identity..

I joined an art class.

I’ve never considered myself artsy fartsy.

I like to paint.

Bob Ross was my Sunday afternoons in my late teens, early 20’s.

One day, I thought I did a good job with a painting in art class in high school and a stupid jerk face boy made fun of it.

I love art.

But I’m not great at it, I’m not gifted.

I had an art teacher in high school that was not schooled in art… or teaching

My efforts were never very good apparently.

But, I love art.

I love looking at art, I love watching people make art. 

Any kind really.

What I love really, is being in the presence of creation.

How amazing would it have been to be in God’s presence when he created the world, the universe, the garden, eve, the serpent.

Creating something out of nothing is breathtaking, anytime, for anything. 

How breathtaking would it have been to be with him as he created you?

In my head I see a picture and I try to sketch it and it looks like a cartoon.

My art teacher gave me an assignment. A stack of post it notes and a charge to sketch what I see over the next two weeks. Well, tomorrow it is two weeks and I haven’t sketched a thing. I’ve seen things, and think, “wow, I wish I could draw that”

I lamented to Brad in the car on the way to church last Sunday and Iain said, “Why are you afraid to draw mom?”

I said, “because I don’t think I’m very good at it”

And Noah chimes in, “But, it’s just drawing, mom”

“I will help you mom, it’s really easy, you just draw. I will show you how when we get back home” Iain spoke plainly. No one has ever told him his creation is bad.

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I see Birch trees dropping their yellow glitter. their white bodies with black tiger stripes looking stark and gloried at the same time in the autumn sun.

I see a neighbour’s cat in our backyard, I’m hoping he’s there to catch a mouse.

I see Iain come running to me from the school, smiling ear to ear. He had a great day.

I see Brad reading and highlighting and reading and writing and labouring a paper and a sermon in one week.

I see my friend weep as the spirit moves her in recounting Revelation. And all creation sings His praises for ever, without time or space, past or future. He is the I Am. No beginning or end.

I see Carlon laying on his bed, talking to me about his day, choking back tears and my heart burns because I know his pain. Oh my son.. I know it intimately.

I see my sister, answering my FaceTime call, talking me down off the ledge of panic and anxiety.

I see devoured turkey and stuffing. And pies… works of art.

I see Noah, hugging his friends. Boys, girls, it make no difference. If they will accept it, they get hug love.

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These are the moments I notice. 

Not “things”. 

Moments.

They are flashes of his image, they are his creation.

What does it matter what it looks like?

Are we not created to create?

Do we seek to bring light and life, understanding and meaning to our space in this place and time?

We are creation living and breathing because he decided it so.

And he isn’t even done creating us yet.

I am a work in progress, and a masterpiece.

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My creation is not for my own impress

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Look what I made Abba?

Do you like it?

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And he always knows exactly what it is

And he loves it