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The Missing Peace

1/24/2018

The shapes of puzzle pieces have always intrigued me. Especially the ones that look like people. An image, difficult to be unseen, once noticed. As an artist, I wanted to capture this figure in a painting. Sounds simple enough. At least the shape is simple. Being the over-thinker I am, choosing the perfect colors and design to put on that missing acrylic puzzle piece proved difficult.

Taking a journey to the back of my daughter’s closet, I pull off a box from the top of a dark shelf and return to my table of art. Here I begin removing all the pieces resembling a person. Studying the colors and design of each, I sketch out some ideas. None of which spark a creative flame. I leave the bleach white shape on the canvas for another day.

Then it happened! I had one of those beautiful moments I love so much. You know the ones. When your heart, and entire body down to the tip of your toe, burns with an overwhelming joy. Joy that can warm the coldest spirit, like a grilled cheese partnered with tomato soup on a cold blustery day. That all-consuming joy, showing up out of nowhere, on a day when there is really no reason to be joyful. It’s like bottled-up sunshine wanting to spew out in every direction, capable of warming the coldest feet and lifting one’s spirit out of the darkest winter storm.

This, this is what I want to capture in the sterile white piece missing from the painting. The piece waiting to be filled with paint! A depiction of burning passion running from the soul, to the heart and all the way to the toe. Blood red must be the color! Passionate blood shed by Jesus for our sins. Red flames of peace and joy that can only come from the Holy Spirit himself.

I love the assurance Jesus gave when he told the disciples in John 14:24-26 that they, as well as ourselves, would not be left alone after He leaves. Jesus said He would ask the Father to send a Counselor to be with them forever while He’s gone. Jesus said this Advocate, the Holy Spirit, would teach us everything and would remind us of all the things He has taught us. Yes, red is the perfect color for the passion that fills our soul in those unexpected moments.

Blue should surround the passion running through the puzzle piece, representing the blue moods brought about by the battles we are all fighting. Battles with loneliness, fear, sorrow or rejection. There is no fathomable reason why we should be filled with such joy at a time when gale winds are holding us down as we defend ourselves from the sharpness of a cold pounding that could destroy us in seconds if our tenderness was exposed. But not on this day. Blue Mood will be chased away by the blueness of contentment and peace as passion and joy are emanating from the vein running through. For today we are filled with a glee. We realize we are in the presence of God! Earthly problems become small when compared to the love He has for us. All is well with our soul.

Paints spread out, canvas before me, I pick up the brush and streak an acrylic line of bold red passion flowing from the head, to the heart, to the toes. Mixed hues of blue and aqua cheerfully develop around the vein as joy warms the body and soothes our spirit. Blues of inner peace and tranquility splash around inside as excitement fills our entire being.

Every day, even during the challenging times, we need to practice making the choice to be filled with joy. We can ask the Holy Spirit to come into our heart and chase away the blue mood we are incapable of stamping out on our own. This is possible in every storm, or season of life, when following God’s truths and trusting him with our future. When we trust him, our worries go away. Our face will radiate peace during our struggles. An unmistakable peace, noticed by others, which will become our witness to God’s love and trustworthiness.

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Over The Mountain

1/19/2018

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With the camper hitched tightly to our ’74 Chevy Suburban, we were cruising down the long interstates and over the mountains of our annual pilgrimage. This was a simpler time when kids stretched out across the rear window and back seat for a nap. I know, but we survived. These summers, when we drove seven hundred and sixty-four-miles from the hills of Arkansas to the Smokey Mountains of North Carolina, were the best summers of my childhood! The camper pulling privilege was later passed on to our ’76 Plymouth Valiant. Oh, the stories these vehicles could tell. I’m sure their mufflers wanted to muffle out the echoing of my sister and I singing many rounds of 99 Bottles of Beer On The Wall, as did our parents.

When we tired of singing that anonymous folk song, we would push play on our battery operated portable-cassette-player. Laid back in our seats, feet on the windows, we listened to Floyd Cramer’s fingers slide up and down the ebony and ivory keys playing “Last Date”, “San Antonio Rose”, and “Crazy”. A definite precursor to my love of piano music.

Between the songs, I Spy, and Slug Bug games came the shenanigans. Our stir-crazy silliness usually led to fussing and arguments that were followed by phrases like, “Don’t make me pull this car over!”, or “It’s time to play the quiet game now.” from our parents. Sometimes we took the hint quickly and settled down, other times not so much.

We made this trek so Daddy could attend a preacher’s conference. But for me, it was camping, mountain climbing, rock hopping, crafts and scavenger hunts in nature.

Last weekend I spotted a pop-up camper that brought back these road trip memories. I gave my parents a call. We talked about last weekend’s RV adventure and how the A/C was much appreciated on a hot Texas fall day. I told Dad about the pop-up camper I saw while strolling through the RV sites, and how it brought back memories. There was no response. I asked if he remembered our camper. Dad responded, and my mind immediately drifted back to those summer trips again...

