Airport Adventures: May the Lord Go Before You

It may be a new record, going over six months without putting anything on my blog. Certainly not a record I intended to set.

Maybe reading the book Digital Minimalism affected me more than I realized. I did not determine not to write on my blog, but I was enjoying the intentional space between me and the screen as a result of reading that book (which I haven't yet finished, but do recommend.) It wouldn't surprise me if at some level that book was a factor.

But I think it had as much or more to do with a couple of different health issues that meant extra appointments over several months. And a couple of major house repair/renewal projects that interrupted life significantly. And singing in a couple of different choruses over the spring, which meant two rehearsals each week for a good bit of the time. Oh, and two out of town conferences that took me far away from home. (Don't they say good things come in pairs?)

Whatever the reason, here I am again. Determined to share some pictures and do a bit of writing about our recent travel to Croatia.

The picture above is from a booklet I found in the Munich airport, in the "Raum fur Stille und Gebet," or "Space for Prayer and Silence," a lovely small secluded area  which "invites people from all over the world to pray in silence, to calm down, and to draw new strength," as the website says. And it must have some amazing insulation, because when you get in there, it is completely quiet. You'd never imagine you were in a bustling, noisy airport if you didn't already know that.

I've written about it before here, and since that first visit have been there a few times. This is the first time I had seen the little prayer booklet, with this lovely prayer written in ten languages. It was a wonderful way to be welcomed onto the European continent and to begin our visit there.

I know I've seen a chapel in at least one other airport, somewhere in the States, but I can't recall where it was. I wonder if any of my readers have ever found a chapel in an airport? And how many have wished they could?

And I just found the most amazing thing. An entire history of this place, with photos from the architect's designs to the woods where they found the tree, and how they moved it into the airport. Fascinating. Now I just need to learn to read German beyond my single college semester level! (If you decide to check out that link, just know that there are a couple of blank pages after the initial title page. then it's full of pictures.)

Little Things

This time of wrapping up such a huge project,

beginning to free up brain space and actual time and space,

combined with the coming of spring,

seems a perfect setup for me to be particularly attentive to little things

and how much joy they give me.

Some days I feel as if I am seeing life, really seeing it,

for the first time in a long, long time.

Like a peek into the opening of a dogwood blossom the other morning.

And the little remaining evening light falling on the chair at the piano.

And this little walkway, which, even though I know exactly where it goes, always fills me with a sense of adventure and wonder at what might lie ahead. . .

Violets that fill our yard, and these few just perfect for the tiny pitcher on the windowsill.

Also on the windowsill, there year-round,

these sweet little ones from my parents' stop in the Amsterdam airport over twenty years ago.

They are always there, but somehow recently I see them more often.

And on this evening saw their cute little shadow.

Little things are only little compared to bigger things.

And often they represent things much bigger than their physical size hints at.

I read recently that the writer Robert Brault,

about whom I know nothing,

said,

"Enjoy the little things, for one day you may look back

and realize they were the big things."

Whoever he is, I think he is right.

Inifinity in My Lap: Healing Art

So, I spent the greater part of Thursday in a relatively small room filled with big moments. I had more fun that day than I'd had in I don't know how long. As a child, like most children, I loved to draw, color, paint, cut, paste, whatever. But in high school, we had to choose between chorus and art classes, and I always sang. And visual art, beyond photography, just didn't have much of a chance in my schedule. Then in college, I took one drawing class and fell in love with "making art," as the artists say. (For some reason, I never heard that expression until the past few years, and it still sounds a little odd to me. I tend to think of "doing art," for whatever reason....and look what I just found, piqued by curiosity about that phrasing.)

Our teacher was amazing. She has a real gift for what she does and for teaching it to others. Her warm, compassionate enthusiasm was contagious.

Of course she was teaching/lecturing part of the time, but she also gave us projects to do. And it was so neat, how people got so engrossed in what we were doing. The room just felt different when everyone was focused on their own little creation, music was playing quietly, and no one was talking.

These oil pastels were our friends for the day. I felt like I was back in elementary school. I still remember how exciting it was the first time I had a box of 64 crayons!

We partnered with the person sitting next to us and played "scribble chase." One person leads with a scribble/doodle, and the other follows. A great ice breaker.

I led on this one. My only thought was to do more than go round and round, so I did some other things. It kind of wound up looking like a face, didn't it?

My partner, who became my friend in the course of the day, led on this one. It was more relaxing, just going round and round. And I like how our pinks look together.

The next thing we did was the "inside and outside the square" piece that I described in the previous post.

And for the next one we were instructed to just doodle until she said "stop." It wasn't very long at all. My original doodle was just the curve you see below that forms the main part of the bass clef sign.

Then we were to think of three things we could make from the doodle, and not begin doing anything with it until we had three ideas. (Generating ideas, envisioning possibilities....important stuff in therapy.....)

Once we had three ideas, we were to choose one of our ideas and continue making something from our doodle.

