Strolling

“It is always the simple things that change our lives. And these things never happen when you are looking for them to happen. Life will reveal answers at the pace life wishes to do so. You feel like running, but life is on a stroll. This is how God does things.”  Donald Miller

Running through sand. I see the goal, but each step is agonizingly slow. It's a nightmare, but my mind is sure I'm awake. Then I my eyes open and I feel the sweat of the sheets underneath me. For almost three years I have been living that nightmare. Strolling when I want to run. Running in real life to feel sane, then stepping back into the sluggish reality of everyday.  I waited for my mom to finish her gradual decline, thinking back to the mercy of my dad's quick death, and then feeling guilty for wishing for something so morbid. But was it?  I slogged through the detritus of the estate while relatives asked why I was taking so long. I moved not one, but four trucks over to Bend, filled with boxes which still confetti my home. Now my dreams entail wandering through mazes of landfill, trying to find my way out.

"Waiting begins when you're sure that you're done waiting," according to Pastor Rick Booye. I thought I was through some time ago. Am I there yet?

Today I filled out application after application so I can survive while I reach for my passion. Depression dogs my steps. This is a real life run through sand. There is no waking here, only persistence. Faith. Trust. Lord when? How many of us have asked that question? More pertinent, how long will I stroll instead of mounting  up with wings like eagles or running with horses?

So I wait. And it is slow. Slower than the slowest of slows I've known. Meanwhile the world spins at its regular pace as I seem to lose days...or maybe years. Perhaps while I am strolling tomorrow, a simple but life-changing moment will float across my day, my earth bound eyes unseeing, while God in His amazing timing smiles. 

Wobbling

My craving for art has returned in full force. I find myself experimenting, throwing caution to the wind on a canvas, and then resurrecting an old piece and carefully correcting what I now see as problems. Activity in my studio changes with each day: depending upon my mood and with my bank account. Oh to have enough money to simply paint all the time! Yet the reality for the need of a steady income sits at my doorstep with it's insistent knocking.

I've stood up again to take the journey, and I feel new life soothing my spirit. It has begun with tenuous steps. I think at one point I expected I should be able to hop up and run. Delusional. Nothing in life works that way. One may never lose the ability to ride a bike, but they might not soar quite as fast, and there's certain to be an embarrassing wobble at times.

So I wobble...with joy and confidence that the God who gave me this gift is also The One in charge of resurrections.

Loud Silence

I've started painting again...pulled out an old canvas that I thought needed reworking. How can I describe what it was like to put paint to brush once more after such a long hiatus? It was like going to the gym every day for a year, then stopping for a year and returning. Urrrghhh. I don't have the same endurance or skill. There is all this knowledge in my head that won't come out through my hand!

The acid test came when I friend visited my studio. I warned him that I was not happy with my current painting. He stood in the middle of the room, and asked "Is that what you're painting." (The only piece on the easel, but I resisted any sarcasm and simply replied "Yes.") Silence. Loud, loud silence. He left the room and that was that. Okay. I can do this. Let me rephrase that--God can do this.

Lord, help me at least show up. I wanted adventure. I wanted a new life...well, here it is, with all it's road rash reality.

Approach / Avoidance

I have a new profession. It's called "avoidance." Procrastination could be it's cousin, but I'm quite familiar with that, and this is different. Painting was something that didn't see the tarnish of procrastination because I always wanted to brush my visions onto canvas. It was an exercise that gave me joy, rewarding me by being far more ecstasy than agony. Now I have the pieces of my studio scattered about the house, and a beautiful empty room in which to put them together... So I went to Goodwill. No good reason. Just wandered for an hour trying to figure out why people make plastic statues of tigers mating and write books about the Sex Lives of Cannibals. I suppose it was free entertainment, but for me it had greater significance--avoidance. Why?! Do I need a personal trainer (with a whip) to get me moving forward? Sigh. Let me take this one step further to the syndrome called "Approach / Avoidance." Note, first of all, that there is an approach side to this! When one side offers a stronger reward than the other, there is that magic tipping point. So what is my reward for avoidance? Well, if one of you figures it out, please let me know. Fear of failure...hmmmm...maybe. Laziness?...no. Certifiable mess. Quite possibly. (Not just my house--ME.) I think I know why the Israelites wandered in the desert. The transition of leaving all that was familiar, even though it was freeing, tore their comfort zones apart. Letting go and embracing the new was their only positive response available. And yet they wandered. Tomorrow I will not wander. I will take one step at a time toward my goal, because I don't have 40 years and I'm with Joshua and Caleb--I believe the giants can be faced with God's help and direction...and with people who come along side and say, "You can do it."

