Sublime: of such excellence, grandeur, or beauty as to inspire great admiration or awe
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What did you see in me, that of all the common adjectives that one uses to compliment a stranger, your heart to your lips uttered this word to describe me: sublime. It’s a compliment of high order and one that arrested me from the inside out. It travelled down to depths beyond pleasure and gratitude, and reached the doors of my spirit, that all I could say was “oh my God.” In awe, in embarrassment, in shyness; I was beside myself; my gratitude was rendered insufficient.
Tell me, what did you see? What did you understand that your words chose, not to compliment superficial physicality, but you chose a word that until now is reverberating in me. Has me questioning if I am worthy of such a compliment. Has me desiring to live up to such high regard. It’s a word that opened my eyes to this mediocrity I’ve adorned too long, and coaxed me out of a deep slumber, out of a character that no longer is mine, forcing me to see how hollow, how uncharacteristic this space I’ve been occupying. With one word you shook my self-esteem and I found myself reaching for comfort, but could not find it. Your words kicked up debris that sent my inner self into chaos; I experienced a tumult in emotions that I felt myself flustered, as though I was drowning, breaking, going into a freefall that my only recourse was to call on God. Because, my God, what a compliment. What a word. Sublime. And you delivered it softly, plainly, it rolled off your tongue so effortlessly, and words like these don’t flow on their own. No, I felt the force with which you said it, I felt the spirit by which it was carried. It wasn’t decorated with hidden intent or boastfulness or stained with duplicity. It was different…it was so different.
And in that commotion, I heard an affirmation, reinforcing your words; yes, this is who you are. And all I could think is how? How can that be? What have I done, what do I have that I’d be worthy of such a compliment? I was puzzled and afraid. How can a man know me like this, when we don’t know each other at all? How is it that, in our brief encounter, he saw what many have not seen, what I’ve been afraid to even see in myself? How is it that his words undo me, expose me, naked me and yet it not uncover nakedness but uncover beauty, glory, and honor which I can scarcely fathom belongs to me?
We all want to be seen. But you redirected my gaze to the hidden part of myself – the part I was afraid to look at incase it, too, revealed something unsavory. Yes, you, a stranger, by whose sincerity have touched me in my soul and everything has changed in me. You dealt a deadly blow to this fragility and unexceptional cover that I’ve adorned. You reminded me to take responsibility for myself. You showed me I was too exceptional to stay in this uncertain space, molding myself again to be satisfied in my discontent.
Is that not the power of words? To destroy falsehood and bring truth to light? And there’s something unique about the truth---it exposes, but it doesn’t give you a false sense of comfort. You feel the discomfort in choosing it; everything in you wants the comfort, the familiar, the predictable. It wants the familiar words and phrases; because there are more people who can affirm you in the familiar. In the familiar, you’re easy to diagnose, one can pinpoint what you are doing wrong or right; you’re easier to handle, to compare; you’re placed on a balancing scale and chosen based on common knowledge and common measures of man. But you re-exposed me to something profound; you caused me to see myself differently, by unveiling something I could barely face let alone accept.
I don’t know what you saw in me on that day. I’m grateful that you were unafraid to request my attention. Because, on that day, you did what no other man has done. You didn’t uncover me with your eyes, or devour me with your lips, or seek to possess me with your hands. In the purity of your heart, from your spirit to mine, you gave me something highly precious and divinely superior.
