A dream, a painting, a Spiritual confirmation

Creating by way of the Creator

In my dream, I saw a vision of a vivid orange background with five women hanging on a rope in Africa.

When I awakened, I saw the vision flash before me.  I drew a very rough draft in my journal, and I realized this would be my piece for peace.  I had volunteered to give a painting to be sold in a silent auction at my church.  The last weekend of September, we were racing, praying, and hoping to make others more aware of the need for peace in the Congo.

I painted my long thin canvas orange canvas and waited for it to dry.  I put on my tennis shoes and set out for my training for the four-mile walk I would do to raise funds for the race for peace in the Congo.  As I walked, I began to pray for the women in the Congo and felt a spiritual stirring, a nudging from the Lord to intercede for these women.  I had been praying in the mornings during my devotion time, but those were distant prayers.  Those were prayers that were getting my heart ready to commit to interceding for the vulnerable of the Congo.  Today, was different, I began to feel their despair, their fear, and hear their cries.  Today, I knew my prayers were heart felt and heard by my Father in heaven.

The next morning I arose early to begin my painting. I was at a loss as to what Congo ladies wore.  How could I paint them?

That day I spent two and one half hours at the library searching for photos of Congolese women’s attire.  I only found a book of Faces of Africa.  I took the book home, but I knew my ladies in the painting were to have no faces.  They were the “forgotten” women in the Congo.  Even the media had not given them faces.  The Congo’s violence was seldom covered.   I looked all over the internet and still could find little of their  current, daily dress.  I could see women with various turbans and scarves, and one photo with the ladies in tee shirts and long wrapped skirts.

So, I decided this would be a faith painting.  I would begin painting in obedience.  I would trust that the Spirit would lead me and that He did.  As the figures formed on the canvas, I could feel their hearts, their sufferings, yet I knew hope was building within them and me.  Hope for peace in the Congo was coming forth in the painting and through my spirit from the Creator.  I trusted I could paint this because the great Creator had created me.  I had His spirit and He would lead.

Eagerly I awakened three successive mornings at 5:00, prayed and read the Word and then I’d begin to paint again.  I put dresses on them from my imagination.  I was worried that this wasn’t even the right colors or what the women really wore.  I just kept painting.  After getting the women all hanging from a rope like clothesline, I looked again at the photo of the two women in the wrapped skirts.  I suddenly noticed behind them were mountains.  Mountains! I hadn’t planned for mountains.  I googled the terrain of east Africa and sure enough there were mountains.  So, I painstakingly put the mountains in around the hanging women.

Then, the next morning, I got up to look at my painting and realized one of the women in the foreground, just was not positioned correctly.  I heard in my spirit, “These women have been made strong by their surroundings.  They have learned to endure hardships.” So, I began painting out the one woman and replaced her almost effortless into a strong woman forced to hang, forced to suffer, but she still had courage within.  I felt the Spirit channeling through me as I painted.  Many times I would put down my brush to wipe tears from my eyes.  Sometimes I would just paint with great hurt within. I painted and wondered, “ Is this even how the women look? Do these clothes depict Africa or my image of their dress?”  Truthfully, I was unsure of my painting, but the Spirit just kept me painting.  Spirit led and Spirit designed.  I knew it was bold and I could feel strength in the piece and my deadline for submitting it to the church gallery was near.  I had to let the oils dry or I could not get it to the church.  All that cad red and alizarin paint took a long time to dry.  I carried it to the church with insecurity that it was not good enough to offer.  It was my first painting depicting full figures of people.  I painted landscapes for three years, but I had never painted people. My husband went with me to drop the painting off at church.  He is always so supportive of my paintings bad or good.  Was this one good enough to offer to others at the church auction?

The painting , "Forgotten" was hung in the gallery on a corner panel.  I was amazed at the wonderful creations that were displayed. Evidence of the Creator was apparent.  He was working in the hearts of the artist toward peace in the Congo.  I felt humbled; yet, I was so excited to be a part of this movement of the arts.

It was Saturday night, September 28^th when I met Belinda Bauman, who is a writer, author, and advocate for the women of the Congo. She was our guest speaker for our praise gathering.  She explained that when she came around the corner panel  displaying the church’s silent auction art,  she stopped at my bold orange painting and thought a Congolese painted it. The dress was the same as the Congo.  The colors depicted the choice of their fabrics.  The turbans were just as they chose to wear.  

