L is for ...

The problem, as I continue work on my alphabet of healing words, is that there are so many good words for each letter in the alphabet.

A month ago I read an editorial written by Anne Lamott. She wrote about the pain she feels as she watches the political turmoil around her. “It’s hard to move through the dark. You have to go slowly and ... rely on others. This is what I told friends who felt terrorized by what was happening: we go slowly, we stick together, and we do what Mother Theresa said, small acts of great love. 

“There will be more dark and stormy nights, figuratively and literally, but the green hills always come back when the rain comes down. The roots of the 200-foot redwood trees in the grove down the street are shallow and thus need to intertwine with each other to withstand the storms and the wind. I see this as excellent advice: Stand Tall and Connected.”

What a great image for C: C is for Connection. So I got to work. The piece will need some finishing touches, and a frame around it. 

 But there are so many other healing words that begin with C: community, compassion, cooperation, cocooning, coping, create, change, caring ... how do I choose? (And that’s another wise C word!) I suspect this project may become bigger than I imagined.

I’ve decided not to create these pieces in alphabetical order, but rather by inspirational concepts and images I find in the written word. Thus, “L is for Light” came from an image that sprang into my mind from a line in a hymn.  Change will come, the words of the hymn said, from people who are “fearless and faithful, small paper lanterns, lighting the way.”

In many Asian countries, the annual Festival of Lanterns aims to promote reconciliation, peace, and forgiveness. The skies and waters are filled with lighted lanterns, brightening a dark world. 

What a relief it is when you see light in the distance after walking in the dark. It's such a symbol of hope. Can people of good will be like lanterns in the dark night, bringing hope where there is no hope? And can lantern light  illuminate truth when it is hidden behind lies? The illustration above is a picture of serenity, but "fearless and faithful people" will be launched into choppy water these days. It may be a rough ride, but light is a healing word, and I hope to make it the subject of my next piece. 

But  again, I think of other "L" words: what about Listen? What about Laughter and  Learning? Living Large, Letting Go, Leaning? And the biggest of them all, Love.

Because it is love that is the ultimate healing word, to my way of thinking. Our life here on earth is the Creator’s grand experiment in love, and we have a lot to learn in that department. Not cheap love that doesn’t cost us anything, but extravagant, audacious, love that is spent without boundaries to bring healing to a hurting world. And that is tough. I know that because I fall far short of how loving I would like to be. 

What is your definition of love? How and when do you experience it? And where have you seen it in action? And what do you sing, when you sing of love? I’m welcoming you to send me quotes, ideas, definitions, stories and thoughts about Love. These I hope to incorporate into a bigger piece of art, a blanket of love with lots of writing on it. It’s your chance to tell the world what’s so important about love to you. We are all connected, as connected as the trees in the piece above, and we are stronger and better together. 

You might wonder what this might look like -- so here's a sample of how others have incorporated writing into their quilts:

 

 And here's something I'll be writing on that quilt: "Only love can be divided endlessly and still not diminish". It's a quote by Anne Morrow Lindbergh. 

 Funny is good too. Here's words about love I saw in a cheese shop:

 

I hope you will help me make this the best blanket of love by participating with a few words or a lot of words. Since a big quilted blanket/wall hanging will take a long time to put together, there’s no time limitation on this invitation. I’ll mention it again every time I post, and I’ll show you how this part of the project progresses.

Send your stuff to me at j.schut0613@gmail.com Please!

And since today is Thanksgiving Day, I’ll end by saying T is for Thanks!

The words to the hymn from which the quote is taken is found here: https://www.bridgestreetchurch.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/08/35.Hymn-Lyrics-for-OnLine-Worship.Sept_.20.2020.pdf

A Time to Be, A Time to Act

I was blessed last week to be living the dream: a week of solitude at a house by the sea. It’s place for writers and artists to use as a retreat, if we are lucky enough to win a coveted spot. My front deck this week looks out over the Salish Sea to the mainland mountains. Each day as I sip my morning coffee, I  listen to the raven in the tall Douglas fir squawking up a storm of commentary on the comings and goings on the water. 

