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September 15, 2005
Painting Memory
Last night, we walked to an old haunt of ours, a bluff on mountain that boasts a sweeping view of the city. The edge of the cliff bleeds into the textured darkness of the mountain and then splits into a swath of sparkling city lights. It's beautiful.
Two years ago, that bluff came to symbolize many of the hard, frightening things that God was gently, insistently pushing through my heart. Each time Noel led me there, each time I dangled my feet off the universe's rim, He made me less and less afraid. It was startling, breathtaking, occasionally painful, and demanded to be remembered. So I painted it; a water, pigment, and paper memorial.
I still love that painting, but I am overjoyed, too, to realize that the solitary, tense figure is no longer me. When we stood on the bluff last night, we stretched out our arms to the glittering valley below. Now Chattanooga, the twinkling strip that reached from outstretched fingertip to fingertip, is my home, and the man whose arms reached even wider is my husband. We are still trusting, He is still faithful.
(And, ironically, that painting now hangs in the school librarian's home.)
Art | By elissa | 05:17 PM
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Comments
Elissa, thanks for this post...it's moving and beautiful and encouraging. And very hope-filled.
Thanks also for letting me loiter in the Writing Center...and for the jelly beans and pretzels and Jack Johnson!
Posted by: hannah s. at September 15, 2005 11:51 PM
