Soul-Food-For-The-Eyes

 

I really like going to art fairs and this month my friend talked me into heading to Louisville for just such an occasion. So the four of us with lattes in hand headed into the neighborhood streets lined with stalls. Karen, the expert shopper, had a map and kept notes on where we may need to return. Jenny had her mental Christmas list scrolling through her mind. Sarah, an artist herself, kept her eyes open to inspiration and ideas and solutions.  And me?  As my mouth sipped and swallowed the latte, my eyes drank in all the colors, textures, shapes.

I wouldn’t say that art was a huge part of my childhood.  Oh sure, I really dug the spirographs and fashion-plates my sister and I made. Also, we were talked into making a couple of latchhook rugs,  cranked out numerous potholders from the plastic-loom-kit, baked our fair share of shrinky-dinks, and carried home at least one God’s-eye from camp each summer.  And I still remember that lovely art project in elementary school when we painted dogwood trees with puffy pink and white paint with those even puffier paintbrushes.

But I never excelled in any of my art classes.  And I didn’t seek out art. And did I even appreciate it?

But the spring of my junior year in college, I had the opportunity of going to Italy for a month-long class. And in Florence, I was blown away by the many masterpieces:  impressed by the sheer size of some of them--Botticelli’s Venus stared back at me almost eye-to-eye;  mesmerized by the incredibly vibrant and crisp blue falling on the Madonna’s shoulders;  captivated by Michelangelo’s Unfinished Slaves--great masses of rock revealing stone-people bursting out of their stone-prisons.

Life, however, can’t be spent in museums.  And  I never have enough money to fill my home with art. So I attend art fairs to feast, and to fill up on soul-food-for-the-eyes for awhile.  And I treasure what I have. That one print. The photograph there. A blue vase.

I think of the art that people have created for me.  The rough orange clay cat with glued-on ears made by my little nephew that sits on my desk and makes me smile.  My favorite coffee mug painted with quotes and swirls from my good friend. The thick sweeps of oil on my father’s paintings hanging on my walls. The delicate scalloped edges of the note cards my mother gently embosses and glitters.  

I’m so thankful for the creative people living around me. The artists who devote time and labor to bringing us art. To friends and family who create gifts of art for me. But I’m not just thankful for the art itself, but for the reminder--the process of creativity, the presence of artistry, and the products of beauty all remind me of The Great Artist, The Creator. He creates simply because that is who He is.  And He creates with a wild abandon and exuberance and extravagance. And His works of art are all around us -- autumn leaves, newborn babies and the new hearts beating in his followers' chests. Create in me, Lord. Create around me, Lord. Create through me, Lord.

The Queen of the Backyard

I live in a sweet older rental house in the center of my little town. My two favorite things about my house are its extra-large bathtub and the adorable fenced-in backyard with its massive tree. On my no-make-up-Monday’s-off, you’re most likely to find me in one of those two places.

Sure the tree has its disadvantages. Like all the leaves in the fall, and all the helicopters in the spring. It houses some insane squirrels who like to chatter-yell in their weird squirrel language at my cat every time she steps out in the backyard. Last winter some of its ice-coated branches pulled down some wires, and most recently, its giant roots got blamed for plumbing problems.

But other than that, it is the queen of the backyard. And I give her the respect due her--short of curtsying.  Its massive trunk split in three is the anchor of the yard. Its large branches spreading shade over most of the backyard makes sitting outside possible on even the hottest days.  

Last week, a group of sweaty men came to trim her, waking me up in the early morning with their truck-and-tools sounds. As I left for work, I was a little nervous leaving her in their hands but knew it was the right thing to do.  (Besides the fact that it’s not really my decision but my landlord’s decision : )  A section of her thick branches had died and was weighing her backside down. And the tree had grown so big that with every storm, branches fell not only all over my yard, but also in my neighbor’s yard.  But even knowing that, I said goodbye to her as if she was about to pass on her scepter and crown, and step down from her throne.

When I came home later that night, I was a little sad to see how trim and bare she was.  Limbless here, thinner there, constrained as if in a straight jacket. No more wild abandon! 

But then I lay down in my lounge chair on the back deck and looked up, totally surprised by the view.  I could see the twilight-sky and even a few stars of the summer sky.  I had never been able to see them before from that vantage point.  My own little slice of the heavens.  How awesome!

John 15 has always been one of my favorite passages, which is weird since I have no gardening, vineyard, or pruning experience at all!  But its imagery still speaks to me. In this passage, Jesus says,  I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful. 

 As I stared up at the leaner tree, I thought of the pruning process and its outcome. And I decided right then and there that I wanted the Lord to trim me. Sure, it may not be pretty, but it’s not all about me, and it’s not all about being pretty, is it?  It’s not about me being the queen (or princess) of my own little backyard of the world.  It’s not about me taking over and plunging my roots deep and far –to suck all of life’s goodness. Just so that I can keep pushing up and out. 

On good days I realize this. So on this good day, I realize and want and pray this prayer —God, not that you need my permission or blessing, but please cut off my dead and damaging and disturbing branches. Keep me from greed, pride, gluttony. Save me from my own big ego. Prune me so that I may continue to bear fruit, and even more fruit.  But also trim me, so that in other’s eyes, I may decrease and you may increase. Help me get out of the way so that others can see past my ridiculous self-imposed self-importance, and see instead your other-worldly, glorious, splendor and majesty, like the star-sprinkled galaxy above. 

