The Beauty In What We Reject

We don’t have to agree with each other. Honestly, that’s not the point.

What truly matters is that we listen—listen deeply. It’s about sitting with ideas long enough to think them through, allowing unfamiliar or uncomfortable thoughts to exist without immediate judgment.

All of us are good and bad. Light and shadow. Certainty and confusion. The things that feel foreign to us—the weird things, the uncomfortable things, the things that make us pause or detest—those matter too. Acknowledging them doesn’t mean we have to accept them as truth or make them part of our lives. It simply means we see them.

We see each other.

When we acknowledge the existence of what’s different, we acknowledge existence itself. And when we connect with others, we connect with new realities—new environments, new opportunities, new ways of seeing. Every unfamiliar thing becomes a mirror. We don’t just learn about the world; we learn about ourselves. We go deeper into who we are and deeper into who God is—into everything He’s created for us to experience and enjoy.

Everything we see is for us. The birds. The bees. The trees. Other humans. Even the tables and the walls. Everything that is matter, matters. Even when something appears still, unmoving, lifeless—that’s only true within the limits of our perception. Beyond what our eyes can see, the smallest molecules are vibrating, shifting, alive. Movement exists everywhere, whether we recognize it or not.

We don’t have to be afraid. We can have courage in the unknown. We don’t have to fear it—because that, too, is us. We can give ourselves love.

There’s a lesson in Frankenstein. If you’re unfamiliar with the story, it isn’t really about a monster—it’s about rejection. A man creates life through science, but once his creation exists, he’s horrified by it. He abandons it. Neglects it. Refuses to acknowledge what he’s made.

The creature wanders the world, trying desperately to be seen by his creator. To be loved. And the more he’s rejected, the more pain hardens into anger. The more anger turns into violence. Not because he was born evil—but because he was never embraced.

That’s the lesson. Things aren’t born ugly.

We make them ugly.

So, the question becomes this: Can we see beauty even in what we call ugly? In what feels strange, unfamiliar, or different from us—but is, in some way, still part of us? Can we look at the things we reject and ask what they’re really asking for?

Let’s think about it.

Peace and love.