Monday night was my Found Art Workshop—“A Year in Review”—and I believe, more than ever, in the power of providing a moment of sanctuary for the soul. It is amazing how much can pour out of a person in just 2 ½ hours.
We need time and space. This is never truer than during Christmas when the dark horse of death-by-details is at our heels, and we can just drift off the planet into this soul oblivion if we’re not careful. Not that I have any experience whatsoever in this kind of thing.
I was really moved by the depth of the women in attendance. It’s never convenient to grow. It’s never convenient to confront the voices (especially those that “haunt” us as one of my attendees so perfectly put it). It’s never convenient to be a mess. It’s never convenient to be in need. It’s never convenient to reassess.
That’s why it’s so brave to allow yourself the time and space to really listen to the deeper waters and to engage in the sacred act of sharing with another. Through the practice of opening ourselves up and letting others in, we see that we are not alone, that God is near, that others care. These are no small things.
And when we turn these findings into art, well that is just ridiculously magical.
What I love about these workshops is that everyone leaves with this tangible expression of something going on inside them. Some are gritty and dark and raw. Some are celebratory and energetic. Some are dimensional and full of paradox. I never get tired of walking around the room, seeing each person’s project take shape.
We need people who will lead us into deeper parts of ourselves. I hope I can be that kind of person. Beautiful writers and thinkers have been that guide for me. Kathleen Norris is my recent guru, reminding me to rediscover the poetry of Scripture, the metaphor, the story. I want to follow in the footsteps of women like that.
Nights like Monday night remind me of two things: that we are all deeply human and that God is deeply beautiful and mysterious. When these two truths connect with each other in my heart, a subtle awakening takes place. All of sudden, I’m back. Present. Alive. Inspired.
From the knowing hugs, the tearful sharing, and the not-so-simple generosity of staying late to stack chairs and organize supplies . . . I see you. I hear you. I love you.