"But we have this treasure in clay pots so that the awesome power belongs to God and doesn’t come from us. We are experiencing all kinds of trouble, but we aren’t crushed. We are confused, but we aren’t depressed. We are harassed, but we aren’t abandoned. We are knocked down, but we aren’t knocked out.
We always carry Jesus’ death around in our bodies so that Jesus’ life can also be seen in our bodies. We who are alive are always being handed over to death for Jesus’ sake so that Jesus’ life can also be seen in our bodies that are dying. So death is at work in us, but life is at work in you."
2 Corinthians 4:7–12 Common English Bible.
A few weeks ago, I was thinking about these verses as they apply to my pregnancy and growth. I have this treasure growing inside my fragile and organic body, and so much is happening by the beautiful design of our creator, and out of my hands. Some power is in my hands. The power to respond positively to stress and confusion with rest and curiosity. The power to say no when I have done too much, and the opportunity to say yes as an answer to my intuition.
The part that gets me is the verse that says, “We always carry Jesus’ death around in our bodies, so that Jesus’ life can also be seen in our bodies.” As the life of our new child is starting to be “revealed in my body”, pains of loss continue to meet me at the same time I feel stirrings of joy. My body continues to show signs of health and growth, and at the same time, I carry the memory of previous injuries. When Paul wrote these words, he was talking about living as a witness to the sacrifice that Jesus had made, and the promise that awaits those who believe in the power of God. I feel like this image also carries forward as a testimony to how God can redeem our earthly bodies and offer us new life in the here and now. I can’t help wondering if others who have survived great suffering, physical and/or emotional, also feel this juxtaposition of emotions, as we literally carry our varied experiences with us on our journey towards big dreams and new life. When I was overwhelmed with pain and suffering, I longed for a time when all of the pain would be gone. Now that I merely carry the memories, the pain seems to add depth and beauty to the joy of new life.
A friend of mine suggested that this image of holding life and death at once exists many places in nature. Trees, roses, bodies of water, and the list goes on and on. So, I went looking for a little rose plant to paint in my contemplation. At the flower market, before I could find any roses, I walked past this Jasmine plant. The incredible, fragrant smell was overwhelming from this one plant. Even more remarkable was the fact that it was filled with dead blossoms and stems as well as buds and beautifully flowering branches. I knew that this is what I needed to paint, so I bought it.
I took it home and tried to take a great picture in the back yard. I’ll say it. Part of it was ugly. Part of it was beautiful. I had a hard time capturing it and getting what I thought would make a good painting. Eventually I decided on a few pictures and printed them to paint.
My drawing turned out nicely, but I was having a hard time making a good contrast of colors. There was just so much green, so much white, and too little purple. So, I added more purple to the background, and that sort of helped, but it still looked so boring. Then I took it to my watercolor club and one of the members suggested that the plant was just floating. It needed some context. If I give it a defined table and shadows, the painting will have more structure. “Don’t rush it!” He reminded me, “It will take many layers, but it will be worth it."
So I started with a darker blue that I made from a bold blue and orange. I added a layer of shadows and waited. I added them again and waited a bit more. I started to see a few trees in the background, so I made a nice brown by taking that shadow color and adding other colors in my palette. I placed the trees and the blossoms and the background started to take shape. I added the path in our back yard and some grass. I added more shadows. The brown I had used for the trees made a nice addition for the dead breaches and blossoms and the soil underneath the plant.
How had I left out these parts before? Only painting the “life” or bright colors, made the painting seem lifeless. Adding the shadows started to bring the little bush to life. It sort of jumps off of the page now. The death and life, the light and the dark, all coming together for a beautiful, almost fragrant, image. So many times in my life, I dreamed of a day when there would be no more sorrow or pain and yet, especially during pregnancy, I feel like I’m discovering the beauty found in the depth of our experience: the risks taken, the lessons learned, the paths conquered, the valleys explored, the peaks sought after. Perhaps, the beauty comes in the redeeming moments when our tired hands find a new function, when our worn-in bodies serve a new purpose, when we release the expectations we have for ourselves—what we know is possible—and we accept the new gift of life that God is offering us—greater than we could ever imagine.
May you take a few moments today to sit in awe and wonder at the beauty of life you have lived and are now currently living. As you carry the breadth of your experience in your body, may you find joy in God’s continual desire to add new life. Even if our imagination can’t handle it, perhaps we can try to hold this life and death in our bodies. In the end, may we find that the Holy Spirit holds all these things for us with a fragrant peace that surpasses all understanding. Alleluia, Amen.