Well, I liked two of my ideas so much that I did both of them, and the next thing I knew, I had the beginning notes of the main theme of Beehoven's Ninth and an angel together on the page, with joy in various languages, and beams of light coming from the heart of the angelic figure.

At some point I thought how strange it was, with the things going on in my life lately, that I would be creating art so full of light and joy and music. Was I in denial? I wondered. But I just kept adding beams of light and then the bass clef-y doodles to frame the piece, and I knew I was not in denial. There are hard things going on, some very hard things, but the light and joy overcome the darkness.

So then I added the "o magnum mysterium" to the mix, because it is rather mysterious how light and dark, joy and sorrow, can be so mixed in one mind and heart. And because I know that for me it is the great mystery of the Incarnation, and all that follows from it, that makes it possible.

When Lisa came around to see what we were doing and talk briefly with us about our work, she asked me, "So how far do the rays of light extend beyond the page?" I looked up at her and after a moment's pause said, "Infinitely. Because even though it looks like an angel, this is the heart of God, and the light is infinite."

And that is why I want to do more art in my therapy. Because I didn't even have that in mind when I was drawing these images. Not consciously. I was just going with the doodle and seeing what I could do. I drew hearts because I am not good at drawing faces, and  it seemed like a good way to not have to draw a face but still represent an angelic figure.

But somehow, making things with our hands has a way of going deep into our minds and heart and pulling things out.

And sometimes when doing that, infinity kind of. . . drops into one's lap.

Don't Rush

 I find God never guides us into an intolerable scramble of panting feverishness.
                                                                                              --Thomas Kelly, A Testament of Devotion.


I don't believe my piano teacher ever read Thomas Kelly, but she certainly believed these words. "Don't rush" wasn't just instruction for how to play piano well. She did not rush her life. She always had time for music, for prayer, for people--piano students, college students, her children and later grandchildren.

Recently another dear friend and mentor to my husband died. Someone shared this in the tributes, a quote from C.S. Lewis' Mere Christianity, about what it means to be a holy person:


Their very voices and faces are different from ours: stronger, quieter, happier, more radiant. They begin where most of us leave off. They do not draw attention to themselves. You tend to think you are being kind to them when they are really being kind to you. They love you more than other men do, but they need you less…..They will usually seem to have a lot of time: you will wonder where it comes from… I strongly suspect (but how should I know?) that they recognise one another immediately and infallibly, across every barrier of colour, sex, class, age, and even of creeds. In that way, to become holy is rather like joining a secret society. To put it at its very lowest, it must be great fun.

"They will usually seem to have a lot of time." Of course. If we believe we will live for eternity, why on earth do we get in a rush?

Whether playing piano or listening to people or planning and executing the day, I think "Don't rush" is excellent wisdom for both holiness and happiness.

To Everything There Is a Season

And apparently the season for calendar sales is getting longer and longer. Maybe it has something to do with climate change, but I'm just sure calendars did not used to appear, as these did, in the middle of August. I could hardly believe my eyes a couple of weeks ago, when it was nearly a hundred degrees outside, and 2014 calendars were not only sprouting but in full bloom at the bookstore.

 

 

Beyond my ability to believe. Positively crazy. Like a Star Trek time warp.

After my initial shock, I was determined to keep calm and trust that everything was going to be okay.

 

 

 

 

Oh, what does it say there, there in the right bottom corner? Something about "this day"?

 

 

 

 

This day will never come again. And yet we live in a time that would have us always looking ahead, rarely staying in today long enough to notice and remember it.

 

 

 

 

Of course this is about the bookstore making money, keeping themselves afloat. But the very fact that they will sell calendars in August, along with the way Walgreen's has Halloween fare out as soon as July 4 has passed, has to do with more than just making money. It tells us something that our culture will allow this to happen. It says that making money is more important than living sanely with and in time.

 

 

 

 

"Saving the Season," a book out on a nearby display, seemed to clash with the ushering in of a whole new year just across the aisle.

 

 

 

 

It was especially thought-provoking because as you can see, this wasn't one display case of calendars. I believe there were six double units like this. I could not help feeling a bit overwhelmed.

 

 

 

 

At least Thanksgiving Day is only a little over three months past the day we were in the store.

 

 

 

I think life has to be lived in small batches to have much meaning. And to be preserved well in memory.

 

 

 

 

Maybe this is the first year to have calendars on sale in August. But of course it isn't the first sign that human beings don't always value time. Not long after coming upon the calendar display, I came across these wise words from The Cloud of Unknowing, written in the late 14th century:

Pay attention, then, to how you spend your time.
You have nothing more precious than time.
In one tiny moment of time, heaven may be gained or lost.

I suppose one wise thing to do with my time would be to go buy a calendar while they still have such a great selection. . . unless they have all already been bought. Ha.

Sketches

Oops. I went over a month with nothing on my blog. While I'd like to get back into more frequent "blogging" (still hate that word, cf. my very first post from--gasp--eight years ago), I do at least try not to go more than a month without posting something.

 

So tonight, a quick post.

 

In looking for something a few weeks ago, I came across these doodles in a couple of notebooks. The top three were done during a class when I was kind of bored.

