A Taste of Flava: When Beauty Interrupts Pain

This morning, my body was loud.

Cold had settled deep into my bones.

My hands hurt.

My nerves were on edge.

Seattle winter was doing what it does best — pressing down.

And then… I looked up.

Outside my window, perched high on a utility pole in the middle of the city, was an eagle. Still. Watching. Unbothered. As if he had all the time in the world.

I watched him soar first — wide wings cutting through a gray sky — and then I watched him land. When he didn’t leave, I zoomed in. And he stayed.

He didn’t even look real.

But he was.

And in that moment, something shifted.

My pain didn’t disappear — but it softened.

My breathing slowed.

My spirit exhaled.

When I focus on God’s beauty, my pain doesn’t feel as heavy.

Not because faith ignores the body — but because it reminds me I’m held by something greater than this moment. Greater than the weather. Greater than the ache.

Even eagles rest.

Even strength pauses.

Even power chooses stillness.

Today, God met me not by fixing everything — but by giving me something beautiful to look at when I needed relief.

That was enough.

— Flava