I love arranging flowers. There is something almost magical about taking a collection of blooms from my yard—some delicate, some unruly, some budding, some already bursting forth, and bringing them together into something beautiful.

But I have a confession: I am a little lazy when it comes to the back of my arrangements.

Most of my designs are meant to be viewed from one side. From the front, they can be stunning. The flowers are positioned just so, the colors balance, the blooms have room to breathe. But turn the vase around, and, well…let’s just say it doesn’t look so magical. There may be a scraggly stem or two, a bare spot or a flower that clearly wasn’t meant to be seen from that angle.

Don’t get me wrong. I have created arrangements designed to be viewed in 360 degrees. But sometimes I take the easy way out, especially when I know exactly where the arrangement will sit in my home.

This week, though, I decided to challenge myself. I created an arrangement that could be viewed from every direction. And somewhere between turning the vase, tucking in a bloom and stepping back to look at it from another angle, a thought began to bloom in me.

I knew it was from God.

Those are the unexpected moments I recognize. It’s astounding how they seem to arrive fully formed, when my fingers suddenly type furiously across the keyboard before the idea disappears. I believe those little bursts of inspiration are gifts, and this one felt particularly clear.

I realized how much my flower arranging is like the way I sometimes see people. I can look at someone from one angle and think I know them. I see the polished side. The beautiful side. The side they have carefully arranged for the world to see.

But what about the back?

What about the parts that aren’t as tidy? The places where life has left a bit of emptiness? The insecurities, disappointments, mistakes and struggles that may be carefully tucked behind the beauty?

We all have them. Even the prettiest arrangement has a side that isn’t quite as perfect as the front. And perhaps that’s the point.

As I turned my arrangement around, I began thinking about how easily I can do the same thing with people. I can make a judgment based on one conversation, one action, one impression, or one side of the story.

But people, like flowers, are full of variety and dimension. Not every side looks the same. And that’s OK.

One side may be radiant and blossoming. Another may be delicate and ethereal. Another may be a little scraggly. There may be places where someone is still budding, still growing, still trying to find the light.

And maybe those less polished sides aren’t something to hide. Maybe they are part of what makes the whole arrangement beautiful. Flowers don’t have to look perfect from every angle to be beautiful. Neither do we.

So the next time I find myself making a quick judgment about someone, I hope I remember this arrangement sitting on my table.

Turn the vase. Look again.

There may be more beauty there than I first noticed. There may be a story I haven’t heard. There may be a wound I cannot see. There may be something quietly blooming beneath the surface.

And perhaps God is reminding me that people—just like flowers—deserve to be seen from more than one side.