EVERY FACE TELLS HIS STORY, EVERY FACE SHOWS ME HIS GLORY

It was far from home, in Avalon of Orlando, Florida, that I found myself deep within a sea of stranger’s faces. Absorbedly, I lingered intently taking in the uniqueness of those who had held close the joys and sorrows of life. In each I found a canvas distinctively new and original baring an expression of His story. Formed of myriad colors, mysterious shadows and captivating highlights, each creation told of its Creator.

Upon a young mother’s face, I saw the expression of God's devotion for those He longs to call His own. Upon the countenance of a Father with his son riding a head above his own, I felt the great joy of the Heavenly Father spending time with His children. In a man’s longing gaze toward his wife, I experienced the Grooms desire to enter into a deeper relationship with those He loves. Within the eyes that looked out from beneath a dark and furrowed brow, I was reminded of His saving grace, His mercy and His hope. And contained in the freshness of a tiny baby’s face, I read of the new life that can only be found in Him.

As it was, it continues to be upon the many faces I encounter that He shows me His Glory. As I decide which ones to paint upon my canvas, may it be an expression to the world how magnificent a God I serve.

“…the whole earth is full of his glory” -Isaiah 6:3

WORDLESS WEDNESDAY "Pickin'"

FLOWERS FOR MOMMY

Though he is not my child, it is only as a treasured memory that I recall the brief but precious moments that pass between a mother and her son. As I painted this image, I could just imagine the wonderment this babe must have experienced as he came upon a magical garden full of flowers that grew heads above his own. In my mind's eye, I could see this child as he tugged and pulled one giant stem from the ground before laying it carefully aside in order his hands be free to pick a few more. I could sense the gentleness of his touch as he lovingly gathered the beautiful bouquet up into his little arms. And oh, how his heart must have danced as he stood in the doorway catching the first glimpse of his mother’s pure delight.

Each time I look into that joyful little face, I pause to pray for this one so freshly come from God and for all the dear Mommies out there who leave their print on the ones God places within their care. God has entrusted these Mommies with a great and awesome responsibility.

As I write this, I am reminded of how one author defines the word “responsibility”. He says “responsibility” is the “ability to respond.” I love this definition because, in this context it means that God did not simply give Mommies a daunting task to perform, He gives them the “ability to respond” to every situation that comes their way as they endeavor to guide and protect their children.

As for those days when I felt overwhelmed as I mother, I can say in all truth that when I fell on my knees and gave Him complete control over me, He gave me the ability to respond in His love, the wisdom to direct my children’s tiny steps, the insight to monitor their growth, the skill to organize a schedule, the courage to take charge, and the strength to discipline in a way that built and did not destroy.

My “flowers” to you, Mommies, is to tell you that what you do matters. You are important in the life of your family. Every day you rise early, fix breakfast (however simple), pray with them about the concerns of their day, and engage them in conversation as you car pool to and from school, your children's entire world changes forever! Every time you firmly correct their actions or attitudes, their character grows! Every time you are forgiving, the heart of our Lord is being lived out before them! And every time to you rise to the challenge God is giving you on this new day, His purposes are being accomplished and nothing will ever be the same again!

God bless the dear Mommies who watch over the "going in and coming out" of His precious little children.

BECOMING LESS

I sat before an empty canvas wondering why this one was so much harder to approach than the others. Could it be that I was erecting a wall to avoid the personal ineptness I would experience by working on such a piece? After all, it comes so natural for us as humans to push forward and to climb higher all the while worrying how we look to others. It is so easy for us to forget that, “He must become greater; I must become less.”

Perhaps it was the words of Henry Ward Beecher that paralyzed me, he said; “Every artist dips his brush in his own soul, and paints his own nature into his pictures.” What if my brush came up dry?

I looked hard into the eyes that were staring back at me from the photographs I had taken earlier. If I could just paint what’s behind that face, I thought. If I could capture that quiet strength and humility that I could see deep within Rick’s soul, then just maybe I could stop agonizing over the destination and simply find solace in the journey.

With uncertainty, I dipped in my brush. To my delight, instead of coming up dry, it came up with a rich pallet of deep, dark “Rembrandt” colors and my journey began. With a renewed adventurous spirit, I began splashing “wet pixels” onto the canvas. John 3:30 seemed to come more alive with each stoke that was made. Time became inward flow and before I knew it I had painted an image of a man who seemed to decrease as he faded into the background, while Jesus appeared to increase as he moved through the man to fill the foreground.

With the signature in place, I stood there full of appreciation to the process. As a friend of mine so eloquently said, “We paint to understand better, to see more clearly and to share.” I am glad to be sharing this with you.

