“OH, LES, THERE’S A PAINTING!” (ADVENT JOY)

My dad was a talented yet humble watercolor artist who often painted landscapes; over time, my mom found her new role as his creative assistant, learning to watch for interesting, “paintable” scenes. Dad would be driving through the countryside when Mom would suddenly exclaim, “Oh, Les, there’s a painting!” She would point out a dilapidated barn with a rusted roof, a weathered porch with rickety rocking chairs, colorful wildflowers along a white picket fence, or broken cornstalks in a winter field. The two of them gained an appreciation for the beauty of shadow and light, the importance of subtlety and depth, the power of a scene to tell a story.

And I learned that watercolor painting is more than simply choosing blue for water, green for grass, white for snow. Dad would swirl together a combination of watercolor pigments to create shades that I might describe as snow shadow, seafoam highlight, aging barnwood, or morning sky (if you look at this painting, you will notice that the shadows of the trees are not simple strokes of gray). I learned that white was not the pigment but the paper; at times, Dad would use peelable rubber cement to protect certain areas from his watercolor washes. I learned that images could be suggested, not perfectly outlined, and yet still convey what they were intended to be (such as the background trees in this painting).

This gift of finding works of art in ordinary or unattractive scenes has been passed to my siblings and me. On my daily walks, I love to look for unique, colorful, or meaningful scenes to photograph as inspiration for my writing. I am grateful to walk my route with deeper attention to the world around me.

We are now entering the Third Week of Advent, the week of Advent Joy. This is difficult to write about. I hesitate to bring up the idea of Joy when I know that so many are grieving, anxious, irritated, fearful, or discouraged. But my memories of my artistic father and attentive mother are revealing a lesson in joy…

“Happiness does not depend on outward things, but on the way we see them.” ~ Leo Tolstoy

This week, I hope to observe my ordinary life with the appreciation of an artist; to regard the moments, experiences, and scenes as part of a bigger picture. I hope to be mindful that my life is an ongoing project of God–our infinitely creative, still creating, always loving Creator. With an attentive eye, I hope to look beyond the ordinary for the miracle, behind the challenge for the lesson, between the experiences for the meaning. I hope to find the importance of both shadow and light, of subtlety and depth, of the power of each story. I hope to be attentive to God’s work within others; to look more deeply into the eyes of the hurting, into the spirit beneath the smile, into the yearning that may be suggested but often goes unmentioned. I hope to pay closer attention to God’s creative progress in crafting this eternal Joy.

What joys might I find? What joys might I share? How will this ongoing project of my life add more beauty, more joy, to God’s work of art at its completion?

I pray to find–and to be–the abundant joy in Christ.

Creator God,
“Make me an instrument…”
open my eyes,
guide my ways,
use my gifts…
that I may become
a creative assistant
in your ongoing,
often messy,
carefully crafted,
intricately detailed,
softly suggested,
uniquely imagined,
ever evolving,
masterful work of art.
Amen.

May you find many reasons for Advent Joy this week, dear reader friends.

(Photo by Karen; Make me an instrument is a quote from the Prayer Attributed to St. Francis)