My last blog was titled “A Time to Do” and I will be sharing more about what I’ve been doing a bit further on. But I have decided that this week is not for doing, it is for being. It’s popular these days to talk about “resetting your life” and it’s true that I am in a time of transition, moving from one direction to another. I’m here to listen, think, dream, read, learn, and be “re-created.”

The last few months, I’ve been dipping in and out of the book 4000 Weeks: Time Management for Mortals by Oliver Burkeman. The theme of the book is this: the average lifespan of a human being is about 4000 weeks. How will you spend those weeks? Time is not a commodity you can buy and keep in a box, taking out another bit when you need it.

“We live mentally in the future, waiting for when we’ll finally get around to what really matters,” he writes. “But nobody in the history of humanity has ever been able to achieve work-life balance.  We feel pressured to live by a set of ideas about how to use our limited time, and we will always fall short."

The bottom line is this: we have to make choices. We will never do everything we thought we wanted to do. And, as Mary Oliver writes in her beloved poem, The Summer Day: "What is it that you want to do with your one wild and precious life?" I’ve asked myself this question often, and depending on where I’m at in my life, the answers change: be a good mom; become a writer; be an artist. And now...?

I’ve already surpassed the magic number of 4000: I’m into my 4019th week on planet earth. The sands of time are trickling down the tube. How am I doing? Am I making the best use of the time I have left? 

And after writing that last blog in February, with prayer and reflection, this is what I concluded in my journal:
 

“The universe is a grand experiment in Love, created by the source of Love, and I believe that Love wins in the end. How can we help Love win in the end? We are puny folk, tiny dots on a tiny blue dot in the universe. And most of us are the weakest of the puny folk; we have no power or pull to change
the big decisions that direct the happenings in nations, businesses, communications. Can what we do really help the cause of Love, Compassion, Kindness – those God-breathed abstracts that in the end will be the powers that save the world? I must have faith that, YES, what we puny folk do matters.”

And so I began again to try and work out these messages in art.

I finished the piece I started, "Dark Clouds on the Horizon", shown in the previous blog. Now my grandchildren are walking toward those dark clouds. This is a very hard reality. But praise be, there is light beyond the darkness. 

 

And then I began a new project to address the trauma that we all feel when we listen to the news of climate change, wars, starvation, violence, divisions, erosion of democracy around the world. Its working title is Alphabet of Trauma Care: 26 pieces of fibre art that some day, hopefully, will hang together in a show. 

Words matter. These days we are assaulted by harsh words every day, words that fill us with dread and anxiety that can paralyze us. It is a form of trauma. So in my work now, I will try to create art that brings a message of healing for those of us struggling with the trauma of our times. Each piece will focus on a positive word of encouragement to counter the flood of negative messages we are getting. I will find and use words that cover every letter of the alphabet.  

 A is for ACT, for instance, because Action is the antidote to despair, says activist Joan Baez.

 

The gardener, when she sees weeds growing in her garden, gets out the shovel and digs.

Creating art will be my Action, my antidote to despair. Mostly, these words will be inspired by quotes, poems, or essays by better writers than I am, and those words will be applied to the back side of the work.

And though we can't do everything, we can do something. Thus, B is for Bloom Where You Are Planted. These chicory and queen anne's lace flowers decorate a stony roadside.

We are not helpless pawns on the chessboard of history. What we do, say, think, write, dance, and sing matters. How we touch each other, hold each other, work with each other, those actions matter. 

This project has helped to bring healing to me. I am not so naive as to think that my little pieces of art will change the world, or inspire grand acts of healing in viewers. but perhaps they will touch one, and one is all that matters. And I have found the one thing, right now, that I can do with my wild and precious life. And in future blogs, perhaps I’ll share more with you. 

A Time to Do

 The week did not start out well. Sunday morning I scrolled through the news, all about the tariffs that Mr. Trump had levied against Canada. This move would wreak havoc with our economy. 

Was the whole goal of this game to fulfill what we’d thought were only bad jokes on Mr. Trump’s part: “Canada should just become our 51st state.” Ha ha. Not funny. Turns out he wasn’t joking. He has, more seriously, threatened to use economic force to compel Canada to become the 51st state.

