The Jasmine Plant

"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.

Bowling

On Sunday, Robbie and I went bowling at the MAC! Yes, we both sat down at a wheel and made bowls.  Would you believe it? We have been doing a lot of strength training, but I had no idea it took so much strength to make a bowl on a wheel.  We threw down the ball of clay and started molding it. Well, that’s what I thought we were doing, but then I found out we weren’t shaping it yet, we were just centering it, and grounding it to the wheel.  “Aha…,” I thought. "There is something to this."  The bowl cannot be properly shaped, unless it is centered.  Centering is hard work. The clay wanted to go on it’s own way. At first I tried to force it, but that didn’t work. I tried adding water, and added too much. Once I had to even get a new ball.  Eventually, the teacher helped me, and I got my arms appropriately propped on my legs to keep it steady, and guided the clay to the center.  From there I could begin to open it and shape it, and create it for a purpose.  

I do a lot of centering prayers, but until recently, I have worked quite hard at centering myself and steadying my breathing.  One of my guided meditations pointed out that breathing is one of the most natural things our bodies do on their own.  We can literally breathe in our sleep, if we are healthy and living.  So, when I begin my centering prayer, I now simply become aware of my breath.  I know what you’re thinking… "Isn’t that how every yoga teacher begins their class?”  Yes, I know, I’ve heard it said a million times, and yet, there is something special in noticing and choosing to do something, once you realize what that something actually looks and feels like.

As I was reflecting on God’s role as the potter, I realized that maybe God could do the work of centering me too.  I pray that God would open my heart, I pray for God to shape me, but I usually take the responsibility of finding my center.  So, here goes.

Lord, I know I am fearfully and wonderfully made by you. Guide me once more to find my center.  Hold me close to your heart. Let your will and your ways keep me at peace, that I might be willing to be opened once more, shaped once more, filled once more and used once more.  You are the potter, and I am your clay.  I was never created to be perfect, but I was created to be flexible, beautiful, hopeful, and loved. Amen.

My ball became a tea/coffee/watercolor bowl.  Nourishment it will provide, once it is fired and ready…

Wishing you had a handmade bowl or cup of your own? Click here to find more information on the Empty Bowls Event, hosted by the Manhattan Nonviolence Initiative and others, coming up April 7th.

The Little Voice

Last week on Facebook, I posted this picture of my physical transformation over the last 6 months which really just shows the strength I have gained physically and mentally.  A few people asked how I did it, and a lot of that comes from my faith.  I wouldn’t say it is in the faith that God would provide me the strength, but rather that God made me strong enough in the very beginning, and I’m still learning to tap into that power.

I am, and always have been, a self motivator. As long as I can remember, I’ve always had at least one little voice saying, “Go Kate, you can do it, I know you can.”  Sometimes the voice gets a little mean. I make a mistake or whine or drag my feet, and she says, “What’s the matter with you! What were you thinking! You have to be more and do more if you want to show them what you’re worth!”  It’s great to know your worth and what you are capable of doing, but my greatest fear is probably that I am not worthy of the work in front of me, or that I am not enough.  Because I am human, this fear will always have friends in the world and the little voice loves to mock me with their words or expectations. My worst emotional and physical experiences have been when the little voice had echoes of real people in my life or actual situations which only serve to prove the point: I am not enough.

Theologically, I can “Jesus juke” the little voice by saying, “Jesus is enough.”  But sometimes the little voice is so loud, that I’m speechless. I start to believe it.

When Jesus looks at us, he sees our failings. He doesn’t ignore them, because they are a part of us. They have formed us for better or for worse. But he has also formed us, and he knows what moves us, he knows what motivates us. He knows the deepest desires of our heart. He can use this to shape us and mold us into the best version of ourselves. When I change, I echo Gods work. God’s work is not making me enough for the world, God is enough for us all. God’s work resonates and travels when I open up my life to be an echo of grace.  I don’t have to be the copy or exactly enough for the world, I am called to be a mirror, a reflection, an echo of the one who has more than enough love to go around.