Junior Highers

I spent a week this summer on a mission trip in hot sticky Tennessee with seven junior high girls (and one other brave female chaperone).  We just didn’t have any junior high boys that wanted to go along on the trip. So the church van was packed full of large duffel bags and estrogen,  and littered with strings from unfinished friendship bracelets. T here were long stretches of energetic singing --from camp songs all the way to Beyonce and Taylor Swift tunes.  There was a lot of passing and sharing of lotions and makeup, and lots of hair-braiding. When it was time to go to the bathroom, or dinner, or down the hall – a mini-herd always formed so no one ever had to be alone.

And this experience made me fall in love all over again with junior high girls.  Now, it’s very true that you can’t stereotype and lump all junior high girls together.  They are all delightfully different!  But with that said, I’m going to share a few things I re-discovered on this trip about junior-high girls.

The way junior high girls love on children – it is a wonderful thing to watch! Who would babysit our kids, assist in our church programs, and entertain the neighbors if it wasn’t for junior high girls?

One of these intelligent young woman uses the word “like” a lot when having conversation. During the week, I encouraged her to erase it from her vocabulary.  And then I thought, what’s the big deal? I know lots of adults who throw around the same annoying words over and over again. This is junior-high-girl-speak. Why fight it?

I love how chatty junior high girls can delve into heavy theological discussions, but still put their own spin on it. While discussing the complex and unfathomable forgiveness of God, one girl said, “So you mean if our sin hurts God, . . . . . and all these people down here are just sinning all over the place. . . . (pause) so then is God just a hot mess?”

And just when you think they might go down that road and become exclusive and catty and uppity, they reach out, love, and encourage each other instead.  Crying with each other. Praying for each other. Their hearts responding with all the sensitivity and emotion that make up a heart of a junior-high girl.

They are just special, special creations!!

I keep a picture of myself as a 6^th grader on my desk, or sometimes I carry it around in my Bible.  Why?  I do not know, because it is a bit embarrassing with its 1984 styles and baby-fat. It’s pre-puberty. My teeth are still un-braced with that large split between the front two.  My eyebrows are bushy and un-waxed.  But my eyes have this starry, sweet quality.  And innocence shines in my face. It’s a picture of a young girl uncompromised by the outside world. A young girl who is still who God created her to be. I guess I carry the picture around to remember what it was like to be that! I thank God for that time of life. Of little sin instead of bigger, consequence-heavy sin. A time of protection and learning and growing and laughing and singing and playing and friendship and goofyness. Of starry-eyed naivete.

Oh I wonder what God thinks when he looks down on junior-highers. I think they might be his favorite!

The last day of our trip, we went on a really short hike up to a creek full of big boulders and multiple mini- cascades. We scampered up the rock bridges, waded through the stream, balanced on fallen logs, looked for, and stuffed our pockets with, striped and colored and heart-shaped rocks.  I loved that morning of playing together-- –one more morning with sun and stream and God and each other--frozen in time before high school and boyfriends and broken hearts and jobs and college and careers.  Oh I pray for their lingering purity. Oh I pray for their growth and adventures ahead. What a blessing these young woman are to me!

Northwest Rainbow

Last week I visited my good friend Erin out in the Northwest. It had been awhile, so I was once again hit with the unique reality of the cool summer rain and overcast skies. We headed to Target to get some things for dinner and ran through the heavy downpour with one of her daughters attached to each of us. Dreading the same run back to the car, we were pleasantly surprised by the sunshine streaming through the clouds. As we stepped into the parking lot, everyone was standing in one direction with heads tilted back looking up—almost like a scene from any movie about an alien invasion. But they were looking  at the most beautiful double-rainbow I have ever seen.  It was so crisp against its dark-gray canvas--each layer of color standing out. And you could see exactly where the rainbow began and ended-- in the lake!  (I thought we might just  come home with a pot of gold.)  Erin graciously offered to drive around a bit to get a better view even with a bagged flank steak and wet kids in the car.  

As I am often led to do when struck by something extraordinary  in nature, I started to thank God for his creation. But then I realized that a rainbow is like an “extra-creation”. It wasn’t created within the first six-day streak, right?  It was a bit like an after-thought, a postscript, a way to use up the extra creative juices.   

And then I began thinking about how this extra-creation only came about because it is connected to a great promise.  A promise of patience and mercy and eternity.  And it’s good to be reminded of this, because I often forget how awesome God’s promises are. When they aren’t staring me straight in the face, I can overlook them. But when one jumps off the page, or speaks to my heart, or answers my specific cry – then it becomes the brightest and most beautiful thing in my view. Just like a rainbow. 

There have been many times when God’s promises have been everything to me:   my daily bread;  my mantra; my sanity; my weapon; my home.  

As I stood and took pictures of it, I realized that I would never capture the beauty of the rainbow in my tiny camera. I needed to just take it all in with my eyeballs -- right then and there.  Even telling other people about it--like I’m doing now--didn’t really impress or inspire.  And telling others about the beauty of God’s promises in your own life may never translate either, but that’s ok. Sometimes, you just had to be there!