The anxiety I felt after reading these stories settled into my body like a heavy, dark presence. We’re doomed, I thought. Canada is a little mouse, and we can roar, but we’re up against an elephant.

What to do? The weather echoed my gloomy feelings. A snow-laden grey sky loomed over us as we drove to church, with towering  clouds gathering over the hilltops. 

 

Those dark clouds on the horizon seemed to be symbolic of a future that was coming. How could I deal with this? I am just one person, and a person without much power, at that. Even if I joined a protest line, or wrote letters, even if I boycotted American products in retaliation, what good would my little gesture do?

I am very sure that what I’ve written so far will feel very familiar to many people. It’s not just Canadians that are anxious about the future. Many of our neighbours to the south are distraught as they watch what looks like oligarchs and billionaires taking over the reins of society and acting like merciless thugs. It feels as though the nice safe world we inhabited for so long has gone topsy-turvy. How can our comfortable spot in the world have turned so suddenly into chaos?

Wise author Parker Palmer, in a recent podcast, remarked: “A lot of Americans who are aghast at what is happening in our country say,‘But, this is NOT who we are!’ Well, it’s time to admit that this IS who we are. Our Western society has built its prosperity, comfort and pleasure on the backs of others – slaves, indigenous, people, colonialism, exploited workers, expanding profits lining the pockets of stock holders. We are not innocent.” This comment is not just about the US, it’s about Western Society. A time of reckoning is upon us. We are entering a time in the world’s history when things are going to get tough, as the structures we relied on for security begin to crumble around us. And we feel helpless.

So what could a preacher say to me that would help me?

Keltie started by lighting a candle and acknowledging that the events of this week might leave us sad and bewildered. We wouldn’t know what to do, but we could affirm the light, we could let our cares rest for a while. We could do this together, in community. And I did. A little of the darkness within seemed to lighten.

 

And then she began talking to the children. The story she told was about a boy named Jeremiah. He was just a lad – probably a teenager. God spoke to his heart and said, “I know who you are. I have gifted you, and now I have a job for you.” The job wouldn’t be easy; he was to tell people that they needed to repent and change their ways. For too long, the oligarchs and autocrats had ignored the laws of love and justice. Jeremiah responded with a protest: “Who, me? But I’m just a kid.”

Then, looking up and over the audience of mostly grey-hairs, Keltie asked, “And what might you have said?” The responses were many: “Who, me? But I’m only an old person.” “I have no power.” “I’m too busy.” “What can one person do or say that will make a difference?”

Keltie addressed the children once more. “So, if God asked you to do a big thing, to stand up and tell the truth, what would you do?” There was a moment of silence, and then 9 year old Georgia piped up, “I”d say, okay, I’ll do it.”

 

Okay. I’ll do it. Whatever it is, I’ll do it. Because each of us has gifts and talents, and we are all called to use them to make this world a better place. That was the gist of Keltie’s message to the congregation.

There was more to the historical account, of course. Jeremiah went on to become known as the prophet of doom, and he tried to convict people to love justice and mercy, to walk and talk humbly. But they didn’t – their society disintegrated and weakened; the upshot was that his people were defeated and carried into exile in Babylon for 70 long years. “By the rivers of Babylon we sat and wept,” sang BoneyM years ago. Perhaps we too are sitting and weeping.

Jeremiah’s tribe became prisoners. Now the playing field had been leveled. They were all, peasants and oligarchs, in this together. It was in Babylon that they began to examine and change their ways and plant seeds of a new life that prospered when they finally were allowed to go home again.

We are, no doubt about it, heading into a storm. There’s nothing pretty about this situation. But we can do something. It’s how resistance to evil starts. And as author Annie Lamott says, “There is no healing in pretending this bizarre violent stuff is not going on ... What is true is that the world has always been this way, people have always been this way, grace always bats last, it just does–and finally, when all is said and done, and the dust settles, which it does, Love is sovereign here.”