How do I ask the little voice to echo God’s voice? I think I just did. “Go and do likewise,” she says. “Go as far and as hard as you can. Jesus will make up the rest. He always has, and he always will." Even when it looks like he doesn’t come through on the route you want, he has been working with a bigger picture, and even though my puzzle piece is not enough, he will come to meet me and help me make that perfect and holy match. That is the promise of the gospel, not that God will make me enough, but that when I open up to reveal that gap, God’s beautiful love shines through and in the cavern of my inadequacy there is an echo of the little voice of God, “You are loved. You are precious, and you are spectacularly made for this.” 

I may not be perfect, but I am fearfully and wonderfully made. And so are you.

Amen.

The One Who Chose Me

Robbie and I truly had a religious experience at Universal Studios, and I say that because I believe the Holy Spirit was there, present with us, sending us words of hope and knowing.  As soon as we arrived in Diagon Alley at the Wizarding World of Harry Potter we went straight to Ollivander’s to get a wand.  We weren’t quite sure what to expect, but inside the shop someone told us we could either select a wand from the shelves or visit the Wandmaker and the wand would choose you.  So, we went to the Wandmaker, of course.  

We waited in a hallway with other people for about ten minutes, and my mind started to wander…”Would they come get us one at a time?  What wood might I expect? What kind of power would I want?  What am I looking for from the wand?”  Hope.  I wanted something to embody hope for new beginnings.  I played around with the idea of unicorn hair, but part of me felt like unicorns were too pretty and happy for the kind of authentic hope I’m looking for.  Then I thought about Harry’s Pheonix feather in his wand.  The pheonix could be a great metaphor for our lives as we have risen with life out of the ashes of death.  Then something inside me thought about the dragons, and their passion and fire, and something struck a chord with me. The love and power of a dragon could display the kind of hope I want.

Suddenly the assistants were leading us down the hallway… “so we’re doing this as a group,” I thought.  We turned a corner and there was the Wandmaker, writing in his book by the dim light of his magical lamp next to him in a room filled with wands all the way up the very tall walls.

I started to step up to him, and one of the assistants pulled me aside.  “Everyone please fill into the room with the shorter people in front, so everyone can see.”

I don’t remember what happened next, but before I knew it, the Wandmaker was looking at me and called me forward to receive my wand.  He measured my arms and talked about character and the many ways a wand would choose you.  I knew he was an actor, but he felt more like a sage wizard.  The room, his voice, the air, it all felt real…so magical.  He pulled out a wand of rosewood and unicorn hair and gave it to me. “Give it a flick,” he said.  Shelves popped out all over the place…just like in the books!!! When Harry was trying out wands!  “No, no, no, that won’t do.”  Then he pulled out a wand of oak with a phoenix feather, “Ok,” I thought, “This could be it.” He asked me to say, “Wingardium leviosa.”  With my best Hermione impression, I waved my wand and said the words. LOUD BANGS, and flickering lights.  “I wonder…” said the Wandmaker….I almost jumped out of my skin. “Here is a wand made of ash wood with dragon heartstrings.”  When I took the wand in my hand the light shone all around me.  It took everything within me not to burst out crying and weeping, because here in my hand was the true embodiment of the strength I desire—the heartstring of fire which rises from the ashes.

I never thought I would own a wand, and yet how many of us are yearning for someone to choose us and offer us a physical and metaphorical gift of meaning in life.  I have chosen and held many instruments in my hand: flutes, conducting batons, kazoos, books, paintbrushes.  This gift feels different.  I know it has no physical power outside of the park, and yet, in my hand I am reminded of the dragon heartstrings that God fixed within my soul.  

“I am fearfully and wonderfully made,” says the Psalmist about our Maker. I have been chosen by God to do big things, and so have you.  The magic comes when we believe in the Maker’s ability to love us, know us and do marvelous things through us.