Someone let me know that this post appeared in code the last time, so I'm re-post it. Hope you don't mind. I also noticed that the font colors were - what shall I say - doing their own thing!
On Saturday morning I met up with two friends from our
painting group. We spent the day plein air painting at the Leighton Center It was my first visit. The
weather was near perfect and the company as always, most enjoyable. I did not
realize there would be hundreds of people attending the annual clothesline art
show. Many ambled over to where we were.
Painting bud, Shirley - giving me some advice...
A MOVING MOMENT:
A
lady had been standing near me for some time, watching.
When I noticed, I asked whether she too was an artist. “No, I’m a
writer” she
said. That is not usual. Immediately interested, I wondered to myself
whether
she did more than just keep a journal or record her thoughts like the
rest of
us regular folks do. Turns out, she is a poet. I asked whether she would
share one with me. She hesitated, and then moved up really close, just
behind my right shoulder as if she was going to whisper something in my
ear. “I
can” she said, “Yes, I can…” and in the same talking voice recited a
poem about
Christ and the expectations of others, from before His birth to this
very day.
Her skillful word smith-ing carried me along without coercion or force.
Under
the sky that was being newly formed every moment, we stood - poet and
painter, pondering
together – the surrounding chatter, if there was any, silent to us. And
then, without violating His
transcendence or divine calling she allowed me wonder whether it might
be
possible that He may have had expectations of His own…
Transfixing and provoking I tell you!
Serendipitous in every way - circumstance
and content. It was exquisite, sublime, and brilliant. It's been almost a week and I’m still
thinking about it. Just as a painting painted loosely and left purposely
unfinished in order to engage the viewer, so this poet left her listener to
complete her work, as Christ completed His – having set aside His own expectations one night.
Emotionally moved, I turned to thank her. In stead, she
thanked me for asking and quietly moved off. I did not think to ask her name. All
I remember - she may have been in her mid to late 50’s, long, course, brown hair,
jeans - a waistcoat and strong, beautiful feet in rough sandals. I saw them when glanced down
as I listened. I don’t think I would know her if she walked right by me…
but is that not the purpose of a divinely apponted moment?
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