Advent I: Bumpy Pottery

Over the years, the accomplished ceramicist changed the style of her art. She continued making bowls and mugs (among other things), but the form of her creations changed. Instead of smooth surfaces, her works became bumpy, rough, and unpredictable. The change wasn’t so much a decision as an evolution, an organic response to the artist within. There were people who celebrated the change, others who wished she’d go back to her old style, but at a recent art show she was given all the affirmation she needed.

She was one of many artists assembled in booths in a large hall. People wandered throughout, stopping occasionally to examine her work, but then looked around for more conventional pieces in the booths nearby. Then it happened. She noticed a woman looking closely at one of her mugs. She held it close to her face, so close her face almost touched it. “She’s probably looking for mistakes,” the artist’s inner critic said before she approached the woman.

“May I help you? You seem to be examining that piece closely.”

“Forgive me,” said the woman, “but I am nearly blind. I came looking for your work specifically because you create the only ones these eyes can see. The edges and bumps make it possible for me to see the pieces, plus I love the way they feel.”

The artist smiled and felt the woman had given her a gift, a gift of encouragement that made her determined to continue pursuing this new style of art.

When I heard this story, I knew I was being given a lesson about much more than pottery. As I envisioned the woman cupping the mug in her hand like a precious gift and squinting her eyes as she searched for visible edges and bumps, I knew I was being encouraged on my way toward living a more authentic life. There was a time when I tried very hard to hide my bumps and edges. I wanted to look like everyone else, but the veneer cracked and suddenly my edges, bumps and other “imperfections” were exposed. It was awful, and I longed for my old shiny, smooth life until I saw people drawing close, squinting their eyes and reaching out to touch my bumps and edges. At first, I thought it was to point out my many imperfections, but I’ve since learned that it was to see me better. Those very things I sought to hide were the things they were looking for. Like the woman with the pottery, it was the edges and bumps that made me visible, knowable.

During this time of year, we often dress up and present our best selves to our family and friends. We want the world to see our shiny selves, but if the season of Advent invites us to do anything it is to shed the veneers and bring our full selves to the season - yes, the bumps, edges too. Some people may walk away, but others, the one’s who truly matter, will draw close and hold us in a new way. They will squint their eyes and see us, truly see us, as if for the first time. Suddenly, they’ll see the work of the potter in all its uniqueness and maybe be invited to do the same.

What a wonderful Christmas that would be for us and the people around us.

For more on the artist (Lisa Howard): https: //www.lbhdesigns.net/

Leaf Piles

Something there is that … loves a leaf pile.

Just the sight of one conjures memories as plentiful as the leaves assembled. My senses come out to play as I look at the collage of reds and yellows, listen as my shoes shuffle through, imagine the dusty taste when we used to have leaf fights, and the feeling when leaves lodged down our shirts.

When I was a child, a man named Mr. Carnivale came to our house with his crew to clean up the leaves. He would throw a tarp on the ground and create a towering pile of leaves then turn away for just a second before reaching for each corner of the tarp. That was my sister’s and my invitation to jump in the pile of leaves. He acted like he didn’t know we were there and carried us away to the curb. He was not a large man but was strong as an ox. Without fail, he acted surprised to see our two heads pop up out of the pile, and we would race around the other side of the house to do it all again.

My days of jumping in leaf piles, let alone being carried, have long gone, but the piles I see still conjure nostalgic feelings of joyful play and carefree living. Watching the last leaves swirl their way to join the others reminds me of life’s seasons. I think about those whom I’ve loved who are no longer, of chapters of my life that have come and gone, and the fact that one day I, too, will follow their example and return to the earth.

To everything there is a season . . . the familiar words go, and the vivid example offered by this year’s leaves bring not sadness so much as an invitation to let my soul take a deep breath. “Enjoy this moment,” I say to myself, as I jump in one more time.

Believing Mirrors

(Dedicated to “The Tribe”)

Early on in my life as a creative, I learned about “believing mirrors,” those people who see in us and reflect back to us our true selves and encourage us on our way, but it was another thing to encounter such “mirrors” first hand. I recently visited some wonderful creative people I met a year ago and realized each one of them sees in me something I don’t and reflects back to me things I never thought possible. The experience was disconcerting. In fact, I was tempted to look behind me each time they talked to me thinking they were talking about someone else! It made such an impression on me that I wanted to share it with this small but loyal reading family.

Have you ever had, or do you have now, anyone you consider a believing mirror? They’re the ones whose gaze penetrates your soul and whose smile invites you to take a deep breath. They’re the ones who are curious about what you are up to and don’t let you dismiss their inquisitive questions. They’re the ones who remind you of what you have done in the past when your confidence is running on fumes, and the ones who dream dreams in a way that invites you back into the sandbox to build magical kingdoms. Believing mirrors put air in our tires and fill our tanks in ways that propel us beyond our limited horizons.

At some point today, take a moment and think about people you have, or have had, in your life who are/have been believing mirrors. Get specific. Remember the precise moment they reflected back to you who you are and who you could be. Let the gift of such people fill your soul with divine gratitude.

Then, ask yourself if you’ve been such a person to someone else? When and to whom did you offer such life-giving reflection? Who is in your life right now who could use such a person to encourage them on their way?

I think I’ve reached that stage in life when I only want to concern myself with what truly matters, and surrounding myself with people who are believing mirrors, and trying to be one too, is a step in that direction.

Regardless of what stage of life you are in, I hope you’ll come along.