16/40#LentenCreatives
Held by What never Let go
I hold on.
The day this Oil was painted, a friend of a friend walked in with chatty husband and cooing baby.
I had set to work in the corner of our L Shaped room facing acres of quiet. We weren’t expecting anyone; I spread out every thing I needed, when the door bell went.
The baby boy loved my arm moves. I paint in a frenzy or not at all. Now the babe started extreme joy, his momma began cooing at him and then at me. The dad peeps in, and they’re three standing there, in great cheer and vocal joy at my creative mess. The canvas was empty, just swathes of color going back and forth, and my heart sinking, sinking.
My family tried to herd the sweet family off my shoulders and into the other section of our home. I was where the Light fell best, we had 55 mins before sunset hit, and long shadows began..
By the time they left and I started breathing again, the clock was glaring at me. “Please do this for me, Abba. I know what this should be, but what are the Lines of the Cross? It was a broken, breaking Place, how were the Arms, The Torso, Knees, the Chest…how do I do even paint that, straight off with no reference? And in such short time. ..”
I didn’t add that I was irritated beyond sore!
When my brush moved, I’d no way of stopping to see what was happening. Later we see the Cross beams seem to not tally with His body presence. I never thought to re- touch It. It was a moment that startled me with that Head angle, the Torso bend, the way of the Feet, Knee.
Our friend in Africa asks for a version of this one. Couldn’t sleep last night, just wondering about where I’ll start with this again, how?!
6 am a bird tweets under my pillow. Was that a dream, or bird echo? And that familiar Still Small Voice. …”Wake up,” The Whisper was clear.
I wander out towards our balcony where the easel sits on its three legs. A bulbul couple are yelling their spiked heads off. They’re swiping at a coir hang bowl with local vine. I love those birds…they’re messengers from heaven for me. Ok Lord, I reply in my toothbrush.
He asks to just go be still. Yes its a ripe- red – mess out there in the middle east and in the middle of our News page1,2,3…
Where’re we all headed? We know/ we don’t know.
But for now, just go be still my soul. The Whisper is stubborn. Reckless Sweet. Like those tiny red vested chirpers. Am still sleepy, resting in His Voice. A Voice that speaks in our ribcage. Am losing my Self in these moments that remind me there’s a Force that runs everything. He distracts me from all the nonsense going on around globally. I’m watching Him, not everything else that can go wrong
Have a healing day.
RN
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