THE TRANSFER ZONE

Where energy had filled the halls and laughter had danced upon the air, it was now melancholy and still. The annual two week summer visit to “Gigi and Papa’s” house had come to an end. All too quickly the little faces pressed against the rear window faded into the distance. As the dust settled down onto the empty driveway, I closed the door and made one last trip through the hauntingly quiet house in search of anything that may have been left behind. My pace slowed to a halt when my eyes fell upon the collage portrait painting of “Morris”, which hung upon my dining room wall. Suddenly suspended high above my mixed emotions, I hung there taking in the luxuriant tapestry of image and verse woven together to tell the story of this man’s existence.

Well do I remember the life of Morris Spruill who found delight in the Lord and in his family. Though Morris worked in a saw mill during his earlier years, he was a printer by trade. His skill was passed down from generation to generation beginning with his son and ending with his son’s son. Around Morris’s table could be found inspiring company, uplifting conversation, and a homegrown feast. Though his home was humble, riches were in his house.

It wasn’t just layers of paint I was gazing upon, it was layers of life. The “baton” of Christian faith had been so carefully passed from one generation to the next. I can still hear him telling me as we worked together in my garden, “Listen to me, now. I will not always be around.” Suddenly, my heart filled with urgency. I began to question. “Do my children, the fifth generation represented in this painting, have a firm grip on the baton of faith? Do they know the awesome responsibility they have now been handed? Do they understand that it requires good timing to pass it on to those running so closely behind them? And do they know what it would mean to fumble it?”

I went to bed wondering if my children understood how critical it is to be in the “transfer zone”. I wondered if they knew that the transfer zone was the most hazardous part of the race. It is where one runner reaches back with the baton and passes it to the runner who is coming up from behind. In the transfer zone, if the person passing the baton does not release it with precision or if the person receiving the baton does not grab it at just the right moment, it can be fatally dropped and the race will be lost.

When the early morning sun peeked into the skylight of my studio the next day, it found me busy journaling these very thoughts. While wrapped in a blanket, sipping on a strong cup of coffee, my soul found expression as my fingers flew across the key board. I took no pause but continued to write…

If all I ever have to leave my children are the material things I have cherished, entertainment, money, or personal memories, then I am a complete and utter failure. It is my sole part in this race to pass on the baton of faith that was so carefully and successfully passed on to me. I guess that is what I love so much about the collage painting of “Morris”. It serves as a reminder of the race that I am in. And though the stages of this family’s race may shift and change we are all together in the transfer zone, as long as the baton is in play.

So, while reaching back to pass the baton of Christian faith on to the generation coming up behind me, I passionately cheer with the echoes of those ahead of me, “Run, family, run!”

“Run Shawn and Tiffany! Run! Run like I know you can.”

“Run Robb and Rebe! Run! Your moment is now!”

“Run Jeremy and Leah! Run Matthew, run! Take a firm hold!”

“Run Rick and Cliff! Run Liz and Andy, run! Don’t lose your grip!”

“Run Taren, Tylie, and Tanae! Run! The baton is still in play!”

“Run Allie and Chelsea! Run! The race is still on!”

“Run Chris! Run! Do not become distracted!”

“Run Megan and Jessica! Run! Run with all you’ve got!”

“Run Henry! Run Sam and George, run! Together, we are a team!”

“Run! Kristian and Kenneth! Run! Stretch further, keep reaching!”

“Run! Olivia, run! You can make it, I know you can!”

“Run Mary Elizabeth, run! We are all here to encourage you!”

For, believe it or not, it will soon be your turn to pass the baton of faith to those who are ever so swiftly gaining speed!”

CREATED BY DESIGN

Applause shook the house as teenage Simba walked mightily before his awestruck audience. Exhilarated, I stood among the many creators of Disney's Lion King watching a sneak preview of the live stage show. Simba turned to his audience and rolled his powerful head to one side, causing a tuft of mane to fall carelessly across his brow. "Just as it should," I whispered with prideful joy.

I could not count the many times I had run my fingers through that mane. As I stood there, I began to reflect on the endless hours that we had spent turning piles of foam, fur, and plastic into such a majestic creature. Countless hours of sleep were lost, catching only a nap here and there while snuggled in the warm fur which now adorned the creation we applauded as, "Simba". I knew every line and curve that gave his body form. I knew the formula that made up his grand and regal coloring. My mind could see deep within the innermost part of his "being" to that which gave him structure and allowed him to move. As I was the creator, Simba was the created.

I experienced a most valuable lesson that day; that there can be no greater joy for the creator than to behold the created doing what it is designed to do. It was at that moment I experienced God as my creator. I understood what it is for Him to know every intricate detail that makes me who I am because it was Him who had designed me. "For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful. I know that full well. My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place. When I was woven together in the depths of the earth, your eyes saw my unformed body. All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be." -Psalms 139:13-16

For the first time, I also experienced the joy I give my creator when He beholds me doing what he designed me to do. "We are God's workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works which God prepared in advance for us to do." Ephesians 2:10