Spiritual Skies and Lows

Spiritual Skies and Lows

I am learning to paint a sky.  I imagined it to be much easier than it is.  Bill Inman teaches me to glaze color on top of color to create the movement of the wind in the clouds.  He spends much of his time instructing me how to make light shine through these clouds.  I must insert tiny bits of light yellow into the tips of the clouds.  If my brush is too full of paint, I make a blob of yellow instead of a highlight.  I am immediately disappointed and wish I had not made the mistaken stroke.  I realize my error but often do not know how to fix it.  I am so distraught that I just want to quit, take my paints and go home.

For this reason, Bill is my instructor.  He immediately understands what I have done.  He explains that the wayward blob is a result of not using my brush correctly.  Again, for the umpteen time, he demonstrates how to use my brush.  Then, he tells me what color of paint is needed to obliterate my blob.

Painting is a spiritual endeavor.  My sky painting has taught me so much about my heavenly Father who created our sky.  I am reminded of the story of Abraham’s experience when he trusted God.  God instructed Abraham and he obeyed. His faith was tested when he was told to sacrifice his only son , Isaac.
(Genesis 22:1-19)  Abraham had the understanding that God would work things out. God would provide the sacrifice.  He had his confidence in God, not his ability to climb this mountain.  His faith was in God’s provisions, not in how awkward it was to ready his son for sacrifice.  His whole experience was a God thing, not an Abraham thing. 

I too must enter into a trust with each painting.  My strokes feel awkward and my blobs are disappointing.  However, by the hand of a master painter, I have renewed confidence.  He can instruct me how to turn away from using my brush incorrectly and how to make light highlight dark values. 

The  Word of God  instructs me on  how to live my life to create a painting that is pleasing to Him.  I have made some blobs and awkward strokes on my journey.  However, my God patiently instructs me again and again until my painting is complete and a beautiful representation of Him.

Just like Abraham, I have spiritual highs and lows.  I know each spiritual step is directed and corrected by my heavenly Father. Now, back to learning how to paint a sky.

Eating and Pickin' with Angels

Eating  and Pickin’ With Angels

I come from a long line of storytellers.  It could be our Irish roots or our Cherokee heritage.  It could be we learned to tell stories from our elders.  It is in our blood , and as a child I loved family gatherings because I learned so much from my ancestors.  Our gatherings were always around a well-filled table of  sumptuous southern cooking.  Platters of crisp fried chicken surrounded by puffy biscuits and slick gravy were standard fare.  Included in that medley of foods were fresh cooked shuck beans, cucumbers in a sweet and sour dressing, and a plate filled with green onions and tomatoes, new potatoes and green beans, squash, and on  and on. 

Each member had a story behind their food offering.  For example, the fried chicken was the recipe from Aunt Lynchy.  She fried up a big platter and left it out for visitors  who might come by while she was out chopping wood or planting the field.  Passing  Kentucky law men and neighbors knew a tasty platter of chicken awaited them any time they passed through.  With Aunt Lynchy’s open door policy and tasty handout, she lived to be 104.

Now, the biscuit recipe was my grandma’s.  She had nine youngins’ and little money.  So, they grew up on lots of biscuits and cornbread.  Grandpa Eli would bring home hobos from the train , and he would offer them a “full stomach” guarantee before they left.  I remember sitting at the table with these old gents and thinking I wished they had left with a “good cleaning” too.  Grandma always reminded me that they might be an angel of which we were unaware.  So, we were to treat them with respect and honor.  I guess that is why we ate so many meals with the angels.

Shuck beans were Aunt Mary’s specialty.  She would grow the green beans, pick and wash them,  and string them on a long piece of cotton mending thread.  Then, she would put them on the rafters to dry.  After they were dried and shriveled, she would cook up the best pot of beans anyone ever tasted.  They were seasoned with salt pork, of course.

Grandpa Eli constantly told  Indian legends, railroad stories, or nature tales.  I would sit by his knee and listen to his tales between his asthmatic wheezing.  He used to send shivers down my spine telling me about the big, hoop snake that lived in the meadow.  Grandpa  explained  that he was looking for dandelion or other edible greens, and he would hear, “  Whoopa, whoopa, whoopa.”  He would say it really eerie , and I would snuggle nearer to him.  “Child, that ole snake puts his tale in his mouth and makes himself into a hoop.”  Eli continued, “ Then as it rolls down the meadow you can hear the hoopin’ sounds.”  Every time he and I would walk in the woods or meadow, he would ask , “ Can you hear that sound?”  And I could.

So, family gatherings trained me in story telling and great cooking.  One other ingredient was the music.  My uncles played guitars and banjos and had every aunt crying as they sang “The Old Rugged Cross” and “ I ‘ll Fly Away, O’ Glory.”  We sang and cried and openly expressed our love for our Savior.  These were blessings that I cherish. Family blessed by God is a wonderful start to any year.

