Paintings Aside

When I was young, I loved looking at art. Like one might expect, I began with representational art and grew to appreciate impressionist art and even a few abstract pieces. For me, art is about feelings and meaning, and when I think about Thanksgiving, I remember loving the Norman Rockwell version of Thanksgiving, entitled Freedom from Want. With table surrounded by family and loaded with food, the painting made me happy. I wanted to be at such a table, to be among such a family. It seemed perfect.

Much to my delight, as an avid Modern Family viewer, they used the Norman Rockwell painting as the basis for their Thanksgiving episode. As a class project, students were told to reenact a famous work of art. Manny, one of the characters in the show, chose Rockwell’s painting and assembled his family around a table. On the surface, it looked just like the painting, but no one was getting along. With plastic smiles, they were fighting through clinched teeth. The photo is taken, but soon the family separates, and it looks like the chances of a perfect Thanksgiving are dashed. However, they all find their way to a local diner where the patriarch is sitting by himself. The modern family is united again, and it is perfect, enough.

One of the challenges of all holidays is giving up the paintings. Advertisers, painters, writers, and musicians create views of holidays that are inspirational, appear perfect, but are unreachable. The gap between the dream and the reality is what causes many pain over the holidays. We gather at the table, but, no matter how hard we try, that seat second from the left remains empty. It’s where (fill in the blank) always used to sit. Despite the discussions in the car about getting along, family members are going to drive us crazy. No matter how crowded our table, in-laws and the occasional guests will make us wonder, "who invited them?"

As long as we hold onto paintings, we’re doomed. If we put the paintings aside and gather wherever we happen to be, with whomever happens to be there, there’s a chance it will be perfect, enough, leaving all assembled feeling thankful, indeed.

Yard Signs

As I turned the corner, my heart sank. On the lawn in front of a friend’s house was a political sign supporting a candidate other than the one I will be supporting. (How’s that for gentle expression?) I’ve known him for years and never imagined such political leanings, but the yard sign caused me to question our friendship, and that, perhaps, is the saddest casualty of the present political climate in our country.

I remember tying my cleats outside the gym in eighth grade while older boys talked about the upcoming election. Like most children, I thought the way my parents thought and rooted for the candidate they wanted. When someone spoke about the other candidate, I realized not everyone on the team shared our political views, and my internal reaction was anger, but was raised to never talk about politics.

Then, after coming to faith and going to seminary, my political views changed. I should have anticipated the reaction from my family, but the change made me the political black sheep of the family. One day, when I was holding my young niece in the pool, she said in all childlike innocence, “Mommy says not to talk to you about politics.” Like my reaction to the yard sign, our differing views became wedged between us.

As a person who has spent the majority of his working life in schools, I understand and appreciate the idea of “the academy.” Schools, as places of thought, are based upon the exchanging of ideas and debating differences. Without debate, education becomes a process of getting others to a common way of thinking. (Just look at the protests over graduation speakers, or the fact that comedians will no longer perform on college campuses, if you want to see evidence of the growing problem.) Too often, schools lean far to the left leaving those on the right feeling left out and resentful. In other circles, the ones on the left are ostracized and shunned, while those on the right gloat in self-righteousness. There are plenty of hand grenades for us all as we navigate through our either/or world.

Remembering the wisdom that no one is as good as we may think, nor as bad, I struggle to listen to the last of the political ads. I’d love to reinvigorate our country and be great again, just as I would like us to grow stronger together. Driving through my neighborhood, I try to accept all the views surrounding me. Rethinking friendships based on differing political views is akin to celebrating the first amendment as long as I agree with what’s being said. Maybe this election has been good for us, as hard as it is to see or feel that now. Maybe seeing a completely divided country can lead to a new appreciation for others, and a willingness to hear what they have to say.

My friend believes one person would be the best President, and I the other. Our votes will cancel each other’s out, leaving us to be the friends we were before the election began. 

Twenty Minutes

There’s something about twenty minutes. Whether on the treadmill, elliptical, or, dare I say, walking or running outside, something happens after twenty minutes. Like a switch in my brain, thoughts of calls I need to be make, bills I need to be pay, or a lawn I need to mow give way to noticing how light shines through the trees, flowers smell, or how blessed I truly am. I’m sure there’s some physiological explanation, but I'm happy to wait for it to happen and stand back and watch as my mind, heart, and imagination dance around me like fireflies.

Twenty minutes on my walk this morning, as if on cue, a gust of wind came through the trees, causing thousands of acorns to drop from the trees. Like dodging machine gun fire, I covered my head and ducked. It lasted only a few seconds, but the moment was loaded with significance and meaning.

Before walking, I finished a memoir by Paula Susan Wallace, the founder of the Savannah College of Art and Design (SCAD), entitled The Bee and the Acorn and could not help but laugh at the synchronicity. SCAD is a remarkable school created to teach students to become industrious and adaptable as bees and as solid and lasting as the oaks (which come from acorns).

As I meandered through nature’s shrapnel, I thought of something author Elizabeth Gilbert, said about ideas. They come to us, knock on our door, and it’s our responsibility to answer the knock. If we don’t, the idea will find someone who will. So, too, if we open the door but do nothing with the idea, it will leave and find a more accommodating host.

Because I was past the twenty minute mark, I could see how ideas, like acorns, fall all around us. The question is, what will we do with them? Will we cover our heads and keep walking, or will we take one and help it become what it has the potential to be?

Will we write that book or paint that picture, or leave it for someone else?

Will we introduce that half-baked inspired, crazy idea at the next staff meeting, or remain quiet?

Will we try something we’ve always wanted to do, or play it safe?

Will we follow that hunch and call or write someone on our mind, or just think about them?

Will we sketch the scene before us, or keep moving?

Will we write out the lines of a poem that came out of nowhere, or think about something else?

Will we see in ordinary events something inspirational and tell others about it? . . . We will, if it happens after twenty minutes!