Moving On by Creating Beauty
"She could never go back and make some of the details pretty. All she could do was move forward and make the whole beautiful."
--Terri St. Cloud
--Terri St. Cloud
To be made in the image of God is not to be made in the image of one who can go back in time and make all things pretty. God can't do that and we can't either. But it is to be made in the image of one who can move forward and try to make the whole beautiful.
In God's case this 'making beautiful' is what Whitehead calls the consequent nature of God. It is that side of God which receives all that has happened and weaves it into a harmony of feeling, not by erasing the pain or pretending the past didn’t happen, but by absorbing it with tenderness and transforming it into a deeper, more tragic beauty. This is not a beauty that denies sorrow—it includes sorrow. It’s not a perfection unmarred by blemish—it is a wholeness that holds the blemishes within a larger grace.
To be made in the image of God, then, is to share in this divine creativity. We cannot undo the past, but we can participate in a redemptive process of meaning-making. We can listen, forgive, repair, and reimagine. We can offer new possibilities to others and to ourselves. Like God, we can be artists of what is next—healers of what has been—not by force, but by love.
This is the sacred work of the present moment: to take what has been given, no matter how fractured or flawed, and help shape what follows into something honest, redemptive, and alive. This is what it means to live in the image of the God who moves forward, not backward.
In God's case this 'making beautiful' is what Whitehead calls the consequent nature of God. It is that side of God which receives all that has happened and weaves it into a harmony of feeling, not by erasing the pain or pretending the past didn’t happen, but by absorbing it with tenderness and transforming it into a deeper, more tragic beauty. This is not a beauty that denies sorrow—it includes sorrow. It’s not a perfection unmarred by blemish—it is a wholeness that holds the blemishes within a larger grace.
To be made in the image of God, then, is to share in this divine creativity. We cannot undo the past, but we can participate in a redemptive process of meaning-making. We can listen, forgive, repair, and reimagine. We can offer new possibilities to others and to ourselves. Like God, we can be artists of what is next—healers of what has been—not by force, but by love.
This is the sacred work of the present moment: to take what has been given, no matter how fractured or flawed, and help shape what follows into something honest, redemptive, and alive. This is what it means to live in the image of the God who moves forward, not backward.
There are moments in every life when we look back and see the blemishes—not only the things we’ve done, but also the things that have happened to us. Losses we didn’t choose. Hurts we didn’t cause. Moments that scarred us, that altered the course of our becoming. We may wish we could go back and make the details prettier—less painful, less complicated, less marked by sorrow. But life, like art, is not painted in reverse.
Terri St. Cloud reminds us that while the past is fixed in memory, the future remains fluid in possibility. The invitation is not to repaint the beginning but to shape what follows. What matters most is not that every part is flawless, but that the whole becomes something beautiful—honest, redemptive, alive.
We find the spirit of Amipotence—we find God—in the presence of this redemptive possibility. Even God cannot erase or change the past. What has happened has happened. What we’ve done, we’ve done. The betrayals occurred. The accidents happened. The terrible tragedies unfolded. The past is real, and it matters. But the past is not the final story. It is the palette, not the painting; the stone, not the sculpture. In the spirit of Amipotence—the gentle, steadfast power of love—we are drawn not backward into regret, but forward into co-creation. God meets us not in a rewind button, but in the living moment, whispering: What now? What next? What beauty can we make, even from this?
This is not a love that denies our sorrow or patches it over with platitudes. It is a love that sits with us in the ashes, listens without flinching, and then quietly invites us to begin again. This divine love does not demand perfection. It honors the mess, the fracture, the ache—and still sees in us the capacity to become something whole. Not the same as before, but no less beautiful.
This is where healing begins—not in pretending we were never hurt, or that we never hurt others, or that terrible tragedies have not occurred—but in affirming that our story is still being written. That grace is ongoing. That beauty can emerge not in spite of the blemishes but because of how they are held, honored, and woven into something larger.
To walk with God, then, is not to seek erasure but transformation. It is to trust that nothing—no loss, no failure, no wound—is beyond the reach of grace’s reweaving. And that the hands of this grace are often our own: trembling perhaps, but open, ready to shape the next part of the story.
So we carry our pasts like thread, not weight. We move forward not in shame, but in creativity. We live—not with the aim of making everything pretty—but of making the whole beautiful.
*Terri St. Cloud is a poet, writer, and artist known for her emotionally resonant reflections on healing, grief, resilience, and the human spirit. She is the creator of "Bone Sigh Arts", a project that blends her poetry and artwork to offer comfort, empowerment, and connection—especially to those navigating pain, loss, and transformation.Her work often centers around themes such as:
Terri St. Cloud reminds us that while the past is fixed in memory, the future remains fluid in possibility. The invitation is not to repaint the beginning but to shape what follows. What matters most is not that every part is flawless, but that the whole becomes something beautiful—honest, redemptive, alive.
We find the spirit of Amipotence—we find God—in the presence of this redemptive possibility. Even God cannot erase or change the past. What has happened has happened. What we’ve done, we’ve done. The betrayals occurred. The accidents happened. The terrible tragedies unfolded. The past is real, and it matters. But the past is not the final story. It is the palette, not the painting; the stone, not the sculpture. In the spirit of Amipotence—the gentle, steadfast power of love—we are drawn not backward into regret, but forward into co-creation. God meets us not in a rewind button, but in the living moment, whispering: What now? What next? What beauty can we make, even from this?
This is not a love that denies our sorrow or patches it over with platitudes. It is a love that sits with us in the ashes, listens without flinching, and then quietly invites us to begin again. This divine love does not demand perfection. It honors the mess, the fracture, the ache—and still sees in us the capacity to become something whole. Not the same as before, but no less beautiful.
This is where healing begins—not in pretending we were never hurt, or that we never hurt others, or that terrible tragedies have not occurred—but in affirming that our story is still being written. That grace is ongoing. That beauty can emerge not in spite of the blemishes but because of how they are held, honored, and woven into something larger.
To walk with God, then, is not to seek erasure but transformation. It is to trust that nothing—no loss, no failure, no wound—is beyond the reach of grace’s reweaving. And that the hands of this grace are often our own: trembling perhaps, but open, ready to shape the next part of the story.
So we carry our pasts like thread, not weight. We move forward not in shame, but in creativity. We live—not with the aim of making everything pretty—but of making the whole beautiful.
*Terri St. Cloud is a poet, writer, and artist known for her emotionally resonant reflections on healing, grief, resilience, and the human spirit. She is the creator of "Bone Sigh Arts", a project that blends her poetry and artwork to offer comfort, empowerment, and connection—especially to those navigating pain, loss, and transformation.Her work often centers around themes such as:
- Surviving trauma and growing from it
- The sacredness of the ordinary
- The power of vulnerability and honesty
- Creating beauty out of brokenness