The first day of 2011

New Year’s Day             2011  20ll   2011  2011  2011  2011

Well, it is 2011.  Today I begin a new year of writing and creating.  I write for the joy of writing, so this should be a joyful year.  I don’t really make new year’s resolutions, but I set goals .  I will write more and paint more this year.  Most self-help books indicate that I should say specifics like : write two hours a day, paint four hours every Thursday and Saturday.  I am not made up of specifics, details, and exact quotas.  God just made me spontaneous, free, and appreciative of  each moment.

I will sit in the sunshine, walk in the wind, play with my granddaughters, and enjoy the feel of the keys on my fingertips.  I will write the songs, the longings, the anticipations within my heart.  I will not worry that my writing is “not good enough”.  Instead, I will acknowledge that my writing is my voice within.  It is the pleas of my heart to share my thoughts, my happenings, and my God praises.  I must put these ideas into words to know completeness and understand my destiny.  I have a compelling need to chart my journey in journals, in blogging, in short essays, and in poems and scrapbooks.

My visual world brings depth to my journey.  I realize while painting an image how art brings me closer to my Creator.  Art encompasses my soul, my being, my emotions.  Through painting and scrap booking and visual journals, I document my stories, ideas, and emotions.  Visual creating is so close to writing.  Each takes all my focus and a little courage.  I must tromp out that critic voice that says, “ You can’t write; you can’t paint.”  That voice is loud and tries to obstruct my creating.  I know that God created me and is the giver of my gifts.  It is He who makes me hunger to paint with words and oil colors.  It is as if He is speaking directly to me as I enter into creative acts.  I cherish these moments and plan to honor my gifts and use them more this year. 

So, as I reflect on this new year, I know that I know God has an ultimate plan for me.  I know that I know I will be needed by friends and family.  I understand that His grace will be sufficient for whatever challenges I must face.  I know that I know creating will bring and document memories of 2011. I know that I know that it is the Giver of these gifts that brings me joy and hope.

My tribute to my friend and nieghbor,Linda Calvert

My Christmas celebrations came to a halt yesterday.  My neighbor past away in her sleep.  Linda will have the ultimate Christmas .  She will be singing with the angels and praising God in the highest.  She will understand fully how the life of Christ was the light of her.  I can't imagine what joy she must feel basking in His glory  and His encompassing light .  I can only know she is walking on the streets of gold with Christ because she lived her live for Him and the family that He gave her.

Linda and Larry Calvert have been our neighbors for over thirty-five years.  I have a large front window .  Through this window, I have watched the Calverts' children play and grow.  We have gone through many snows together and helped dig each other out.  We have planted every spring and talked about these plantings and our expectations.  We have pruned every fall and discussed how this would help our plants next year.  As I have looked out my window through these years, I have watched Linda and Larry as a team.  I have watched them pack their van for a trips to Branson, the Smokey Mountains, and the Rockies.  I have watched them return and heard their enjoyable reports of their trips together.  In fact, through the years, the Calverts have made my daily journal entries many times.  They are the kind of neighbors that you dream of having. They are always there if we needed help, water, or other emergencies.

Linda and I loved sitting on the porch and looking over the neighborhood and talking of how things have changed or not changed. I must admit that I would have to coax her to stop and sit.  She was always busy with household projects or trips to town.  We considered it a blessing that several of the residence on our street had been neighbors since the early seventies.  We discussed Angie's upcoming marriage, her first baby, and her job.  We talked of Nate's diabetes and then his new fiance, wedding plans, job, and life in Indy.

We considered how blessed we were to have husbands that took such good care of us and were faithful to God and His teachings.  We laughed about grandchildren antics and aspirations.  We never tired of talking about her flowers and mine.  We reported our first hummingbird citing as well as how much we fed the local bird population.  We talked often of God's constant care and blessings.  We asked each other for prayer and knew that we would seek our Father's best for each other.

I showed Linda my first painting, and as usual, she was so complimentary.  She was always interested in my current projects or our trips, our son's activities, and  our new home improvements.  She was a pure, pure spirit.  I loved the gentle light that glowed within her.  She was calming to be around.  When she shared about Angie and Nate, it wasn't bragging but praise for how good God was to them.  She was never boisterous just kind and loving.  She demonstrated the love of Christ in her inquiries and her explanations of life's happenings.

