A few years ago, our oldest son described my teaching/preaching style this way: "You are like one of those artists who just throws a bunch of paint at a canvas. It seems random at first but in the end you see the picture." I (choose to) believe he meant it as a compliment because that's the way I interpreted it. However, he may have meant to say, "You are a big giant mess and you do not make any sense." Which is also an accurate assessment. Whatever the case, I thought about it when we visited the Guggenheim in NYC a few years back and stood before Jackson Pollock's 'Mural'. It was a glorious and riveting mess. Thank you, Son, I'll take it.
While I have attempted and executed some very elementary paintings in my life, my preferred mediums are the written word and verbal meanderings. My canvas, a story. And my style - well there isn't one. I rarely traverse a straight line and the loops and whorls can be chaotic - light/dark/trivial/meaningful. I don't often plan the end so it's just as much a surprise to me as to those who might read or listen. Side note, my Hubby audibly gasped when I told him I never time a sermon. They're done when they're done and it usually works out. Apologies to those who have languished in the throes of waiting for the done. Or labored kindly with me limping to the Selah. My process usually starts with something ordinary and then my self-diagnosed crazy brain tilts and winds and tangles bits and pieces together until something extraordinary (to me) teases out and I sigh into the birds nest of it all.
I was reminded recently of The Tapestry Poem by Corrie ten Boom included in her biography The Hiding Place. Corrie survived Ravensbruck concentration camp and became a powerful voice of hope and forgiveness in Christ. She spoke to millions of people and would sometimes hold up a piece of fabric with the vague outline obscured by a snarled briar patch of thread. Then she would turn it over to reveal a beautifully embroidered crown. The difference between chaos and order depends on which side is in view. Let that sink in.
And so, my fellow artists (and we are all artists) and ramblers (yes, that too) - whatever your medium and canvas - keep on throwing the paint, twining the threads and whispering the words. I send love to you from my bramble and live in hope of glimmers from the other side. Until we are done. Until we are... Selah.
“Life is but a Weaving” (The Tapestry Poem)
My life is but a weaving
Between my God and me.
I cannot choose the colors
He weaveth steadily.
Oft’ times He weaveth sorrow;
And I in foolish pride
Forget He sees the upper
And I the underside.
Not ’til the loom is silent
And the shuttles cease to fly
Will God unroll the canvas
And reveal the reason why.
The dark threads are as needful
In the weaver’s skillful hand
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern He has planned
He knows, He loves, He cares; Nothing this truth can dim. He gives the very best to those Who leave the choice to Him.
Corrie ten Boom