Category: Art Journey

I am excited to share this story with you, despite the tiny, all too familiar, voice whispering inside me, suggesting that I might feel kind of, well, dense for not catching on sooner!

A bit of background for all the new folks I’m delighted to welcome to the conversation… I’ve been dealing for more than 20 years, now, with a variety of pain and mobility challenges. (It’s possible that the underlying issue is a legacy from my paternal grandmother, but we’re not blaming anybody, here!) Suffice it to say that I’ve had lots of practice sitting still, trying not to hurt!

The current strategy of staying home in order to stay safe and protect others, frankly, hasn’t helped. I’ve begun to suspect that I may have lost “a bit” of muscle tone by spending so much time in convenient proximity to the magic chair.

Beyond the fact that all my sitting wasn’t really working, the light bulb came on just recently and I remembered that we give power to the things (or people!) we avoid.

(Chase that rabbit wherever it leads!)

Here’s what I noticed when the light came on… I wasn’t sleeping at all well, either.

You may have noticed, as I did, that sleeping poorly is not conducive to much of anything desirable.

And, then, another light bulb came on!

I remembered that, some time back, Bill was sick and snuffly for a bit and I slept on the trundle bed we got for the girls when they visit.

You guessed it! I felt better – if lonely – when I slept in that bed.

This bit of enlightenment presented another challenge, as so often happens.

We’re a bit short of horizontal surfaces in our house. Constantly multiplying art supplies – and art furniture – are a huge contributor to the shortage.

So is the fact that I’m pretty staircase avoidant. And, yes, there’s a pattern here! A pattern that often leaves Bill, who’s considerably more clutter-tolerant than I am, in charge of trips to and from the basement with stuff we either need upstairs or don’t.

Curious, by this point in my journey, I took advantage of the fact that Bill was away over Labor Day weekend, summoned all my determination, and “cleared away” the mountain of spare bedding and pillows which had some how collected on the girls’ bed. Read that cleared away to a co-opted rolling chair from the studio! (No stairs involved!)

Then, obviously, I slept there one night.

And, when I got up the next day, I didn’t hurt as much!

Next began the process of enlisting Bill into my obvious plan to get a new mattress.

After that, the choosing, without, you know, venturing out to actually test anything!

I won’t bore you with the he needs – she needs drama. We figured it out!

Then we waited. Longer than I would have chosen but not unreasonably long, given the current supply and shipping challenges.

By the time you read this, we will have slept on the miracle known as the new mattress for five nights. And, as I mentioned, I don’t hurt as much!

Which, I suspect, led the Muse to whisper visionary eye about my almost finished Legend painting. Connected to the model of right brain creativity, the visionary eye represents, as you’ve clearly guessed, one who sees beyond that which is physically visible.

The Greek word for that is pronounced Bleppo which is there, on her lower eyelid, just in case I forget. (Again!)

It boils down to this:

When we move toward our deepest selves – our most precious dreams – instead of simply away from fear and pain, there is the likelihood of great healing.

All of which just thrills me!

And – best of all – we can help our beloved littles learn, too!

ps… the painting has chosen her name: Living Her Legendary Powers!

Once upon a time… a really, really long time ago… there was a rather awkward high school student. She wasn’t ever quite sure where she fit in.

She was not, even then, flexible enough to be a cheerleader.

She believed, though it wasn’t totally true, that she was utterly tone deaf, so band was out, too.

She tried Drama Club for a bit but it was complicated by mostly mandatory family weekend fishing trips.

She did have a couple of skills, though. She was good at setting up science labs.

And, she pretty much aced the whole reading and writing thing which seemed, at least back then, to have some promise.

Thus, she was appointed the Grammar Police for the yearbook staff.

Please don’t tell, but she often gave herself permission to break the rules! Especially the one about not ending sentences with participles!

She had two favorites. Noticing. And Wondering.

And, yes, she turned into me. And I still love noticing. And wondering.

It’s a pretty useful strategy these days. I mean, there’s a whole lot of both that needs doing! And, since both of my granddaughters are in middle school, it seems like an excellent time to model a bit of each!

Doing a right brain – left brain cross lateral thing seems to help. Knitting, perhaps. And painting. Dog brushing doesn’t work quite the same way, but is also useful!

Yesterday, it was mainly painting. With a bit of company from season 18 of Top Chef.

As I focused on liberating a figure from all the layers and layers of background, I listened to a delightfully global mix of chefs trying to figure out how to put themselves on a plate, as it were.

Which I couldn’t help but notice sounded quite a bit like I was feeling, trying to put a version of me on canvas.

As the chefs chopped and chatted, one theme kept reappearing. The tension between what they grew up thinking they should be and do and even eat – vs – what they were discovering about their sense of what they hoped to create in that moment. Their intention, if you will.

Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!

It’s a feeling I know well, that tension. If you’re any older than the Gen X crowd, you may know it well, too.

Frankly, I suspect everybody knows it, even though it’s less cool than it used to be.

While I went on noticing and wondering and making dots, a phrase began repeating itself inside me.

The work of my hands…

Five dots and repeat. Each word with its own dot.

Noticing and wondering.

When I shivered, I remembered.

Cold. Hungary in 1989. The ninetieth Psalm, repeated aloud, by heart, in the Reformed Church. Every Sunday.

The work of our hands, establish Thou it.

What if that… whatever our spiritual traditions… was the question we helped our littles to ask?

Them. Their gifts. Their passions.

Just the way they are, free of expectations except, at least for me, compassion.

I know. It’s a leap for some of us. And I’m still not mobile or coordinated enough for literal leaping.

But there are still participles. And I’m still noticing and wondering.

How about you?

There’s still time to check out the year-long journey, Forest of Grandmothers. Just in case it’s calling to you. No paint experience needed! As with many journeys, newness awaits! If you think you might belong, you can!

ps… another glimpse at my Legend painting in progress. More details, soon. Let’s just say that the generations are gathering. And helping!

Yesterday I had a really helpful meeting about things like consistent visual branding and a plan for social media posts. It was big fun!

Last night I slept. Even bigger fun!

Today we scrambled around a bit to get ready for a massage appointment that I wasn’t really betting would happen. I’m so glad it did.

We fed the big dogs who were sad after missing out on the massage party. I took a nap. Bill fixed dinner. It was really good.

The guy who’s been winning… and winning… and winning on Jeopardy won again, which is probably nicer for him than for us, but we knew lots of the answers, too.

Then, while we were planning for tomorrow, Bill said, “Did you write a blog for today?”

You guessed it!

Which was not, in fact, in the plan…

If I were going to “blame” someone, it might be CNN. Well, not really them so much as the convicted abuser of so many U.S. gymnasts. And, apparently, the FBI and DOJ guys who were “less than effective” in handling the reporting.

I watched those brave young women holding people they should have been able to count on – WE should be able to count on – accountable for negligence and the additional abuse of other young women.

And, yes, there were tears in some of their eyes as they testified before the Senate. Warrior tears!

Because it’s Wednesday, it’s Work-in-Progress day in the land of Intentional Creativity® and I do, indeed, have a painting in progress.

The first glimpse of Luther is becoming visible. The lioness spirit animals have just begun to appear.

And I went back to the studio just now and added the teardrops that are a part of my own coding for Legend paintings such as this one.

They, too, are warrior tears!

Not warriors of violence and oppression and abuse.

Warriors for children’s safety. For peace. And justice. And equality. And civil rights. Warriors for voice and art and decency.

And, yes, they’re rolling down my cheeks, too, as I write these words.

It’s not there, yet, but before my painting is done, the Hebrew word pronounced tzcar – which means both to remember and to remind – will be there, too. A mark of power. And promise.

ps… just in case you’re wondering, this post fits the plan after all. Me, showing up, real and as close to fiercely compassionate as I can manage on any given day.

pps… there’s still time to join us for Forest of Grandmothers! If you relate to this story, it’s so worth checking out! The details are just a click away…

A counseling client from years gone by has reappeared, searching for some help with, well, trauma.

We started with lots of listening on my part. It’s harder to do the tea & Kleenex part via Zoom, but eventually we reached the point when I could say, with a great deal of professional confidence, that I absolutely agree with the current therapeutic movement to drop the D from PTS_, recognizing that much of the world is dealing with traumatic stress and it’s part of being human, not disordered.

Then, before our next time together, I began to hear the walls whispering. Well, metaphorically, at least. You see, our walls are literally covered in my Intentional Creativity® journey. And, I’ve been doing a whole lot of what Bill refers to as hatching, lately.

Hatching as both a coach and as a Grandmother!

You’ve probably noticed, too, that all that stress and trauma is not just a thing for professional debates. It’s a deeply personal thing for many of those we love the most.

That meant a whole lot of chatting with The Muse painting. Here’s a glimpse:

Her job was to help me recognize the wisdom I carry and to lend me some courage for sharing it!

It’s hard, though, to hang with The Muse without also pondering her partner-in-concern, The Critic.

Apparently hating her hair at the moment, The Critic is not available for a photo op. She did authorize me to remind you that she says No! No! No! about a whole lot of things because they’re new and scary, not because she doesn’t love me.

Kind of predictably, in stressful times, The Critic tends to be more emphatic than ever about not doing things we’ve never done before, or even things we have that have become more scary, lately.