She had faces for my five women on the clothes line.  She had been interviewing these five ladies about the same time I was painting them.  She was in the Congo at a temporary refuge camp and was given permission as a reporter to go within the block and interview.  They led her to five women who shared their story of fears and hopes.  Their greatest fear was that they would be forgotten by the world.  Their greatest hope was peace and safety for their families.  Their desire was to be seen.

Such spiritual affirmation is exhilarating, but more importantly this testimony of two women who had never met were being used by the Lord to insure the Congolese women that they were not forgotten.  The Father saw them and heard their cries. Then, the Holy Spirit transferred that vision to me. God had manifested their likeness on canvas to assure them they were seen and not forgotten. 
The Spirit called forth something within me. I trusted and created.  The Spirit called forth to Belinda to interview those five ladies in the refuge camp at the same time.  My title of the painting was their fear.   Is God real?  I will be pleased to hear your answer.

Compassion for today

            As many of you know, I have been praying for peace in the Congo.  I’m not sure how it happened ,but Jesus washed me in compassion for them.  I think of the Congolese women who suffer daily just trying to gather sticks to make fires to cook their family food.  They are raped on the way to the market place where they hope to find bread and fruit for their families.  They are outcast after they are raped because they are termed “unclean” and their husbands no longer want them.  Just existing becomes an uphill battle for them.  I have concern for them in my heart.  So, I painted this painting that depicts them forgotten.  I will give this painting to the church’s silent auction to gain more funds for peacemakers in the Congo. 

            I know that peacemaking is a way of showing compassion.  We hurt so much for someone that we try to help him or her find peace.  Peace comes in different forms and levels.  For example, as a child my mother was abusive verbally and sometimes physically to me.  After she lost her temper, she couldn’t say, “ I’m sorry.”  She just didn’t know how, but she would make my favorite pie or cake and give to me.  Sometimes she would take me shopping and buy me something.  It was her way of making peace with me.  She didn’t have the tools she needed.  Anger control was not taught or monitored in the forties, fifties, or sixties.  I feared her as a child; yet, I can remember feeling so sad for her after such a rage.  I wanted her to be happy again. I felt compassion even though I was unsure why.

            I think that is how God builds compassion within us.  The scripture says He crowns us with compassion and He has compassion on us.  I feel His presence and know that He imparts His compassion into me at funerals, tragic accidents, with troubled teens, or when my family is suffering.  I remember clearly walking into the cancer center with my husband, Denny, last year.  As I looked at the room full of cancer patients, young and old, my heart ached for them.  I didn’t know their whole story, but I felt great empathy toward them.  My heart crumbled when Denny was diagnosed, but through God’s compassion and strength, he came through this battle miraculously.  Compassion is a dynamic in life that is sometimes forgotten. 

            Just like the Congolese women I painted on this clothesline.  They are real women, with personal stories, ambitions, and hope, but they need compassion. They need active compassion.  They need our prayers of intervention for peace.  They need tools for peacemaking.  That is why I am walking the race September 28th, so I can add to the funding to reach out to these women.  Thank you   friends, who have given to the funds for Congo out of compassion.  Jesus is Lord of all and compassionate for His children. Let us follow His example.

Water and Writing Aerobics

Water and Writing Aerobics

While in water aerobics, I start with vigor.  Here we go.  Hit it girl.  I repeat these thoughts and get myself into the teacher’s routine.  Each class is a bit different.  About half way through, I wish for  a magic remote that I can push and move the hands of the clock closer to the top of the hour because then the class would be completed.  Kate, my teacher, keeps calling out new positions, demands we jump higher, kick longer, and leap over an invisible log, and on and on.  I push my remote to no avail.  Only if I continue to move and stretch even when I do not want to continue, will I complete the class.  I know the class has cardio benefits as well as building and maintaining my muscle mass.  I look at the clock and only four minutes have passed.  Why do I keep on? 

Kate  is reminding my body it can stretch more, work longer, and be strong tomorrow.  I will draw on the stamina built this day.  I wish Kate was sitting at my desk when I write.  She could call out,"internal conflict, unexpected ending needed, rewrite this scene, cut out all those extra words."  However, writing is a lonely business.  There is no Kate to direct my stretches.

