Art Friday, Lent, Week 5

The time is edging near. There is but one more week till Holy Week, and glorious Easter- this time of renewal and quiet will come to a close. Glory be to Him.

A small, sweet glimpse of the joy coming out of the paintbrushes and gluestick this week. (It is so hard to stay still…I’d love to show you everything. But it is not to be so, not yet.)

So, so quiet, but here I share words that have inspired me this week:

Tools The Heart Needs, Kelly Sauer

Especially Not That, The Gypsy Mama

Grace’s Greatest Offender and Boys In the Bed and the Calm in the Storm, Amber Haines

Two wonderful things for mothers that have unveiled these last few days:

Mother Letters, Seth Haines and Amber Haines (and a whole bunch more)- go read. This began a few years back, and what beautiful fruition.

A community of mothers by mothers, the heart-gift of Sally Clarkson: Mom Heart Online.

And two poetry loves:

Get poetry delivered to your inbox each day, jewels and sweets of artful stretching: Everyday Poems.

John Blase, of course. Here I sign off, with his Older.

Art Friday, Lent, Week 3


A pouring out.
Things spill over. I’ve made an intention to enter my tiny really-a-bedroom studio with prayer, to greet the paint and paper with prayer. To see. To hear. I’ve noticed as the weeks slip one into the next that this has become more than just a thing I do when I sit down to create; it’s beginning to color my entire world. Never before have I committed to a Lenten practice that runs this deep- Fasting in some areas. Cultivating in other areas. And through it all, the quiet.

It’s sad how all the idle, ill-spoken, complaining words will come back to haunt you when you finally still the tongue. I’ve had to repent so much. Ask forgiveness. Confess.

I’m realizing that this is what Lent is about- an emptying out so that we can be filled with God. The way He sees things.

I’ve been thinking about what Katherine had to say this week.

“There’s something about crafting words, something that touches the depths of my heart. But I worry about the words I share and I’m never at peace with them. But it’s this fear and trembling that will protect me from the tempest of my words. Only fools speak free and much. Every time I open my mouth, every time my fingers race across a keyboard, I set my feet on perilous ground. ”

- Katherine Johnson, “Deliver Me From Idle Words”

Please go read the whole article- such meat for thought there. I think it’s not just writing- it’s creating of any sort. It’s our creative act as mothers. As fathers. As friends. Lovers. Sisters. In whole, our lives–will we pour out the grace that has infused our lives and changed us, or will we trip and fall over barriers of our own making, shattering, sending shards of hurt flying?

As an artist and writer, I find myself asking her questions as I enter the creative space:

“Let there be light. When I write, I ask myself, do my words bring forth light in a world veiled in darkness? Let the dry land appear. Do they offer a sure footing for my neighbor or have I set a deadly snare? Let the earth bring forth fruit. Do my words bear fruit in the ones who receive them?”

- Katherine Johnson, “Deliver Me From Idle Words”

 

I pray for my life and my art to be a living peace-giving, a blessing, a spilling out of grace. If so, there is a lot of cultivating in my heart-garden still left, a lifetime of work.

When to say no…

 

 

 

 

 

I can’t help but think of margin these days. And ministry. Work. Good work. Not so good work. Being a Christ-follower and an employee. It’s sort of unavoidable. Mostly because I understand that I profoundly did not mind the balance between those things.

And perhaps because the season of life we’re in, I can’t help but think about dreams, too. What does it mean- to dream? to really, truly listen to that arterial song that echoes in your soul?

When it all crashed down, my beloved and I- we had dreams. Fresh out of college, and we dreamed. Four kids at the time. We were contemplating missions work. We were hearing a heart beat half way across the world.  Dreams for life. For work. For ministry. Then, the shackles of financial slavery slapped hard against the skin, chafing. Pinning us against a wall. That’s perhaps the worst part of financial misjudgement- we trade what we think will give us instantaneous pleasure (and it doesn’t) for a future of shackled slavery to a past that didn’t satisfy.

After the dark of nearly four years, we’re finding the light again. And the links in the chains of financial bondage are falling off, one by one, faster now. There’s space to breathe again. In a few short months (hallelujah!), it’ll be over. There’s space for dreaming once again. Space for ministry. Missions. Owning a home, eventually…it’s a tangible hope.

And yet.

That precarious balance.

I’ve been studying those whom I either know personally or admire. Watching how they walk the tightrope. How they mind their dreams, the balance, their family, their responsibilities. What good work looks like. What ministry looks like. I’m realizing that it’s an art of subtraction, not one of addition. Seems counterintuitive, that. But true. When they are focused on their dreams- for themselves, for their families- it’s a constant saying no in one area so that they can say yes in the area of their dreams. Even in the financial sense- saying no to small luxuries, so that extravagant God-sized things can happen later. Whatever it is. The sacrifice of the temporary now for a God-given dream in the future-tense. Not spending a lot of extra time at social things so that she can scribble in the margins at night, fill up her shelves with words. Subtract, subtract, subtract. The mama who wipes the nose, and reads the book- again- for the dream of a child full and well grown, in wisdom and in stature. Subtract.

And it comes to me again- we must mind the balance sheet. If it’s overloaded, stuffed to the gills, we can’t move in the Spirit. We can’t! There’s no where to wiggle. Worse- there’s no quiet place to hear.

Dream with me, friends. What is calling your heart? What will it mean for the balance sheet? what will have to be subtracted? What will you have to say no to so that you can say yes?