Before Linda's heart surgery last spring, she shared that she was dreading it.  We talked of how doctor's were well trained now and how God would be holding her hand.  She recovered so quickly.  She was home and talking to us the very week of her surgery.  She said it was painful but manageable.  That was so Linda.  She liked focusing on the best, the light, the strength, and the joy in her life.  That is what I loved about Linda.  She wasn't critical but concerned.  She wasn't negative but positive.  She wasn't focused on worldly fashion, possessions, or money.  Instead, she shared her love for her family, her granddaughters, nature, and  God's beauty.  She was the right person to hang around if  I was feeling sad or discontent.  Her conversations gave me a lift, a smile, and a portion of her gentle light.

I will miss that light outside my window.  I will miss her sweet, childlike smile.  I will try to learn from her and not focus on grieving but instead on her wonderful life eternal.  God planted a beautiful woman in my life.  I know we shall meet again one day.  Until then, I will remember all her dedication to her  "workouts" at the YMCA, her love of retirement because she could at last sleep late,  her  fastidious attention to her church family,and her diligence in being Larry's handmaiden.

Yes, sweet friend, you will be missed.

When her bulbs bloom this spring, they will beckon a hello to me from Linda smiling down from heaven's gates.                  

A Simple Understanding

Last night I was playing with my 22 month old granddaughter,Ellis. We were playing with a wooden manger scene and replacing the figures in the manger. She would name the characters and then sometimes knock them over , so she could set them up again. Although this was a simple and familiar activity, I realized that this was as close as some of us get to the real meaning of Christmas. Just like baby Ellis, we look briefly at the Christ child and then lay Him down.

I have purposed in my heart that this Christmas will be different. I am trying to spend more time with the Christ child and less time being "busy". Why just this day that Ellis and I played with the manger figures, I had been so busy preparing gumbo, cleaning, and setting up play stations for the girls that I had not spent any time with Christ. Sure, I would send up small spontaneous prayers, but I hadn't taken time to thank Him for my wonderful family who would be gathering at our home this weekend. I had not meditated on Christ's gift to me this day. I was much like the inn keeper. I had no room today.

Playing with the manger characters, I realized how simple I was making the story , so a two year old could understand it. Ellie understands Baby Jesus, Mary and Joseph. She gets them in the right order. She mixes up the wise men and the shepherds. Suddenly, I realized she really did understand the order. The wise men brought gold, frankincense, and myrrh. These were their best gifts. The shepherds were not kings, but they received the news first of the Savior from angels. Each were equal in the eyes of the Lord. Country shepherds and kings were of equal importance to God. So, let the figures line up anyway they want as long as they are worshiping the Christ child.

Falling on my knees and singing hallelujah is the best gift I can offer Him. A child has once again simplified the message. Of all our gifts nothing is better than our honest worship. Yes, baby Ellie, we are are all equal at the manger scene.

Our gift of praise is as great as the wise men who brought expensive

treasures. Let me continue to ponder the figures in my creche and allow God to teach me more of His glorious provisions and love.

Christmas Rehearsal

Christmas Rehearsal

Have you ever considered that Christmas is a life map? Christmas has all the temptations of life as well as the praise worthy components.

Think about that glittery package decked with a bright red ribbon so large it tumbles over the shiny foil wrapping. It looks like a treasure. Everyone o oohs and awes over the elegance of the wrapping. No one would suspect that inside is a worn pair of mittens. Isn’t that much like us? We bedeck ourselves with mask of makeup, svelte fitting undergarments to disguise our bulges, and expensive dresses to cover our flaws. We are a wrapped package to the eyes of the world. What is within? Have we weathered too many storms and our thoughts are always critical? Have we nurtured the bitter seed of divorce, rejection, despair , and it has grown massive and hardened our heart ? Does our velvet black cocktail dress hide our hurts?

Consider all the sweet temptations. We relish each plate of cookies or red velvet cake that passes our way. The fudge, the ribbon candy, and the caramels are just too much to resist. We eat and eat and submit to each temptation that comes our way. Is this perhaps a forerunner of our lack of discipline for the new year ?

The lack of budgets and savings create a charge card filled with gifts from every store in the area as well as Amazon and other well known on line sites. We buy and buy more. If we see a lovely silk scarf for our sister, we like it so much we buy ourselves one too. Yes, that gift of wine is nice for the hostess , but we add two to our pantry as well. It is a strange kind of generosity. If they will enjoy it, so will I. In the frenzy of black Friday, have you found the greatest bargains for yourself? Again, is Christmas shopping a test of our generosity versus our greed?

Families merge and traditions continue. There is so much fun for the children and warmth in family togetherness. However, how many times have we realized the Chevy Chase extended Christmas family is ours? We are struggling with Aunt Mary’s same stories of health concerns about her constipation. We can’t bare for our brother to boss and organize one more family function. We are at our husband’s throat because of all the stress of his family? Again, think about this as a dress rehearsal. Is God using this time to test our selflessness, our compassion, our loyalty to Him and His children?

