The
fall semester was over yet the meetings continued. Tasks were to be
completed, both large and small. Folders had to be filed, desk tops needed
to be cleared, classrooms were to be put in order and doors locked for the time
being.
Christmas! It
felt as if I no longer had enough time to get ready. Maybe by following my
new rule to simplify, the process would unfold to a satisfactory
end. Taking time to share with those I love is supreme. Taking time
for me should be equally important.
Where to begin?
My
gift from my husband Gene, of newly raked pine straw for our beds around the
house, answered my question. Over the next few days I carried and spread
the golden brown straw to create a comforting blanket of natural warmth and
fragrance. Comfort and peace came to me through the healing task.
Then
what I call a “holy moment” came to me. A stubborn sprout of wild garlic
would not be tamed by the hovering pine straw. I knelt down to push back
the straw and to dig around the garlic plant with my bare hands. I dug and
gently pulled. The fragrance of sap, soil and green filled my
soul. Then I heard a voice.
“Remember
who you are.”
No
explanation was needed. No turning to question or ponder. I
knew. I knew that this soil, this plant, the ground, the earth, nature
have all been waiting for me to return and to remember what God has created me
to be and to do. The whisper was a gentle reminder. Not a plea, for
my soul is ready. Not a reprimand, because it was spoken in love.
“Remember
who you are.”
Return
to the soil, to creating, to giving myself to my gardens and to my
art. Yes, it is time. Maybe some doors should remain locked.
I
stood and looked across the vast bed of straw. My son was arranging a border
with old bricks to help me with my new bed design. My husband was
gathering and delivering more pine straw. I was blessed.
_______________________
My understanding of this message has
broadened since this experience. “Remember who you are.”
Remember
who I am.
In this remembering, there are times
of letting go. It seems to me that we are called to let go of what is false,
what limits our lives, what binds us, and what keeps us from remembering what
we knew when we were born. We were created by God. We were created by Love.
In the image entitled The Rising – Untangling the Red Or, I
have chosen to show a woman fully present with God. She has nothing to hide. There
is no shame or guilt before the Love of God. She is offering to God all the
false things that have bound her. She is blessed!
Remember
who you are! You are blessed!
The Rising – Untangling the Red Orb,
Oil on Canvas
As I practice the gift of
remembering, I find myself intrigued with discovering my own stories. In so
doing, I am discovering the stories of my family. Two years ago I completed
what is to be the first book of an extensive series of books entitled The Hinton Family Chronicles. Book One –
Humble Beginnings, opens in the late
1700s with the life of Johannah Johnson Lee from Lewis, New York and ends as my
father arrives in St. Louis, is sworn into the Navy and boards a train to San
Diego.
As this point, I am working on my
mother’s story and the strong female figures in both of our stories, as the
second book of The Hinton Family
Chronicles. My mother, Mary Imogene Lambert, was born in Memphis, Tennessee
in 1937. In the next two images, you will see my grandmothers in one image and
my mother in a cotton field in the other. My mother tells stories of working in
these fields and of roaming plowed ground looking for shards of dishes. She valued
the beauty of the simple shards.
Hinton Family Chronicles, My
Mother’s Story #1, Mixed
Media on Watercolor Paper
Hinton Family Chronicles, My
Mother’s Story #2, Mixed
Media on Watercolor Paper
Having just learned this, I am
delighted to see how my story and her story are connected through this simple
relationship with shards. While I was in graduate school, I struggled initially
with the content of my paintings and drawings. I began to create images using a
tea set given to me by my mother. This tea set became symbolic of my life as a
woman and the connection I had with my mother. One quiet Saturday afternoon in
my studio, as I painted a still life of a piece of the tea set on a shelf, a
heart-breaking event happened. Without warning, the shelf fell off the wall and
the pieces fell to the counter below. Broken.
Fragmented. Shards of what was dear to me. For one brief moment I wanted
to cry out in sorrow . . . but only for one moment . . . for I had been in the
silence for hours and now in the silence I heard God speak to me. “Out of the broken, fragmented, shards of
your life, I will make something beautiful. Paint! Paint these shards and know.
Know that I am God.” My heart began to beat rapidly for I was given a
clear direction. In the silence, in the stillness, I understood the meaning of
the shards of my life.
I am finding that the process of
remembering and discovering my stories helps me better serve God. As I
understand myself, I am more able to love. It is in this loving that I can be a
part of the healing needed, both for myself and for the wounded of the world.
And in turn, I am better equipped to see and embrace the glimpses of sacredness
that surround me every day. What an amazing journey.
In the next section, Seeking the Sacred on Earth, you will
find a nest symbolic of my journey of discovery. The nest was created out of
strips of paper. Some strips had notes on them, documenting thoughts or actions
wherein I acted out of my ego rather than love. Other strips document moments
of love. Included are miscellaneous strips reminiscence of moments and events
that have shaped my life this past year. All the notes are now hidden under a
layer of paint, paper beads, shells, sea urchin quills, matches, wax and
fragments from a chestnut tree. These items represent very personal moments
wherein I saw my decision to love or to be unloving. The interior of the nest
is filled with my hair on which have been laid two types of eggs. One type of
egg has ruptured and is decaying. The other type of egg is beautiful and
carries an engraved spiral, my personal symbol for God’s presence. The decaying
eggs represent the unloving choices while the blue, spiral engraved eggs
represent God’s presence, God’s love, in my life. The nest is held between
sticks as an offering to God, similar to the gesture in The Rising. The base is loosely held in place by twine, reminiscent
of the threads I am pulling from my face and eyes, the threads that wounded the
innocent and the red yarn of The Rising.
The meaning is complex.
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