Why do writers keep on writing?  It is a zone that stretches us into places that we have not been or experienced, nor even understand at times.  Writing lets me know myself more deeply, lets me have more of myself.  It forces me to look within and be honest at what I see, what I know and don’t know.  Each writing time is as difficult as my ongoing water class, yet just as beneficial.  I write because I want to describe feelings, create believable characters, and understand motivation.  I write because it is like putting together the most difficult puzzle with no picture on the box.  It is a call, a mission, and a constant nudging to complete my novel and share these lessons on life.  My writing pushes me to be stronger and work longer.  Perhaps I should call my writing sessions, writing aerobics.

The Influence of Light

Today I have been meditating on light.  I am realizing how light influences my thinking.  Since I was a small child in Florida, I loved watching the beacon of the sun turn the sea into a glittering mass.  The light created fresh, new beauty. By watching the light each day, I quickly learned that it was the angle of the light that mattered.

Many years later, I am realizing the same truth.  The amount of light outside directly influences my mood, my thinking, and  even my creative energy.  More importantly, I understand how the absence of divine light affects me.  Without a daily dose of scriptural light and understanding, my day becomes askew, obscure, and out of perspective. My lens are blurred. I see things in a shadow, instead of being focused.

I can best explain this when I am painting.  I must have clear daylight in order to create images on the canvas that are in perspective.  The angle of the light in the painting creates understanding to the viewer.  I need correct lighting to paint accurately and see clearly. Without light , a painting would be a dark shapeless mass.

When writing, my slant, my voice, my choice of characters and scenes are created by me, the writer.  My excitement is generated through the dialogue of the character.  My fears are demonstrated in my characters inability to take certain risks. My internal light and understanding propels the story and helps  develop a lasting impression on my reader.

I realize it is the angle of light that changes my focus and perspective each day.  I no longer view life and its problems with shortsighted limitations when I read the Bible.  Instead, the amount of light I take in from meditation and reading God’s word influences my eternal perspective and sheds light in my creative realm.  The amount of light within and without directly relates to my ability to create and live life abundantly.

Perhaps this is why I am eager for each new day that breaks the darkness of the night.  New light brings fresh perspective.  I pray that others might see the grace and light of my communion with God in my writing, painting, and daily living.

Stop and start again!

Starting my manuscript in 2011.

Stop!

A writer friend, Patti Digh, posted that her child said from the back seat, “Stop struggling and get it done.”  I decided this statement would be the renewal ticket to my blog.

I have been struggling with how to make time again for my blog.  I loved writing it and hearing from you.  It was a worthwhile action. I loved it.  So, why did I STOP? 

I’ve been writing, rewriting, editing, soliciting readers to read my manuscript, and I am still not finished with my book.  It is getting better but the process has exhausted me.  Not the writing, I enjoyed recalling the memories of my first classroom in the inner city of New Orleans. I basked in the writing zone for the last two years. It is the editing that makes me crazy. Next hurdle, how will I get it published?

First, it is humbling for an English teacher of thirty-three years to make so many manuscript errors.  One of my key problems is spacing and managing Word.  I should have taken typing.  I should have taken a class on how to use Word.  I didn’t.  I always think I can figure it out.  Well, I should have taken time to take those classes.

Secondly, everyone that reads my story gives me affirmation and advice.  For example, son Adam said to cut out parts about Denny and me because the story was to focus on the challenge of integrating schools in 1967 for a first year teacher.  That was great advice.  So, I did that.  Next reader, my sweet daughter-in-law, Christine, who is a voracious reader said, “ I need to see more of you and see what you look like.”  She was right.  I had not described me, the main character, because it was in three of the chapters Adam and Holly suggested to cut.  Holly Miller, my established author and editor friend, had given similar advice as Adam and suggested I start at the most exciting point.  So, I did, but those cut chapters were about Denny and me.  All of this wisdom was right and needed.  However, now I am rewriting the beginning and adding more about me.  Another writer friend, Diane Drake, suggested I put in more inner conflict.  That is what I am dong in my edits now. 

           

I wanted you to know that I have inner conflict about not keeping up my blog.  So, I am going “ to stop struggling and get it done.”  Yep, every Friday you can expect a post from me.  Please comment and push “follow” to help me build some reader members.  In order for a publisher to even want to read my manuscript, they need to see I have followers.  Thank you for those who have followed me.  It’s going to happen.  Thanks for reading every Friday. 

           

Now, I have made a commitment, I will get it done.