What if
a painter pencils a prayer
across bare canvas before
covering it with
swashes of primer — an act
of trust akin to
a life laid down,
layer by layer . . .
Is that cry lost?
As works-of-God-in-progress, how to embrace erasure? Or surrender our lifestyle, our preconceived notions?
Decades ago during my ardent art-student days, flush with ideas, I itched to paint them! Skip stage one: forego the whitewash; flourish the paint. Wasn’t it enough that I’d mitered and hammered each wooden crosspiece, stretched the canvas taut?
No, my professor said. The surface had to be prepped to receive pigment. Didn’t I want my work to endure?
Fine. Atop that dead-white expanse I penciled guidelines. A roof here, a horizon there. Colors and forms accrued. Shadows, too.
I never thought to begin with a graphite entreaty.
What if underneath those long-ago layers a penciled cry of the heart had somehow suffused my finished painting? Perhaps viewers would have perceived added richness, translucence, depth.
A riveting glimpse of meaning,
bodied forth through managed obliteration . . .
What might we be “writing” within these days, while caring for a loved one? Or battling disease in our own minor masterwork(!) body?
I’ve long admired this line from French author Collette. Facing her later years, she spoke of “the supreme elegance of learning to diminish.”
But how? Dare I trust the Creator’s unseen hand at work?
I can only lay bare the questions. Invite God into each one.
Take our home (my personal canvas, signed each day these past 34 years): Turns out, it’s contaminated with mold. Catastrophically toxic. Five rooms must be emptied. Then remediated.
Hard not to feel shamed by ignorance: e.g. When the roof is redone but fails due to shoddy workmanship you know nothing about. Or when the dishwasher overflows and you don’t enlist professional help.
Hard, too, not to despair over casual housekeeping. Black mold and its cousins, secretly colonizing on joists, beneath drywall . . .
What’s the message here?
Perhaps, for now, this: The Master Artist signs the nucleus of every created thing. Even mold. A world full of valentines to us all.*
All-seeing God, write your words on the primed canvas of our hearts.
Renew our inscape.
Update our outlook.
Illumine the next step . . .
Friends, what do you picture God writing today? It might be obvious. Or, it might live under the primer . . .
Photo by Steve Johnson on Unsplash
Your words take me to the first section of psalm 139.
I have a T-shirt I wear on a semi regular basis, with just the word, Yada
I had discovered the Hebrew word for “Know and known” throughout this Psalm, and many places in Old Testament scripture, is, Yada.
A great Seinfeld episode re: Yada.
Greater still in that it reminds me their understanding of yada is the opposite to what it means from God.
It isn’t something to pass over mindlessly or quickly
“‘O Lord, You have searched me and KNOWN me…”
“ For You formed My inward parts; You covered me in my mother’s room. I will praise You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made, marvellous are Your works, and that my soul KNOWS very well..”
I read this psalm always reminding myself He knows, and it isn’t what we understand as yada yada yada.
You’re offering took me deeper into this truth.
You painted, added colour for me.
Thank you.
For whatever reason your email went into my spam folder.
I’m just seeing this today.
As I sit here preparing to do a funeral tomorrow for an elderly saint, I was honoured to walk up to the threshold with these past few weeks, this describes it perfectly, “the supreme elegance of learning to diminish.”
It just went into my notes for tomorrow.
God knows.
I continue to pray for you and yours.
Especially with the added challenges of the home.
One more thing, as I’m sure you heard, Brian Wilson of the Beach Boys died a couple weeks ago.
I put his solo album from 1988 on the turntable on the day I heard of his passing.
When I opened your blog, I had the album on again, and I think the opening song helps me bring this reply to an end…
I was sittin’ in a crummy movie
With my hands on my chin
All the violence that occurs
Seems like we never win
Love and mercy, that’s what you need tonight
So, love and mercy to you and your friends tonight
I was lying in my room
And the news came on TV
A lotta people out there hurtin’
And it really scares me
Love and mercy, that’s what you need tonight
So, love and mercy to you and your friends tonight
I was standing in a bar
And watching all the people there
Oh, the loneliness in this world
Well, it’s just not fair
Hey, love and mercy, that’s what we need tonight
So, love and mercy to you Miss Laurie, and yours today and forevermore.
Here is a YouTube link to the song, for warning, it’s certainly an 80’s production 😉
https://youtu.be/1k_ffl3ZM2s?si=vDw-2e8Q0ad5jrx5
Dear Rick,
Thank you for beginning with Psalm 139 — words I cherish.
I am late in responding as we continue to be swamped with inspections and bids and commutes and clearing the house as well as health appointments. So YES! A little more “Love and Mercy” sound wonderful. I feel myself exhale just reading the lyrics. (Will give a listen soon. Such a loss to the world, this giant in the realm of music passing
I trust your part of the sendoff for the beloved saint went beautifully, and that you spoke love and mercy and comfort and truth into the air and into each listening heart.
Sending my deep, deep thanks for your words that land so gently, a balm for both mind and heart.
I picture God writing on me the way Jesus wrote in the dirt when the Pharisees accused the woman caught in adultery. Who knows?! But somehow His words must pertain to me and everyone around me, allowing us all to see reality as He does. Perhaps a perfect blend of mercy & justice, love & light. When do I not hope for some word from God to encourage me? Don’t we always hope it is a love note? How could it not be….
Oh, what a marvelous picture! I’ll be carrying that close to the heart today . . .
Thank you!