Art Therapy

This week has come full circle. As I look back at my emotions, experiences, and journal entries, I see a full week of exploration within myself, which is what I want. Of course, the week is a short cycle in a long journey, so nothing is resolved or perfected, if it ever will be anyway.

At the beginning of the week I was praying for a challenge. The set-up of my life right now is to be pushed to the edge of our societal norms so that we can grow in God's way, not the world's way. But I still didn't feel truly challenged yet. On one hand, following Jesus should be difficult because of the lifetime of bad habits that I've formed and continue to form. On the other hand, it's a path of simplicity and joy and pure life when I let myself fully become part of it.

The passage from Jeremiah and the quote about consciousness (quoted in my last post) provided a frame for the challenge with which God answered my prayer. Jeremiah reminded me that I will be challenged if I feel the pain of the world separated from God. The reminder about consciousness affirmed that I can choose how much of the pain I feel. I have a choice every time I'm deciding between the paying the price for regular or fair-trade coffee; when I say hello to or avert my eyes from the homeless man half-conscious on the sidewalk in front of my house; when I run around at work or stop for a moment in my busy-ness to tell a young girl that she did a good job in ballet class today; when I sleep-in or get up early to bike or jog in the early morning beauty of almost-autumn.

It is urgent to love. Freely and fully. It is urgent to apply the balm of Gilead against the wound of the world. Don Miller made famous the metaphor of his pastor, Rick McKinley, that we must press against the gaping wound of the world in any attempt to ease the gushing blood and the huge pain. But it is also a dichotomy that it is urgent to love. Urgency usually precludes doing the task quickly and efficiently. Love is not quick and efficient. Love keeps you up late at night to talk through a problem with a friend. Love is countless bowls of soup served to the hungry without knowing that any lives will ever be changed. To love usually takes more time than to not love. And when I'm breaking all my habits of unloving, it takes even more time because I must be even more deliberate and consciencious.

As with most challenges, I'm forced to see my faults. It wouldn't be a challenge if it didn't challenge me, right? My friend Avery preached a sermon this week and there was one thought that particularly stuck out to me. There are two ways to sweep out a house: sweep out all the dust and dirt, or sweep it under the couch and into the corner, so it's out of sight, but still present. Actually, even when we sweep out all the dust and dirt there is inevitably some left. Then, when we least expect it, we stumble upon that pile of dirt that we thought we already swept away. It's frustrating to see the faults that I thought I had already dealt with come back. Dirt that I thought was gone resurfaces and then I'm plagued with fresh and past guilt. But this is the ultimate time for grace to work and humble me.

Just last night we went to the Potter's House for open mic night. I could not have hand-picked a more beautiful collection of people! The people sharing their music, poetry, stories, and thoughts there were so much more glorious than at places where people are trying to be beautiful. Once again I was caught in wonder at the beauty of God's way. The wonder is not in the fact that we are all beautiful despite the wound, but we are beautiful because we are working through the wound, we are facing the pain with joy and life and love. These people do not shy away from the pain, but the pain does not define them. Their art and just simply their lives are an imperfect yet determined facing of the hurt, but with an over-arching power that is winning in ways big and small every day. I hope that, in my best moments, I am beautiful like that too.