Patience is everything

Everything is gestation and then bringing forth. To let each impression and each germ of a feeling come to completion wholly in itself, in the dark, in the inexpressible, the unconscious, beyond the reach of one’s own intelligence, and await with deep humility and patience the birth-hour of a new clarity: that alone is living the artist’s life: in understanding as in creating.

There is here no measuring with time, no year matters, and ten years are nothing. Being an artist means, not reckoning and counting, but ripening like the tree which does not force its sap and stands confident in the storms of spring without the fear that after them may come no summer. It does come. But it comes only to the patient, who are there as thought eternity lay before them so unconcernedly still and wide. I learn it daily, learn it with pain to which I am grateful: patience is everything!

- Letters to a Young Poet - Rilke

Another Time

Sometimes I think I was built for a different time or I want to be from a different time period. Don’t get me wrong, I love all the amenities this particular time in space has to offer… but we are SO inundated with information, images, sounds… I am finding it hard to find inspiration because I am bombarded by so much noise all the time. Depression doesn’t help. Yesterday, I was in the studio and I took a simple piece of fruit to draw because I felt absolutely nothing in my soul. I want to write, I want to paint, I want to create - now is the time even though I long for another time.

Almost time

As I tidy up today, I throw beanies into the closet knowing it’s almost time to tuck them away downstairs. I look forward to more sunshine and warmer days. I did my makeup today, had caffeine, and the sun is shining - depression slightly lifts - oh, and I went to step aerobics. I feel the pull to my art studio strongly today, but alas the day holds other responsibilities. I wish to be a full time artist again, but what would people say. What does it matter what people say. Right now, I am leaning into my word for the year, FLUID. Trying not to let my depression make decisions I will regret, but slowly easing into April to see what it holds and I hope it holds more sun. This winter has been the worst. I have not experienced this amount of depression since 2010 after the big break to my brain. The months drag on and usually, I am craving bed, slumber, and sloth like movements. Here’s to moving more, sleeping less, and sunshine thoughts.

Looking up

What if we were all looking up? What if we were so astonished by what we could find in the upper world, people would stop and ask us… “What are you so astonished and enthralled by?” Today at Tabor two bald eagles. Catching my breath and wishing for a better glimpse I stood astonished and my fellow travelers asked, “What do you see?” I was able to point them in the direction of beauty.

Love that Mends

The story behind this art piece-

Thirteen years. One hundred fifty-six months. Four thousand seven hundred forty five - days (4,745). One hundred thirteen thousand eight hundred eighty - hours (113,880), six million eight hundred thirty-seven thousand four hundred eighty - minutes (6,837,480)

Approximately 7 million minutes estranged. A mother crying, clutching her gold heart necklace curled over her withering son in the ICU bed. An unsure father standing tall and firm in the corner and a new student chaplain called to the room unsure of what to do, overwhelmed with anxiety by the dynamic.

“Do something!” The mother shouted at me. It was like I had been shocked by her shrill command. In my timidity, I gently told her I had seen her son earlier that morning and prayed with him upon his head nod when asked if he wanted prayer. Her eyes lifted and lit up - hope. Her son was unresponsive now, but most likely could still hear (a detail I wish I could go back and share with both the mother and father now).

Because prayer brings me peace, I unconsciously made the choice to blurt out “I could pray again if you’d like.” She frantically shook her head yes. Meanwhile the man in the corner stood in statue form. Shaky and unsure, knowing this was not the answer to this gigantic fracture in a family. I did the only thing I knew to do in this overrun state - I prayed.

Do I think God heard my prayer? Of course. Do I think I could’ve tended to the situation better, looking back - OH MY YES! It could have been beautiful. It could’ve been redemptive. Instead, I cried on the drive home knowing I had failed that family. I cried because of those seven million minutes that were not mended. I found my way to my art studio, turned on music to rattle the walls, took out my brushes and bottles and painted. I auctioned off the tripthych “Love that Mends” and someone in Massachusetts bought it and donated the proceeds to their local hospice. In some way, I hoped and prayed the ripple effect of that was enough. And I vowed to become a competent chaplain knowing how to manage my anxiety when things get intense.

Being a chaplain means being in situations that are sacred and sometimes scary. We walk hospital halls, homes, and we hope. We hope our training is enough, we hope for families, we hope for healing even if that means peace in passing on. We hope for our practice and presence to be “Love that Mends.”

Dancing on the Waves

Dancing on the Waves, have you heard that song from We the Kingdom? It was on repeat a few months back. This season? More like sinking in the waves. Dark days, sprained ankle, little movement, routines all out of whack. My goodness it’s been a struggle. Met with one of my support team members last night and was reminded of how much has been out of my control, but also reminded what I CAN control… there’s little we can control in our lives and I truly believe control is and can be an evil error on our part. Looking forward to exercise again and getting back to things that will bring me back to at least floating on the water… seasons come and go and this too shall pass, but my goodness it feels hard right now. Another song that was sent to me via a text yesterday was Counting My Blessings by Steph Schueter. I played this song about 100 times over the Bose system… it uplifted my mood and reminded me amidst all of this, I have SO many blessings, so so many.

Online or in person.

