When you take a flower in your hand and really look at it, it's

The words of Georgia O’Keeffe—“When you take a flower in your hand and really look at it, it’s your world for the moment. I want to give that world to someone else. Most people in the city rush around so, they have no time to look at a flower. I want them to see it whether they want to or not.”—carry the breath of both poetry and command. She speaks not merely of flowers, but of the essence of seeing. For in the act of truly looking, of pausing long enough to behold the delicate lines of a petal, the infinite hues of a blossom, the secret order of nature—there lies a world entire. To hold that world, even for a moment, is to awaken to beauty, to mystery, to life itself.

The ancients often spoke of contemplation as the highest form of living. To them, to see truly was not with the eyes alone, but with the soul. O’Keeffe’s words echo this ancient truth. In the frantic rush of city life, men and women often forget that the world is filled with marvels at every step. They run, they labor, they strive, but they do not see. And so O’Keeffe, with her painter’s hand, declared that she would not allow beauty to be ignored. Through her art, she would magnify a flower so large, so vibrant, so commanding, that the busy passerby could no longer look away. She forced the world to see.

History has always celebrated those who, like O’Keeffe, revealed beauty where others saw nothing. Think of Vincent van Gogh, who in his sunflowers and starry skies gave us visions of eternity hidden in common things. In his time, many dismissed his work; yet his canvases became windows into worlds people had overlooked. O’Keeffe stood in that same lineage: she wanted to break open the blindness of daily life and teach men and women that the sacred lives in the small, in the overlooked, in the flower ignored by the hurried foot.

Beloved listener, the meaning is clear: to truly live, one must slow down and see. When we grasp a flower, when we pause before the vastness of a mountain or the quiet smile of a child, we touch eternity. But when we rush, blinded by our pursuits, we pass by worlds of wonder as though they were nothing. O’Keeffe’s art was her act of resistance against the blindness of speed, her defiance against the tyranny of haste. Through every brushstroke, she invited the weary and the hurried to stop, to look, to awaken.

And yet her words carry more than beauty—they carry a mission. She did not paint merely for herself. She said, “I want to give that world to someone else.” This is the heart of all true art, all true teaching: not to hoard vision for oneself, but to share it, to awaken others, even against their will. She understood that men and women often resist stillness, yet they need it most. By making the hidden visible, she sought to heal the blindness of her age.

What then shall we learn from her? That each of us has the power to awaken vision in others. We may not all be painters, yet we can still point to the beauty we see, still invite others to pause, still lift their eyes from dust to wonder. To walk slowly through a garden, to notice the sky at dusk, to listen with full presence—these are not idle acts, but holy ones. For in them we both receive and give: we receive the world as a gift, and we give others the invitation to see what they too might have missed.

So let Georgia O’Keeffe’s words echo in your heart: “When you take a flower in your hand and really look at it, it’s your world for the moment.” Do not let your life pass as a blur of rushing. Take the flower, look closely, and make it your world. Then, give that world to others, so that no one may live blind to beauty. For in teaching others to see, you awaken their souls, and in awakening souls, you help build a world no longer rushing past wonder, but living within it.