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Every Little Thing by April Jeppson

I just spent two weeks exploring Italy with my mom. Two full weeks of historic ruins, marble statues, canals and gelato. I left my jobs, our husbands and my kids (bless them) to head off on an adventure that we’ve been casually dreaming about since 2015.

Back then, it was more of a lofty “someday” idea. You know the kind you talk about while folding laundry or scrolling travel blogs, but without a clue how to actually make it happen. Then, about two years ago, something clicked. I remember saying out loud, “We need to start living as if this trip is happening.”

What if we won the lottery tomorrow, would we even be ready? Do we have valid passports? Luggage we trust for an international trek? Do we know where we want to go?

So, we started making moves. Small things. Luggage upgrades. Passport renewals. A Pinterest board that turned mildly obsessive. And wouldn’t you know, it wasn’t long before everything fell into place.

Italy was everything I hoped it would be and more. I love to travel. It honestly doesn’t matter where, I just love going, seeing, learning and eating. Especially the eating. But the very best part of this trip wasn’t the views (although hi, the colored houses in Burano), or the gelato (which deserves its own article), it was experiencing it all with my mom.

We explored Rome, Florence and Venice. Each place had its own kind of magic. And while I could write pages on every city (and trust me, I just might), one moment stood above the rest: seeing Michelangelo’s David.

I turned a corner in the Galleria dell’Accademia and there he was, larger than life at the end of a long corridor, radiant under a domed skylight. And I couldn’t look at him. I mean I could, but only in little glimpses, like my brain had to sneak peeks to keep my heart from exploding.

It took my breath away. It was overwhelming in the most holy kind of way. It reminded me of walking outside on a summer day and having to squint until your eyes adjust to the light. That’s how it felt, too beautiful to absorb all at once.

Michelangelo famously said, “I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free.” Isn’t that just stunning? He didn’t see a block of stone, he saw a person, trapped inside, waiting to be revealed.

It hit me that God is like that, too. He sees who we are, past the rough edges, the heaviness and the messy parts, and he gently chips away until we’re who we were meant to be. Art is a reflection of the artist.

Ephesians 2:10 says, “For we are God’s masterpiece.” Sometimes I forget that. Sometimes I want to cover up the cracks or avoid the chisel entirely. But what if that’s where the beauty is? What if God is revealing something breathtaking, little by little?

I came home with full suitcases and an even fuller heart. But mostly, I came home OK with a lot of things. God built me this way, eyes that see beauty, a heart that feels deeply and a soul that can barely look at David without tearing up. And you know what? I think I’m finally OK with that.

Albert Lean April Jeppson is a wife, mom, coach and encourager of dreams. Her column appears every Saturday.