I’ve said goodbye to a lot of the online world. I remember when most of my days were filled with living on the gram and posting art. Somedays I crave being present in the studio more and being a full fledged artist again, but I am drawn to chaplaincy. There’s a tug to live in the real world. Maybe my art made a difference, but I want my hands and feet dirty with life, not just paint. As I am stuck at home with a sprained ankle and now today twisted back, I wonder where I am going and what is next in life. It seems now is a time to work and not live in my art world, but oh how I miss it. Sometimes it feels too fanciful and luxurious and I want to deny that part of myself. It’s foggy out and I am longing for sunshine. No creativity flowing whatsoever in these bones of mine. Depression has settled in and I am trying to combat it the best I can without being able to incorporate movement. I played in the studio a bit and miss the days where I was fine with whatever was produced. Now being a somewhat established artist I despise when something isn’t presentable or just right. Why can’t I just play? I am too tied up, to held down… more to come.

Sunrise

shaky nights

surely the Lord is

in this space

in this place

i cannot find

i cannot feel

Him

the mind

it tortures

the stomach

it writhes

wait for dawn

the terror

fades

Sunrise

respite

now I can

close my eyes

He has arrived

Tomorrow

Tomorrow I go back. Back to the hospital. Back to chaplaincy. Grounded myself by being in the trees today, catching up on house chores, and eating healthy, yummy foods. I watch the cinnamon candle fire dance on the coffee table and pray for God to go before me into tomorrow.

Beauty Unmatched

The FaceApp has officially made me feel… well, old. I read an article a while back saying when people hit 40 is when they start to really feel a change. By all means, I was soaring along until I read another article about the FaceApp and decided to try it out.

No wonder so many people want plastic surgery! Pain in general is miserable, so no face lifts for me. True story, 42 - my face isn’t the same as when I was 26 or even 38 for that matter! Is it just me or does losing external beauty the pits. Once perky places are sorely sagging and not what they were. The tone of certain areas are well - gonsies.

Grateful my body still does the things I need it to for the time being.

Question - Would you ever go back in life, freeze yourself at a certain age?

There are certain things I regret, but overall aging has taught me many valuable lessons and I don’t intend or want to relearn/relive any of them.

The journey thus far has grown me in grace beyond measure. Gracious people - to me - have everlasting beauty. So, as external beauty slowly starts to fade, I am all for gaining more grace. May we all strive for an internal beauty that surpasses what any app can manufacture.

P.S. FaceApp manufactured my profile pic. It feels nice to have a facelift without any of the pain!

Shiny and new

Do you ever feel like you’ve lost your luster? Like you’re not shiny and new anymore? How does one find their way back? Almost 20 years in and capturing the glimmer in the eyes of your beloved… what to do.

Adventure, constant kindness, braving new things - this seems as if it’s sometimes the ticket. Being fun, laughing, lighthearted, not so melancholy. Lord help us all to find the fun, breathless, and lightheartedness you so long for us to hold. The pressure of everything seems to rob this too much of the time.

May we sing, may we dance, may we walk in the light of your glorious gracious steps as we capture holy love and romance anew.

Sacred

Sacred

Every human, every action. If we believe we are the masterpiece, the poema of God (Ephesians) - it’s all sacred, every step.

I’m sitting in the meditation room at The Grotto in NE Portland - writing. A safe haven and sanctuary in the midst of the loud city.

This place has created an environment that help many find sacred space in the mind and heart.

I know many may balk at the idea of “meditation.” Did I mention this is a Catholic institution I’m sitting in right now? That may send some scurrying.

Why is it that now, I hold this place so sacred, but was so convinced they were the mark of the beast as a child? I’m a chaplain now.

Environments matter, states of mind matter… if we are walking poems and prayers and we have the personalities that need peace to do our jobs, we must find places that help us get there from time to time.

Jesus called us to peaceful solitude to reflect on Him, pray, seek His presence, His peace, His word for us for the day.

If you had all the money in the world, what environment would you create for others and yourself to find peace and healing?

Mine would look something like what my sister in Christ commissioned and created here at The Grotto.

You’re on my list

Sixth grade. Red nails. The student next to me, “You’re going on my list.” I asked, “What list?” (We had these little 3x5” card holders on our desk to hold our flash cards for memorizing the book of Ephesians). The student reached into their box and pulled out a lined 3x5” card and started to write my name down. The student replied, “My hate list.” Surprised, “Huh?” The student, “If you wear nail-polish, you’re going to hell.” Clear as day I can see the black and blue inked names on the list. Years later, my grandmother - “Your toes look like their bleeding.” Me, recalling the sixth grade student, “She thinks I am going to hell.” Sometimes it feels fancy to have red nails, extravagant. Sometimes extravagance is ok and no, I am not going to hell. I type better with red nails and a blingy $20 ring on. The princess inside of me likes to come out sometimes and that’s ok with my prince.

Depression

Depression doesn’t get the first say or the last say. Climbing stairs at Tabor this morning. Grateful to climb outdoors in crisp, clear weather and pissed that I can feel depression trying to move in.

Starving

I was starving

We had no food

Did you know how hungry

we were

I started roaming

To look for food

He fed me

What I didn’t know

It was poison

But it tasted good

You almost lost me

I almost lost me

I almost lost me

I almost lost me

You almost lost me