Very little excites me more than an initial watercolor wash. There are possibilities in the wash, unexplored ideas waiting to come to life in a painting. Before this particular wash, I imagined a mountain range. As is typical of my style, I allowed the wash to speak its truth, providing me with a colorful foundation for my next adventure.
I completed a painting today, my first since the July art exhibition. Some of you may know that we had a significant flood the week of the Lancaster Artwalk. Throughout the festival week, we divided our time between the art exhibit and dealing with a flooded basement. Life is full of surprises. We do not live in a flood plain. Yet, the water crept in, blowing out a window and seeping through the seals of the other three. The flood kept us mired in basement sludge up until two weeks ago.
During this time, I learned that I am stronger than I think. Dragging waterlogged carpet across the basement floor and up the steps was quite an adventure. Water is heavy, and this is one instance where my stubborn streak worked for me. I was not to be deterred.
In hindsight, I would rather have spent my time in enjoyable pursuits. Still, the flood created an opportunity and an urgency that could not be ignored. The basement needed to be cleared of stuff that we haven’t used in years. It is easy to procrastinate and wait for the day that never comes. So while we were at it, we reorganized much of the upstairs, making our home a much easier and nicer place to live.
I will turn seventy years of age on my next birthday. Over the years, the winds of time and change have dramatically altered my life. There are many memories, some of which are significant accomplishments, while others are radical disappointments, reminders of missed opportunities. Life as lived is a mixed bag, a hodgepodge of what we could call a blend of negative and positive experiences.
I am, by nature, a perfectionist, a trait that I am working to refine in my senior years. In some aspects, my perfectionistic tendencies have served me well, prompting me to attend to details where necessary. Yet, being a perfectionist has its downside. I tend to focus more on my shortcomings and mistakes than on the times I have succeeded or even excelled. It is easy to focus on perceived failures to the point of regret and sorrow. Ruminating on mistakes can exact a massive toll on both emotional and physical health. It is easier to forgive and release others than it is to do the same for myself.
There is nothing noble about holding oneself to an exacting standard. Freedom comes with the recognition that I have made God too small. Perfection only exists in God, and I am a work in progress. In my attempts to fix my brokenness, I have not trusted the only One who is able.
I spent many years early in life searching for the truth. I studied all of the great philosophies, traditions, and religions of the world. Each discovery fascinated me and invited me to dive deeper into my studies. Throughout those years, I found common ground in our vastly diverse world of ideas and evidence to address the common longings shaped by the traditions, languages, and cultures that have evolved over time. Truth is an ancient quest; even the meaning of the word itself has changed over time.
It is with great irony, then, that I find in my senior years great peace in not knowing, in the vast mystery that permeates existence. It is enough to trust that God is greater than current thought. Consider Psalms 46:10: “Be still, and know that I am God.” In my youth, this verse spoke to me as a treatise against worry and strife. Indeed, it is so, but in adulthood, I find much more meaning in the rich symbolism and allegory present in this passage. Is silence a path to knowing? Is it possible to directly experience God?
When the leaves begin to turn, and most flowers go to seed, there is one that springs to life. In the fall, common boneset fills the Ohio woodland meadows with tiny white flowers. I wait for boneset to appear each fall, predictable, wild, and strong in a climate that can be turbulent.
I cherish this plant on my morning meditative walks, when the air is crisp. The woods are quiet except for the crunch of leaves beneath my feet and the occasional sound of a distant bird. Within the silence, I listen to the whispers of the Spirit. My mind releases the clutter of daily life, and I am free to be. It is time well spent, a place of centering in moments with the divine.
Growing older is both a privilege and a challenge. Not everyone lives to enjoy their senior years. It is a gift to be free to pursue the aspirations that I longed for in my earlier years. If only I had the time, or so the saying goes.
Now, I have more life behind me than I have left to live. Sounds morbid? Maybe, but it is the reality of age. Regardless of age, we are all marching towards an inevitable end, and yet, that reality makes life sweeter. Limits are like that. Time is a precious commodity to consider with care. I find my heart and mind turning towards the spirit, that part of me that is sacred. I am reminded of the challenges I have faced in my life, including both failures and successes. Both are sacred parts of a journey that has molded me into the person I am.