Trust vs. Taking

Here I am, hurting again. I keep losing my faith in people. I heard a TED talk which sited that women have more oxytocin, which causes them to trust more. To bond more. Men have more testosterone, which causes more selfishness (hey--empirical research). So there we have the great combo of trusting and taking. This is not my man bashing post. I know of men who have integrity. Interestingly enough, every one I can think of loves the Lord. God transforms us.

My art hasn't started in physical form yet. But my studio space will be vacated and ready to move into on Tuesday. Add to that my very bizarre dreams (an underwater world where the colors are magnificent, and there are gardens and animals like there are on land). Don't envy me those dreams though, because somewhere between 1am and 3am I have nightmares. Extreme failure. Broken figurines I try to put back together, but they are deformed. Last night the ceramic figure was an evil over-muscled pit bull and I was trying to mold it into a gentler dog, but the pieces wouldn't fit.

I don't know where God is taking me. I could die tomorrow. So I am trying to see each day with new eyes and new possibilities. We live in a world that tries to take us down like quick sand. They say to just relax and you'll actually float. Flail around and you sink. Hope floats...I hope.

The Unforced Rhythms of Grace

I'm sitting alone feeling lonely. Revelation. How is it that I used to love being alone and now that I have so much freedom in which to bathe I want interaction, friendship, and intimate conversation? I am frustrated with myself. We make our own decisions in life, but I'm struggling with finding the paths I've imagined in my dreams.

If I could take a magic "happy pill" right now, I would--but wait. They have those. They're called "drugs." And they simply numb reality or charge happiness from tomorrow to today. Not gonna work.

Change is like dragging a sack of rocks around each day with the hope of one of them falling out. Or could it be that I have traded one sack of rocks for another. "Come to me, for my burden is light." Okay Jesus, here's the sack. Help me with that lighter burden. Somehow I must be taking on more than I should, because it doesn't feel light. What can I let go of? Finances? Friendship? Art? Vanity? I think you are prying my hands open to let go of all of it. Or maybe not prying--maybe simply reaching towards me and asking me to release those weights I hold so tightly.

And so I post this photo, which I took today on a simple rail, carved by someone, probably a teenage, who believed in love. I wonder where they are and if they still do.

Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.

Matthew 11:28-30 (The Message)

Painting Lonliness

I think everyone can picture the image of Munch's famous painting, "The Scream." It is not pretty, nor a thing of technical expertise, but people connect with it. Today and many days before, I have felt an overwhelming sense of loneliness. No regrets about my choices that put me here, but a yearning to connect with someone who cares squeezes my heart.

I went to church last Sunday, arriving just after first service so I could talk with someone, meet someone. I smiled at folks, tried sitting at a table by myself and looking welcoming, lingered at the information center and when that failed, went down the road for coffee. There a young lady stopped and complemented me on my outfit. I had to hide the tears that came so quickly. Determining to give the church a second try, I returned and really put myself out the second time. I saw two men sitting with a small stack of books that looked compelling. Asking if I could see them, I tried to engage in conversation. When I shared that I was questioning some things I had always taken for granted, one man asked if I was a new Christian--not kindly, but sort of disdainfully. When I told him "no," I had been one for 40 years, he launched into a diatribe against environmentalist. Hello? I asked if they had any groups that discussed apologetics. One man said that was too complicated for him. My legs tired as the second told me how knowledgeable he was about the subject, but didn't need to go there because the Spirit would do the work. I squatted next to them as he continued. Neither man ever offered to get me a chair. I eventually left.

How is it that the world has kindness and compassion mastered better than so many Christians? A cookie. A complement. A simple act of kindness. So,
back to the portrayal. I have a vision of what to paint, but can I do it? Maybe this is why I have been chosen to feel these hard things--so I can put a visual on pain and we can each connect with our own internal screams.