Thank goodness for my Medicine Basket, which seems to whisper, too, even as a supposedly inanimate object!

Together, we all got busy with a plan for empowering.

Then, The Muse remembered that, while The Critic assuredly loves us, she was absent on all the days when my old friend and teacher, Dr. Steve Glenn, proclaimed that, We don’t rescue people from opportunities to learn… only from things beyond their capabilities.

That last bit was frequently followed by the example of two-year-olds in traffic. Them we rescue.

And the walls whispered on while I (sort of) slept until I woke with a new question in my head…

How do we, as Grandmothers and Elders and like-minded folk, juggle the muses and critics inside us?

And help our beloved littles to do the same???

These days, that probably feels even harder than usual to many of us!

And, quite possibly, more important than ever!

So, one of the things I’m doing is guiding some folks through a rather ramped-up Medicine Basket process. (Details coming soon!)

And, I’m helping with the teaching team for Forest of Grandmothers, the exciting new year-long Intentional Creativity journey about to start in the tradition of Red Madonna.

You, wise one that you are, have already figured out that if you click the pretty colored link, lots and lots of juicy details about this amazing journey will magically appear, curiosity being one of those things that belongs in all our Medicine Baskets!

Here’s the thing…

Safety is enormously important in the literal sense.

The quest for safe (read that familiar) can also hold us back from our greatest gifts if it becomes the only option we consider!

It’s a bit like dandelions! Noxious weeds? Or hopeful, nutritious gifts???

Gifts, I think. And pretty good ones for Grandparents’ Day!

ps… if you haven’t yet, please click the annoying pop-up thing and sign up for the list so you’ll have all the newest info!

pps… I have room for just two more individual clients interested in exploring some of these issues 1:1. You can email me at suesvoice@gmail.com for more information!

If you’ve spent any time at all hanging out in churches in the southern USA, or even hanging out with people who have, you are probably familiar with the pervasive notion of the way we’ve always done it!

(There are, of course, other people harboring the same notion, but I’m trying to speak from my experience. In fact, a few of you may have heard this story before but context is, as they say, everything and our current context is begging for this story!)

Once, when I was an MDiv student at Columbia Theological Seminary, a neighbor in the class ahead of me needed someone to preach for him on Sunday in a tiny church in West Georgia. I, fresh from my summer internship with 5 actual sermons under my belt, said I’d be honored.

I was also excited! And, it turned out, there was at least one question I didn’t yet know that I needed to ask.

On the morning in question I arrived, sermon manuscript in a snazzy folder along with my Bible, and robe neatly draped over my arm.

The organist met me in the parking lot and welcomed me warmly. She volunteered to introduce me and make a couple of announcements, showed me where to find the bathroom, and brought me a small cup of water. I was good to go!

With all the business stuff out of the way, I led the call to worship and then announced the first hymn. Amazing Grace. Safe and familiar.

The organist played a couple of measures for the intro and I raised my hands in the popular preacher signal for “y’all stand, please.”

They did.

Then we heard the organist magic which means “start singing”.

They didn’t.

After two more repeats of the not singing thing, the light began to come on. There was no choir. They were waiting for me to open my mouth and start singing.

Me, who heard my whole life long about my grandfathers who could sing and my grandmothers who could not. I, it was made clear to me, was more like my grandmothers!

But, what we were doing wasn’t getting us anywhere and so I did.

I sang. By myself. In front of a church full of strangers. And, after the longest two words of my life, they sang, too!

And, just in case you’re curious, I lived!

I’ve felt like that a lot this week.

If we’ve learned nothing else, I suspect a great many of us are having a new experience of just how much the way we’ve been doing things isn’t working.

A great many more of us, those our pundits might term less privileged, are undoubtedly way ahead of the curve on that!

Our planet is crying out for healing.

Women, and intelligent men, are crying out for civil rights and bodily dominion.

And the enormous damage to a huge part of the USA is going to make legal, safe access to abortion a tragic survival strategy for many, many families who cannot imagine how to raise a child in the midst of all they’ve lost.

All this in the midst of the ongoing pandemic.

If you’re still reading, my choice to leave behind generations of good girls are quiet and polite and don’t rock the boat is worth it!

That hasn’t worked for a very long time. If you haven’t read Alice Hoffman’s The Dovekeepers, now might be a good time.

Well, right after you call whomever your particular lawmaker-types might be and tell them what you need. Believe me, my gang in Congress are on it!

Honestly, I’d rather be sharing my favorite bone broth recipe with you. This has got to come first.

Now is the time!

ps… the Legendary figure in the painting-in-progress has her hand raised in a gesture of blessing. That’s for you!

pps… in Hebrew, the same word means both hand and power!