I just finished this collage of Aimee's grandfather. She and I sat down to work on it Sunday night, and just after we got the canvas primed, she received the call that her grandfather passed away. Aimee left to be with her family, and I was left to organize these cool photos of a man I never knew. Before she left, she had explained that her Grandfather's dementia was pretty bad one Thanksgiving but that when it came time for his turn to voice thanks, he simply said, "I'm just glad to be here."
I like the phrase Art is long, Life is short. I like the idea of not having enough time to take in all the art, beauty in the world. It means every day will bring something new that I have never seen before.
If you look up the Latin translation of the phrase, you will see that the title of this post is actually what Horace/Hippocrates meant. Hippo was actually talking about the study of medicine. I think I'll keep my out of context translation anyway. Maybe I'm just adding to what Hippo meant...I doubt he would deny my translation.
Things have been busy for me lately. If you're close to me, you've probably noticed. I want you to know I'm working on the busy thing. Cody and I have been talking about how busy we find ourselves. We like the busy, we are getting the things done that we want and need to get done. Lately I've been living like I could count the days I have left on one hand. Is it a good thing that I'm actually in the moment now?
The time between Easter through April is usually a reflective time for me anyhow. Now I get to add my cousing Amy to the list, too. At Easter, fifteen years ago, some of my friends lost their fun-loving mother, Delia, to cancer. Then a few years later, we stood about ten feet from Delia's grave and buried one of us, our friend Todd. That same week a beautiful girl, a friend from church and high school, Shelley, died in a car accident. Right after April a chorale group of kids from my college (now Alma Mater) got in to a horrible accident and all but one of them was killed. Among the dead was a girl, Yvonne, who Cody knew pretty well, who I'd just gotten to know.
I remember Jeremy's mom proudly giving me a family photo to take home. I remember she seemed more like a peer than a mom. We shared that one really warm moment. Her heart must have been too huge for that small town.
I remember Todd and Jeremy getting in to my mom's Amaretto and posing like drunks for the camera. I actually have a photo of Todd at the bottom of the landing acting like he'd died, falling from the loft in my room. The last time I saw him he said I looked like an angel...and he wasn't just trying to flatter me.
Shelly was always the girl who lit up the hallway at school; physically beautiful and spiritually kind. Her family lost their "baby" after only 18 years.
Just a few weeks before Yvonne's terrible accident, I was completely annoying her while she tried to watch the movie Nell; I could not get through that movie without laughing my ass off---remember?
I digress....
So anyhow, I'm trying to find the balance between using my gifts and depleting them before they store up again. I'm not too worried about depleting them, but I think those around me are. So, hopefully it's enough for now just know I'm working on the art of living. By God's grace I'll strike some sort of peaceful balance.
I am being intentional about it finding the balance, though:
I've been meaning to plug this guy's radio program and website
theintentionallife.com. I've been listening to him now for a few months. If you crave truth about the art of living, I'm pretty sure this guy delivers it spot on.
I'm also reading three very good books right now and they all point to the art of living.
(The Shack,
Truly the Community, and
The Richest Man Who Ever Lived)
While I work on the art of living, I think I'll stick to the words of a man whose name I don't even know: "I'm just glad to be here". Thanks for letting me be me.
4 comments:
Death does have a way of reminding us to live, doesn't it? I think that is one purpose it serves in this life, until we are reunited with our loved ones. I remember that same year you are talking about, standing in the shower at MCC dorms, feeling sorry for myself for some probably insignificant reason, and suddenly realizing it was March 31 - the anniversary of my Dad's death - just four years before that year. Suddenly, everything that had been hurting me before didn't hurt anymore. I was consumed by the in-the-moment reality that death of a loved one brings.
I share your experience of facing death more than many others. Three others I knew, young people, died near the time my Dad did (which was a lot for one small town). And then of course there was Yvonne's accident. It shapes us, doesn't it? But I see how God uses it all for the good of those He loves, who are called according to His purpose.
love you mel! and i love that collage and the idea of the blue shading to identify her grampa. what a cool tribute! i've been thinking about the lyrics to the switchfoot song lately-- "this is YOUR life--are you who you want to be?" we've got one shot at this life...
What I have discovered,repeatedly, is that inside the art of living are times for grieving, and each time is unique.
I remember when Amy's Mom died unexpectedly -- we were in our early 30's and Julie was 9 days older than me -- and I was in total shock; I didn't know how to handle it. When my favorite aunt died, I walked around for days with tears in my eyes. Clients would ask about my dripping tears, and I would tell them about her. I celebrated with the rest of the family when my Grandma T died; she finally got her wish to be with Grandpa T after 8 very long years.
Four months ago, we began the saga of dealing with Michael's step-Dad's fall, his death, his funeral, and taking care of Michael's Mom for the ensuing 10 weeks. I discovered that my biggest challenge was being present with Mom as she talked about her own upcoming death. When I resisted the conversation, she persisted. She said, "I need to be able to talk about this. Please listen."
Being present is sometimes taking a deep breath and really listening while allowing someone else to say what they need to say in your presence ... even if it is difficult.
I'm thinking of you always but especially during this period of grieving.
Aunt K
i love your beautiful soul.
God grant you peace and art forever.
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