This season is always a reminder of miracles, for me.
Our Christmas tree is still lighting its corner of the family room, while Phoebe and Luther wander around searching, each in their own way, for the miracle of four much loved family members, now headed back to their more usual home.
Next door, our neighbors’ house is ablaze with a celebration of the eighth night of Hanukkah and the miracle of the light that lasted much longer than anyone could have expected.
The Legendary Husband and I have spent considerable time playing Furniture Yahtzee, as is our tradition.
And I’ve been reflecting on smaller, more personal miracles.
Take a minute to check out the photo at the beginning of this post. A miraculous gift from a dear paint sister, it’s a silicone thing originally meant to scrub pots and pans. Turns out, it’s the greatest paint brush cleaner ever!!!
And quite handy, given the fact that there’s been a whole lot of painting going on in the studio.
Here are three masterpieces by my talented and persistent girls.
And a piece we worked on together… three generations of Boardman women.
It began, as my work so often does, with drips. Then a chance for everyone to try out a palette knife and some heavy body paints Santa brought.
Then, some wisdom borrowed from Jassy Watson’s Tree Woman process, inspired by things that grow where we live, at least when it’s not winter!
And dots. Stamped dots. Dots made with the bristle end of brushes, and dots made with the handle end, as I so often do.
I’d even go so far as to say miraculous dots, for they were made with intentions and prayers of healing for dear friends who could use a great deal of that just now.
And then one more masterpiece. You’ll have to help me with this one. I didn’t get a picture as we drove by, so a bit of imagination is in order.
Yesterday, Bill and I were headed home from picking up a print at Digital Arts Studio and lunch at my favorite local oyster joint, Stiles Fish Camp.
We stopped in the spitting rain for a red light at an intersection with a big church on one corner. It’s changed names recently and I’m not really sure what it is, these days.
That wasn’t the part of the sign I was reading.
You know the kind. The ones with the moveable letters behind glass doors.
About that time, the light changed, and I’m not sure I got this just right, but here’s the jist of it:
A brighter future does not lie in wishing for a different past.
If you happen to be near Atlanta, moving toward some miracles of your own, click here!