Sparks, Pieces, and Other Reflections

It was surreal. I had come to see an old student and meet her family, and as I sat across from her two daughters it was as if I was sitting across from pieces for her. The eldest had her dark hyper-focused eyes, but the youngest had her smile. We were sitting on the floor playing Apples to Apples and the eldest was just as determined to win as her mother had been when playing field hockey. The youngest was just glad to be together which reminded me of when her mom and friends would come over from the dorm, sit on our floor, and watch ER while munching mounds of popcorn.

The two girls were not their mother, of course, but there were pieces of their mom in each of them. Like sparks from a fire, bits of their mother’s light shone through her daughters. It was as if I could see the student I once knew through her daughters, like they were reflections of the student I knew once.

I couldn’t help but wonder if we aren’t like that, sparks from one fire, reflections of someone else. I was thinking not only of my parents, but also the one behind all creation. Are there pieces of God in all of us? Do sparks from God’s fire shine through us? Can we know something of God by knowing something of each other?

I guess that’s what the author of Genesis meant by writing we are made in the image of God. I’ve heard that all my life but did not appreciate it until I sat on the floor with my student’s daughters.

In what way do you have “pieces” of your parents within you?

In what way do you reflect an image of God (regardless of imperfections)?

What does such a way of looking at each other mean to how we treat one another?

Artist Way Announcement

Forgive me, please, for using the Brushstroke subscriber list to make an announcement, but I want to reach those who live in Greensboro and might be interested in joining a creative/spiritual think-tank called The Artist’s Way.

A small group is forming to read and participate in the twelve-week creativity course designed by Julia Cameron. We will meet on Mondays at 4 in my studio and work our way through the amazing course that is sure to awaken parts of us that have fallen asleep or we didn’t know existed..

It will demand reading a chapter a week, attending most of the weekly meetings, writing by hand each day, and other activities designed to awaken us spiritually and creatively. It will last for twelve weeks.

If you are interested, please call, text, or email me asap 336-337-3442 or chipbristol@gmail.com. We have room for three more and want to begin soon.

Epiphany 2019: Offering our gifts.

It was the moment of truth. After working our way through the usual Christmas carols, we reached the one that always caused me to avoid eye contact with everyone gathered in my Great Uncle’s living room. It was time to sing We Three Kings, and I desperately wanted to avoid being selected to be a soloist. Even in my youth, I was a magnet for solos. (It wasn’t because I had a good voice. I just wasn’t good at saying “no.”) My gray flannels began to itch, and my necktie tightened. “Let’s see,” our host began as if he hadn’t already made up his mind. “Who should be one of the wise men this year?” My face gets red just writing about it.

It’s not that I disliked the carol. I liked it. I still do. I just didn’t want to sing by myself. I wanted to be part of the chorus. What if I hit the wrong note? What if my voice cracked? I can still hear my snickering relatives when our host looked directly at me and appointed me the last king.

My reluctance was understandable. Few of us want to be a wise man (or woman). After all, people might point as we climb up on our camels and look in the sky for a star. They might snicker because we believe we’re being led, even though we have no idea where our journey might take us. Then, if we survive all that, the time comes when we arrive and present our gifts. Is our gift good enough? How will it compare to what others give? Such thoughts are enough to make clothes itch and ties tighten.

And yet, today we celebrate the three kings, wise men, magi, or whatever you wish to call them. We celebrate their faithful journey, their persistent searching, and their arrival in Bethlehem. We also remember the gifts the offered. In our celebration, however, there is an echo: What journey are we on? Do we feel led, and will we stick with it to the end? And what gift will we offer? Do we have any gold, frankincense or myrrh to offer? If not, maybe we can give something more valuable, ourselves - our minds, heart, and, yes, maybe even our voices.