when I climbed the creaky steps to the third-floor apartment and clambered through the low window.

The rising sun was striking the windows of a nearby building, the reflected glow lighting up the purples, reds, and greens of backyard flora. The pigeons were shaking the sleep from their feathers and starting to coo, and the bumblebees nesting by the arbor were poised to begin their daily zigzag among the grape clusters. In and under the ombre sky, every created thing was lending its voice to a hymn in praise of its Maker.

I was transfixed by the loveliness of the scene. Although standing on a tarry ledge in a rundown town, I was in the presence of beauty, and I knew it. The gratitude that overflowed my young heart found its expression in tears, and once I had cried myself out, I could think of nothing but sharing my joy with my family.

“It’s a beautiful day! Let us give thanks to God!”

Mentally repeating the lines, which I was more than ready to shout from the rooftops, I reentered the apartment and hurried down the two flights of stairs to find my parents and brother still asleep. As eager as I was to share my message, I knew it would be unwise to wake my family in order to do it. So I decided to write down my exhortation instead, and simply put the memo in a place where my family would be sure to see it first thing.

This posed something of a problem, however, as the written words could be a stumbling block. While my American-born, Italian-speaking mother’s command of English was superb, my father’s was not, since Dad was an Italian immigrant. I pondered this dilemma for a short while, and then, emboldened by a working knowledge of Italian and a dose of youthful cockiness, I resolved to write a bilingual appeal.

“It’s a beautiful day! Let us give thanks to God!”

“E’ un bel giorno! Ringraziamo a Dio!”

Translated, the Italian read:

“It’s a beautiful 24 hours! We thank you at God!”

Although my Italian rendering missed the mark, my intention was right on target: to point out beauty and, in so doing, lift up hearts towards the Creator.

“Every expression of true beauty can…be acknowledged as a path leading to an encounter with the Lord Jesus,” wrote Pope Francis.

Things that are beautiful give us a glimpse of eternity. God has created us with a desire for earthly beauty, and He uses that yearning to draw us to Himself. In this sense, beauty is redemptive. What may begin as contemplation of a humble plum or pigeon can lead to contemplation of their Creator, Whose own beauty is eternal.

That truth was brought home to me on a summer morning over fifty years ago. In the beauty of an early hour, I perceived the Beauty that St. Augustine described as “ever ancient, ever new.”