 



 

Looking out the glass window to the foliage outside--wishing I were outside.

 

 

 

 

 

This, as I recall, related to something we were discussing in class.

There was not a tree in the room, so I was sketching an idea, not something I saw--obviously!

(Does anyone know how to stop Blogger from turning photos sideways?

I never have figured it out.)

Another view out other windows. It looks as if I were interrupted, or else that tree on the right would continue branching out into the window pane to its left....but I actually remember that it didn't.

It just went upward at that point, out of sight.

 

Another notebook, one I took to Croatia. This was the plan for tiling the bathroom,

though our plan was not to have a sideways bathroom.

Life is different over there, but we don't live sideways.(Blogger again!)

Of course when time for tiling came, and dear hubby flew home to oversee the project,

neither of us remembered that I had drawn this sketch!

 

 

Anyway, just seeing these things while in search of something else reminded me that I really do enjoy sketching/drawing/doodling and don't do it much. I enjoy the way it slows you down, focuses you, connects you to your own body and to the world around you.

 

So when I saw a very small, portable sketchbook at the bookstore the next day, I brought it home. It's set up to do a sketch a day, which I was doing until severely interrupted by two intensive weeks of school, but I intend to get back into the habit.

 

Maybe I'll share some more, though I must say sketching itself is much more relaxing that doing a post on sketching.

 

Here's to old-fashioned fun, no screens involved.

Manifestation Moment

All right. I can't upload photos yet, so here's another one from the archives. Getting close to five years since this photo was taken. My sister and I were on a train, leaving Paris.

It's not everyday I go to Paris. In fact, this was my first time there. (I say it that way not because I've had a second time, but because I fervently hope to....)

And it's not everyday I see a double rainbow.

And to see a double rainbow and visit Paris all in one week--wow!

I've been reading a book lately while recovering from the flu. I may say more about it later, but for now only that it has reminded me of how important it is to look at life with openness and gratitude, and to really see the many blessings all around.

If I had been doing anything other than looking out the window at this point..... this beautiful moment, so real and so meaningful, would be for me as if it had never happened. I would never have seen it, never felt the awe, never had the picture, never enjoyed the memory.

I wonder how many such manifestations of beauty and grace I have missed in my life, just because I wasn't looking? Because I was so focused on either something I was doing or something I was thinking (probably worrying about) that I didn't see what was in front of me?

The "wise men" were looking, apparently. Looking for a long time, most likely, being observers of the stars and having come from far away. They looked, they searched, they found, and they followed.

But first, they looked. They had their eyes open. They weren't too busy to miss it. They had eyes to see.

I want to, too.

Images for Lent, Inspired by Light

Ah, the beauty of hardwood floors. And of light coming in through the window.

And to me there is beauty in the simple lines, the clear delineations. This is this area; that is that area. All combining to form a whole, but each separate from the other. It looks so nice and neat. So orderly.

My life is not that way, and neither are the lives of many people I talk with. And anyone who checks my blog, or gets updates, can pretty well count on the fact that if it has been a while since I last wrote, it means life has not been neat and orderly in the meantime. Sometimes it's hard to even remember what has been going on that has kept me from writing. Since last time, I can look at my calendar and see a speaking engagement, a retreat planned and led, dinner guests or overnight guests many weekends, three concerts attended, a professional conference out of town, my birthday, and a day trip out of town. An audition. Oh, and physical therapy sessions were added to my schedule in the past week.

All that in addition to regularly scheduled work.

When I write it all out, I feel a bit gentler toward myself for not taking the time to sit and write. And I'm thankful for all the wonderful people and music and encounters. Especially the physical therapy, which even makes it possible to use the computer without the continual pain I'd felt for months.

But today has been a day of staying home, with no guests other than welcoming the presence of rest and peace. Ahhhhh.

And this seems now like a good time to share this prayer, which is engraved on the candle holder above and sits on the desk across the room from me:

O God of peace,
who hast taught us that in returning and rest we shall be saved,
in quietness and confidence shall be our strength:
By the might of thy Spirit lift us, we pray, to thy presence,
where we may be still and know that thou art God;
through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

It is the prayer that we prayed at the beginning of the centering prayer group I used to meet with, until our schedules no longer allowed. But we will be meeting during Lent, and I do so look forward to that.

And of course it isn't just scheduled activities that keep us from peace. It's the activity of our minds and hearts, perhaps, that does so as much as, or sometimes more than, the outward activities. Which is one reason prayer is so important to me. It helps order my mind, orient my heart. It makes it possible to go into a maelstrom of activity, or into the maelstrom of other people's struggles (a big part of my work), and even into the maelstrom of my own heart and mind, and to have a center of peace and quiet in the midst of it all.

I'm thankful for Lent. A time to remember we are dust. A time to focus on prayer and fasting. A time to at least try to see ourselves in a clearer light, and to be thankful for the Spirit that animates our dust and loves us even in our messiness and disorder, bringing peace and order if we will accept them.