Seasons…

When the dogwood bloomed blood-dipped white, life bloomed fresh in the house on the hill. Elliana was a wee tiny thing then, barely weeks old, curled often on chest. Babies have this way forming themselves around your body in both comma and question mark; comma- a separation- and question mark of future tense- what this is and what will be seems almost other-worldly in those misted days. You wake and sleep and wake again, drink deep the joy and sometimes-shake-with the responsibility of this new soul, wrapped around yours- and the bloom drifted down, summer snow-fall- and wee girl made her way known in the world, song of old, and the mist fell away.

Our life is but a whispered mist, fog on the morning, breathe out- YHWY breath. I reel at the days that have slipped by, and now she is this long stretched girl, light as air, giggling and crawling, dweller of the carpet and floor. I know I shall blink and she will take unsteady steps, and the crib and cradle, bereft of purpose, will make their way to the attic…but if there is anything six wee ones following like stairsteps have taught me- it is to let the season in. The dogwood has kept me company, silent mother, hen watching over my chicks playing beneath her on slide and in sandbox. She has turned her dresses and let down the hems as the wee girl grows long, and time is marked by her leaves in all their splendor. The winds rustle and I hear the whisper: the beauty comes to those who seek Him first, and if she wild-grace grows, how much more will be given to those who trust? Will I trust? Put on her beauty?

It’s been an insatiable thing, to capture the different light and hue playing across her leaves. Few things I’ve had time for, but somehow I slip out and grab a few shots tracing across the months; finally move from automatic to manual in desperation of wanting to catch her, just-so. Kelly tells of contre-jour, and I turn the camera, and there she is- this friend of the Spirit, ministering to me in her faithful and silent witness. Now the blood-red seed waits its death, and a question before me calls of the sacrifice. Lay it down. Lay it all down. Life will come on an Easter morn, paradox bloom, from death. Will I really live the life of the Dogwood, knarled branch and trunk? Or will I live like grass burned off with the morning mist? Do I go deep into beauty? The older I get, the more beauty calls at me, the more the mist falls, and I fear less and less the free fall of grace, into a mosaic pieced back from the fracture, His blood red, the grout holding us mirrors to the Light.We are not long for this world and my heart longs for Home. Elliana’s spun gold laughter whispers across the way, and I know my answer. The dogwood keeps the remembrance.

Whatsoever is true…

I’ve long struggled to define where I land on the homeschooling spectrum- Eclectic? Charlotte Mason-ish? Classical? On any given day I could fall more towards one or the other- and on other days, I’m the school of trying-not-to-pull-my-hair-out-ish. You would think that being a second-generation homeschooler would make it easier for me to parse out what it is for my children, but it couldn’t be further from the truth.

One thing I do understand is that I must live and teach in the now, but I must also look forward in my children’s education. Where are we headed and why? I will eventually be teaching six children over the period of twenty years or so- how are we to walk this path? What makes sense? What doesn’t? That easily weeds out some aspects and complicates others, which is perhaps why I find myself a blend of three approaches. I appreciate the lovely-ness of Charlotte Mason, particularly in the early years, inspiring these young minds to the beautiful, gracious, and lovely through living books, nature, artist, and composer study. I appreciate the eclectic approach simply because I have so many different learning needs within my family, and what has worked for one child has not worked for the others. I follow most closely to the Classical approach insofar as how I approach history, geography, science, and grammar/language learning, because it makes the most sense in the long term for my family, but it still doesn’t quite answer what our little learning academy looks like.

Yesterday I happened to read  Saint Paul and Christian Classical Education- and let me tell you, I feel like I’ve fallen down a rabbit hole. His post has given me such meaty and good things to think about. It is an excellent read. He took as his source text Phillipians 4:8-9, which I’d venture to say we’ve all heard a dozen times and thought of on one level, but may not have thought to apply to education. His thesis lies in the idea of what it might look like if we were to apply those standards set forth by Paul to how we educate, and it is in his thesis that I find the answer to what it is that I want to set forth as feast for my children- the true, the noble, the just, the pure and lovely, the commendable, that which is worthy of praise.

I find it more and more impressed upon my heart as the adventuress and teacher of these little souls that I must first be willing to do that which I am calling on my students to listen and hear, see and do. Tucker highlights very well that Paul was only asking the Phillipians that which he had already taught them to do, what they had experienced through their relationship with Paul. It starts at the heart level- my own; and then my children. Am I making sure that I am starting at the heart level each day, and asking these questions as I move forward through the day, week, and year? Am I dwelling upon the good, the noble, the true? Am I seeking these things first within my own life? Am I exhibiting the self-control? Do they find me in prayer? Do they know how heavily I depend on the grace of my Lord? If those questions can’t be answered, what learning does happen is missing the zest and vibrance that only the God-pursuit can bring. There is knowledge, and there is wisdom. Which is it that I desire more for my children? Which do I desire more for myself? What will the first fruits be?

For me, it is not about how I homeschool, but why I homeschool.

I leave with this:

Finally, and this may be the most important, they saw. Paul presented himself as an example. He lived what he taught. Or better yet, he embodied the logos. The Gospel, the message, the content that Paul taught, handed over, and spoke, was also visible in his life and actions. Paul could rightly say, “look at me.” The best teachers embody the logos.

-Tucker, Satellite Saint, August 23, 2011

 

 

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