Old Report Cards

I shouldn’t have looked. 

My sister had sent me three boxes of things that belonged to our mother, one of which was full of things specifically about me. There were programs from shows I’d been in, what seemed like every letter I’d ever written to her, and also all my report cards from third grade on. I’m not sure why she would have kept my report cards. They were not special. Far from it. In third grade, I was diagnosed as a dyslexic, and all the grades and comments reflected a significant struggle in school. I didn’t need the report cards to remind me. The memories are a constant companion fifty years later. 

It seems we often take the time to look at the past, even when we know what we may find. 

“Chip will never be much of a writer.” 

“His spelling is atrocious.”

Maybe by doing so, we bolster the myth that we are defective. If we read or listen to the voices of the past, we not only get the affirmation of all the negative things we’ve acquired about ourselves over the years, but also permission to stay in the myth that has become our life’s chorus. 

It is much more difficult to listen to other voices, the ones who say we are marvelously made (PS 139 ) and that our imperfections are what make us unique and specifically qualified for the purpose God has given us. Like Moses, Gideon, Isaiah, and Jeremiah (and countless others) we can show God our report cards as proof He’s got the wrong guy or gal for the job, but those examples also prove how often our excuses point to what makes us uniquely qualified. It’s hard to listen to the other voices. As Julia Robert’s character in Pretty Woman says, “The bad stuff is easier to believe.”

Like a drunk discarding a lifetime of bottles, I placed the file of report cards in the trash and walked over to the desk to finish the first draft of a novel. It may not be the best novel ever written, and, yes, I have no doubt many words are misspelled, but those aren’t the point. They never have been.

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”

                                                                                 Marianne Williamson

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.