As I have meditated on Christmas this year, the Lord keeps showing me each aspect of Christmas has been stolen by the enemy. What was intended to present Emmanuel with us has become a trial rather than a blessing. Apparently, movie makers have understood this for years and realized that tear makers are money makers.

We are reminded continually this is a holy season. We must enter each task, each challenge, each celebration with the mind of Christ. He has created an opportunity for our light to shine and our discipline to matter. He has come not only as a babe in the manger but as our Provider each Christmas season. I am accepting the challenge of seeing Christmas as a test of my true self. Do I really have a heart for the poor? Am I rejoicing in all things? Am I showing compassion and love to my family? Am I able to set aside my selfish desires and find joy in giving and serving willingly? Am I really my neighbor's keeper? I cannot answer yes to many of these questions. However, looking at Christmas in this way has given me new understanding and trust in how much our heavenly Father has used Christmas to shape and mold me. I hear the phone ringing, perhaps it is another opportunity to rehearse for Christmas.

The Manger is Empty but the Light is Still On

I have been reading The Manger Is Empty by Walter Wangerin.  His allegorical tales of the beauty and mystery of Christ’s birth have penetrated my heart.  As you who read me often,  understand that I love to meditate on the scriptures. I  try to put myself in Bethlehem the night of our dear Savior’s birth.  I enjoy visualizing Mary and Joseph and their reactions to Gabriel’s news to them.  I cannot know the details, but I understand the spirit of the words of the gospel depictions of that sacred night in the inn.  I realize that there was darkness all about the land. 

Man’s sinful nature had darkened the land and man’s heart.  We , mankind, needed a light.  Not a small candle, not a flaming chandelier, but we needed a light so bright , so immersing that it would reflect in our soul forever.  That was when God incarnate came to this earth as a tiny babe.  God chose a baby to communicate His message of love.

I know why.  Who is not allured by the cooing of a new born?  Who of you has seen the birth of a child?  It is at the very moment that babe takes his first breath that you ,the bystander, recognize a miracle. 

In 1970 , I helped start a school for teenage mothers at the YWCA.  I was called to be a part of this because when I taught at Central in 1969, pregnant girls were not allowed to attend public school.  Who needed an education more than a fifteen year old young lady with child?  I asked to help.  My superior was a fifty year old spinster with definite feelings about young girls out of wedlock.  I am not sure whether God put me there for me to nourish my  boss or nurture the young moms and babes.  I suspect I needed a little molding and purifying too.  My boss and I sharpened each other like steel against steel.  However, neither of us lost sight of our goal, which was to help the pregnant girl adjust to  motherhood and complete her education.  Retrospectively, I see how amazing that was.  We were both hard headed but big hearted.  We both wanted to make a difference in their lives.  I was called and she was assigned this new duty.  Together, with God’s grace, we built a mini school that facilitated education and parenting.

I would hear the phone at 2 a.m. and a soft voice would say, “ What are you doing Mrs. B?” 
I replied, “Just sleeping.  Do you need something?” 
“Yes, I am in labor, can you come to the hospital with me?”
“ Sure , I will be there shortly.”

It was the grandest opportunity of my teaching career.  I was chosen to be her encourager, or her birth coach, or her advocate.  Few father’s arrived to witness the birth of their babies.  Most of the fathers were long gone after the announcement of the pregnancy. Because of the moral embarrassment, many daughters and moms had become alienated.  I was just a neutral person who counted it all joy to witness the birth of a babe.  I heard the cry of the mother and tried to keep her focused.  When I heard the cry of the babe, I knew God was present. His light was there.  He breathed life into this little babe and made him whole.  I felt like the shepherds who witnessed the sky splitting open and allowing blinding light to guide them to the new babe.  Regardless of the circumstances, each birth I witnessed clarified my understanding of  a God so big, so miraculous, so creative that  I could not wrap my mind around His abilities, His gifts, His wisdom, or His ways. 

It has been many years since I was called to be a part of the birth process.  I did have one friend that asked me to come with her and her husband to be by their side at their first born son.  It still awed me how great our God is.

So, star of wonder , star of bright lead me to His holy sight.  I am praying that melody as I look upon the light given to our world.  Mary too was a young teen in a culture that did not accept births out of wedlock.  Both Mary and my former students were misunderstood.  Mary brought us Jesus supernaturally.  Jesus brought light into our dark world, our dark hearts.  The birth of a babe is a supernatural way to teach us of unconditional love.  Mary taught that.  My teenagers taught me that.  Most importantly, Jesus taught that for all the world to see, not just the wise men, not just Joseph and Mary, but all of us who cherishes the manger story each Advent season. 

Please share this story with your children, your grandchildren , and your neighbors and help them know the light that illuminated the earth two thousand years ago as well as today. During this busy season, take time to tell this old, old story and join in this Christmas season by bringing light to others.