At the conference center in the Smokies, our parents would be in workshops while we participated in group activities and outings. When the day’s activities were over, my sister and I would hang at the playground next to the river, eating sweet tart lollipops purchased in the small bookstore of the conference center. We enjoyed a treat, only found here, while Mom was in the laundromat.

At the end of the day, we always returned home to camp for dinner. Sometimes it was a foil pouch meal cooked in the fire pit, other times we, I mean Mom, cooked a full course meal. Ah… the aroma of food cooking on the two-burner Coleman.

Tummies full and energy renewed, we headed back to the conference center to join other attendees and their families for fellowship and worship. I will never forget the surprise on my face, and the size of my eyes, when I had my first communion with real wine! That was my first taste of alcohol. After vespers, it was off to the rec center for laughs. Here we learned card tricks and a little about polka and square dancing. A card trick I still remember. Dance steps, not at all. After all, how often does one have an opportunity to show off their latest polka moves?

A part of my being and soul is still there. Part of those beautiful Smokey Mountains reside on my kitchen window seal in the form of a mica rock I’ve had for over forty years now. Through the years, Dad and I shared the secret desire to move there. The though still crosses my mind from time to time.

My thoughts returned to Dad’s answer to my question about remembering our pop-up. “I don’t know,” he said. In an attempt to coax his memory, I said, “You know, Dad, camping in North Carolina.” He responded by saying, “Oh, yes. I think I’ve been there once.”

My heart sank. Been there once? More like three times. Now, suddenly my memories have become bitter sweet. I will not let them become bitter. I will not let a horrible disease steel the joy of my most precious memories. Instead, I will hold them closer as I begin the difficult climb over the mountain that is ahead.

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Dance of the Windstorm

1/15/2018

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With the canopy restrained, our efforts focused to salvaging what items we could from the spot where our booth once stood neat and orderly. We could see honey, herbal oils and homemade soaps flung to the ground by the toppled display shelf. The grass quickly lapping up the golden honey spilling out from broken jars. Soap was slipping and squirting out of our hands at every attempt of being collected from the rubble. Cards still stood where neatly placed on the table, soaking up rain water. Business cards, signage, flyers, email leads and contacts that had been collected, now waterlogged.

We were standing under the awning of the high school, seeking shelter from the windstorm blowing through. Only minutes after reaching cover, my husband and I looked up to see our vendor booth canopy catapult over the stadium fence and engage in a full-out sprint across the football field. It progressed down the field like a graceful gymnast tumbling full-speed ahead to the end zone. Our eyes instantly met as our jaws dropped. We

simultaneously emptied our hands before bolting back out in the rain and sprinting across the field to tackle the wide-open tent headed for the goal line. It managed a sixty-yard gain before being taken down. If only I could be that light and agile on my feet! And just like that…our fresh-out-of-the-box, premier canopy was a total loss after only an hour’s use. Before the loss could totally sink in, my head turned to the booth, dry and protected only minutes ago, now standing exposed in the rain.

With the lightning storm still approaching we were forced to abandon our spot of destruction and take cover under the awning of the boys’ locker room door. We stood there with other vendors until the rain stopped. Our clothes were soaked and dripping puddles on the concrete where we stood. What just happened?

The dollar loss being tallied in my head wasn’t looking good. Standing there in the rain, I had asked myself, “Is God trying to tell me this isn’t where He wants me?” After all, I did pray asking Him to bless this adventure before leaving the house. Okay, it was a hurried prayer, but I still asked for His blessings and for my works to glorify Him. I would remain stunned and in disbelief for several hours as to all the wasted effort and materials put into this event.

That evening, and the next morning, we sorted through the rain soaked mess. Turns out we could salvage a lot more inventory than originally thought. Neither the images or printed words of the cards were smeared. When dried, they still looked good despite slight warps in the paper. Salable? No. Good enough to be passed on to friends or as notes left in public places where their words could still be a blessing? Yes. The drenched email addresses, containing notes from conversations with booth visitors, dried without smear or ink run. Completely readable.

Then there is the blessing I didn’t mentioned earlier. As we stood at the locker room door during the storm surveying the booth damage, our circling eyes landed on the observation beehive we had sitting on a folding table once protected by the canopy. It was still standing just as we had left it before evacuating. Now a couple thousand angry bees flying around among the other destroyed vendor tents and attendees… that would have been a disaster! What we experienced was only an expensive lesson in booth displays and tie-down strategies.

Many times, after a storm we discover the damage is not always as bad as we think. Sure, it may take time for things to dry out. Some will be lost forever, and with others we must use a gentle, careful touch to restore them as best we can. But God is right there standing beside us as we go through the process. Not only us, but others going through similar and even more devastating storms in life. We are thrown many flea flickers going up and down the field between goals, dreams reached and those missed. Some goals are easily reached after a small setback or two. But others… you just have to punt and carry on. When life doesn’t go as expected, and the path we are to follow goes directly through the storm without an alternate route around, rest assured God will be walking with you as you trudge through the muck and mud. If you look for the blessings God will provide during your journey, you might even find yourself dancing as you exit the storm!

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The Missing Peace

Over The Mountain

Dance of the Windstorm

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Glances From the Past