Spirituality Out of the Box
A website of Inspiration, fueled by the creative work of Chip Bristol
Brushstrokes are meditations designed to let our souls breathe together. Offered weekly, brushstrokes seek to inspire us all to look at life more deliberately. Written not by someone with all the answers, but one wanting to ask questions along side others, I hope whatever I offer points readers beyond my words to something, or someone, greater than ourselves.
If you are fed by a particular brushstroke, please let me know and share the reasons why. Also, please share them with others and encourage them to subscribe so our spiritual circle widens.
Dear Brushstroke readers,
For some reason, the last three brushstrokes have not posted. We think we have fixed the problem, but I wanted to post this to make sure and to let you know I haven’t fallen off the face to the earth.
Thanks for reading Brushstrokes.
Chip
"I am the vine; you are the branches" JN 15:5
Up the road from where I live is a home for sale. It’s been on the market for years with no one living there and it’s beginning to show. Behind the house is a small terrace with a pergola to provide shade and intimacy. The thick vines climb the structure, and branches create a canopy across the top. At least they did once. The years of neglect are showing.
As thick as the vines, as plentiful as the branches, I sensed trouble as I walked by. The leaves were turning brown and beginning to curl. Like the weed-infested garden and chipped painted shutters, the neglect was beginning to show.
I continued on my way and remembered why I went for a walk. Having been away for a series of trips, I was feeling spiritually disconnected. It had been weeks since I had begun my day with my usual routine of coffee and meditation, and going to church was beginning to seem like a distant memory. I wanted to reconnect with my soul. I wanted to listen for God.
Instead, I saw a terrace with a withering canopy. It took me a while to realize that maybe that was what I needed to see, that was what I needed to hear.
I made it through the National Gallery in record time. With the look of a speed walker, I made my way through the impressionists, portraits, religious art, and abstracts in a way that made each piece a blur. My classmates arrived in the lobby an hour later, and I stood there proud that I had won, which is how I felt. But the fact was, I made it through the gallery fast, but I never saw any of the art. I walked by paintings and sculptures, but I never stopped and looked, felt, or experienced one piece.
I’d like to say that experience long ago was unique, but I know better. Everywhere I look I see how I am always racing. Whether through the grocery store, a social gathering, or even church, I seem fixed on making it to the lobby in record time. Just this week I was skiing and found myself racing down slopes rather than taking in the view, the air, and the sound. Yes, I made it to the bottom in record time, but I don’t remember a thing about the run.
Lent is a season when we slow down and try to feel, see, smell, taste, and hear our lives again. For people like me, that’s a big undertaking. I’ve always found it easier to lower my shoulder and put greater effort (and speed) into things, but what Lent asks is that we lift our shoulders, take a deep breath, and look around. In doing so, we will re-discover our place in the world, the people who walk beside us, and the wonder that surrounds us. The world constantly says, “speed up,” but our souls cry out, “slow down”.
This is the season that asks, to which are we listening?
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