After the service one of my friends said, “If they come to take over Canada, I’ll be at the border. I won’t be carrying a gun, but I’ll raise my hands and say, ‘Stop! Go no further.’” That will be her job – to speak her intentions and build resilience in her little sphere of influence. Imagine a chain of people stretched across the land from sea to sea or before the border walls, saying, “No way!” It could happen!

 

As for me, as I sat and listened, my mind filled with ideas for a blog and a piece of art. That’s my job.

And what’s yours?

Well, the words came pretty easily, but the art? Not so much. I'm pleased with my background of a wintry field and a dark horizon, but how to complete this piece? I tried some possibilities, but none of them were quite right. Do I need to put up a fence? build a road? add people?

 

 

 It seems to me I'll be needing to noodle on it, spend some time listening to my heart. 

A Time to Lollygag

On my FB feed yesterday, I saw a reminder of a blog I’d posted three years ago on January 7, 2022. I wondered if it might have something to say to me today.

I read the first sentence: “The crow woke up on the first day of the new year. ‘Hey, get busy,’ she scolded me. ‘You’ve been lollygagging around long enough. Get your rear in gear.’”

Ah, yes. Not much has changed. Lollygag! What a fine word. My dictionary gives me a list of synonyms: creep, drag, plod, poke, slide, slither, squirm, wriggle, and “inch oneself along.” Yes. I have been lollygagging for the first week of this year. How about you?

With a new year come high expectations. New year = new you. New year = new adventures, new fields to explore. But what if you feel like you only have enough energy to just lollygag? Inch yourself along? Then what?

I read further in my blog (http://crowdayone.blogspot.com/2022/01/): I told the crow that I did not need a scolding; I'd had a tough few months, and the creative juices weren't flowing. Fast forward to 2024: I'm there again. I've been lollygagging with my book, my blankie, and my lazy-boy these days.
 

2024 has been a big challenge for the resident sweetie and me. In my last blog post dated the 13th of June 2024, I described our situation: months of debilitating pain for Al before he was diagnosed with a disintegrated hip, the long wait for surgery, interrupted by an emergency pacemaker operation. Al had been told that he was not a good candidate for surgery because of other medical conditions, and it was a big wake-up call for us. My head told me that hip surgery is routine with little risk, but my heart heard something else. Danger, danger! Life is fragile. My head knew that, now my heart had to catch up.

In that blog, I also wrote about how I used the practice of making art to help me grow into this new understanding. I used my mother-in-law’s apron as a basis for my work. I chopped the colourful apron up into confetti and spread it out like a pathway. I added strips of colour to highlight the many themes that are the foundation of our lives -- red for joy, green for growth, black for sadness, etc. Those coloured strips with their dangling ends could be potential blessings, or possible road maps, or bends in the journey. They could become the arms of our community that we lean on when times are tough. The work was helping me understand and accept the reality of our pretty fantastic/oh so tough/happy/anxious/up and down life. 

 I added an “Eye of God” weaving to remind myself that we were far from alone on our journey.  The piece is not totally finished...maybe it never will be, because our journey through life is ongoing.

I am happy to say that Al had his hip surgery and recovered very well. Soon he was walking out in the woods again, something he'd been unable to do for half a year. We are so grateful for the medical establishment, for family, friends and community who surrounded us with care and love, for healing and growth. 

Three years ago, my cure for lollygagging was to start something, anything at all. I began making postcards with messages written on the back. 

 

This was one of the messages: “Where the path well-traveled ends is where your adventure begins. Be strong and of good courage. Take that first step and venture forth into the great unknown.”

Today, I'm not quite ready to take that first step, but maybe soon. And so I listen, which is also work. 

When our bodies tell us, "Lollygag!", we are reminded that by lollygagging, we may actually be still enough to notice something new. By lollygagging, you and I can listen to the song in our hearts, which may be stilled for a while, but not forever, because it has been placed there by the Creator for the good of the world. Only you can sing the song that is planted there, which needs stillness to discover.

I’m listening, and I’m hearing whispers. Something is coming, something good is on the horizon.
 

Lately, I have been very drawn towards the work of Elena Stokes. She uses re-purposed Sari silk to create works that feature horizons. https://elenastokes.com/