A Prayer for Those Living in Crisis
Crisis is so hard. It takes SO MUCH energy to navigate. The constant demand. The fear of the unknown. The need to pay such incredibly close attention. It’s exhausting. I got news yesterday that a friend from college, waiting for a liver transplant, just had her 6th liver fail. Six times she’s prepared and hoped and prayed and then nothing. Still waiting. Still praying. Still hoping.
Crisis is so hard. It takes SO MUCH energy to navigate. The constant demand. The fear of the unknown. The need to pay such incredibly close attention. It’s exhausting. I got news yesterday that a friend from college, waiting for a liver transplant, just had her 6th liver fail. Six times she’s prepared and hoped and prayed and then nothing. Still waiting. Still praying. Still hoping.
Another friend who is chronically ill just learned she needs yet another surgery, but that surgery has to wait until after the other surgeries. Then she broke her thumb and now she can’t open her prescriptions by herself. She lives alone.
My heart goes out to anyone in a crisis. I pray for you right now. This minute. I pray that you can keep the insanity outside of you and that somehow you can find some place of quiet inside of you. Despite the fear. Despite the craziness. Despite the exhaustion. I pray God comes to you in real ways that you can see and feel as you crawl beyond this instance.
But a special prayer for those in a dark season of constant crisis. Perpetual crisis is a whole other level of fear and responsibility and exhaustion. Your burden is great and my humble prayers for you know no words. I know this place. This place with no knowing. Everything grows quiet among the beeps and emergency, and pressures of the unknown that most are blessed to never experience.
I lived in constant crisis for years as my late husband faced multiple health crises and eventual death. Dozens and dozens of trips to the ER. Countless hospitalizations. I couldn’t tell people how bad it really was. Who wants to hire a coach or a speaker whose unstable life is crumbling before her very eyes? I had to keep working as we had to eat. Someone had to pay all these medical bills.
A medical diagnosis is a terrible thing, but most of them come with a known path—maybe a terrible one, but known. It’s an entirely different experience to realize I was not on any known path, where no one could help me, and I had no idea all of the ways this would cost me.
Only after years of rest could I start to see the toll of the constant vigilance and care and struggle to survive. I paint it out now. I catch glimpses of that trauma in my art and in my memory and physical triggers and I start to see and remember. It’s so big I can’t take it all in at any given moment, but I can see it better than I could before.
My prayers are for you—you who share in this season of perpetual crisis. May you find space in the between the hard. May you find the small ephemeral blessing in each moment and find ways to abide there. May you find a deep well of faith. I hold that space with you right now in my prayers and in my paint…until you can find it for yourself.
Being Brave
It’s a fresh new year. Maybe you find yourself in this new year with an entirely new life. Maybe you got kicked out of your old life – divorce, death of a loved one, loss of a job or career. It feels terrible. Everything hurts and feels unfamiliar. You need recovery time for sure, but that FIRST year is a tough one. All your comforts and all your habits are up for grabs. They don’t necessarily work anymore or maybe they just don’t feel good because they remind you of what you don’t have.
It’s a fresh new year. Maybe you find yourself in this new year with an entirely new life. Maybe you got kicked out of your old life – divorce, death of a loved one, loss of a job or career. It feels terrible. Everything hurts and feels unfamiliar. You need recovery time for sure, but that FIRST year is a tough one. All your comforts and all your habits are up for grabs. They don’t necessarily work anymore or maybe they just don’t feel good because they remind you of what you don’t have.
My first year after my late husband died, I decided I needed a good ole dose of feeling brave. I needed to practice it. The first thing I did was figure out what would qualify. What would make me feel brave? Initially, I didn’t even know how to answer that. Practicing being brave was a new idea to me. I’d never tried before. This little game wasn’t so fun. It didn’t feel good right off, but I stuck to my quest. I didn’t realize that it might make me feel good about myself at a time when I spent so much time feeling shaky, weak, and helpless. It shifted my perspective from focusing entirely on my loss into one of (reluctant) exploration or inquiry. Maybe I could fuel myself forward in this life I didn’t want by practicing feeling brave?
It made me feel brave to opt out of our family holiday traditions. I spent Thanksgiving and Christmas on my own. I sat down and wrote 19 letters of love to friends on Christmas Eve and sent them all at midnight. It was the most Christmasy thing I’d ever done! It felt brave to choose what I needed over what everyone wanted for me or maybe wanted from me.
Being brave was also going home to an empty house. The pit in my stomach eventually cued me into the fact that I needed to change the energy in that space. I started to try and figure out what would make me feel comfort there. The old space was clearly haunted by my old life. Bringing nature inside the house felt good. Rearranging the bedroom felt good. Getting rid of some furniture and thrifting for some new pieces felt good. I painted all the walls by myself. I rented half my house to someone else. It felt brave to make those changes. It felt a little like I was erasing my old life too, but more like I was trying to find a way to live in this new life.
Painting my walls led to me taking an art class and painting canvases. I got more serious about my art which had languished for years. I was too busy before to consider painting, but once my life got blown up, painting a canvas made me feel brave in a weird and unexpected way. Facing an empty canvas and putting my marks on that surface. Self-expression felt good.
Eventually, pursuing what made me feel some sense of bravery somehow made a path to my new life. It gave me some sense of control and brought a small level of meaning to this hard season and made me feel better about myself at a time when I could hardly recognize myself. Being brave gave me what I needed to build a new life of beauty and art. Today, I still practice bravery through my painting explorations.
If this new year is forcing you into a new life or a new identity, I encourage you to think about small things you can do that will make you feel courageous. Courage to be brave will lead you to a full heart with a full life, you see. I pray courage for you, dear friend. Tell me what you’re practicing to feel brave.
In the Darkness of This Season
I spent some of my fall gathering good sticks and pinecones, milkweed pods, bird and wasp nests, dried sunflower heads, driftwood, and other bits of nature to live with us in our home. I filled my Christmas tree and decorations with it. I will keep some of those special little treasures in the house through my wintering.
I spent some of my fall gathering good sticks and pinecones, milkweed pods, bird and wasp nests, dried sunflower heads, driftwood, and other bits of nature to live with us in our home. I filled my Christmas tree and decorations with it. I will keep some of those special little treasures in the house through my wintering.
Preparing for the holidays starts early for me so I can indulge in the joy of the season. And this year, I pared it all down. Fewer gifts. Fewer activities. Less prep. We did some simple hosting. Friends over for appetizers and treats and a good conversation. Celebrating our relationships. We thought about what relationships we wanted to grow and explore, where our energy brought joy, and where it was reciprocated.
I think about the same in my art. What did I discover in my art practice that filled me with joy? Where do I want to go with my practice? What to explore next. This has become a celebration ritual that is deeply important to fuel me with the creative energy I need to keep going.
Then we turned in for the quiet, early darkness. I crave the cozy. Dozens of candles came out with the thick blankets and hot drinks. More sleep. More books. That rest births a special energy that urges me to dig in. Not in a hurried frantic way, but in a thoughtful, more purposeful sort of way. I've been dreaming big dreams for this year and I can't wait to bring them to life and share them with you.
I work in alignment with the seasons. I'm currently painting the last 6-8 paintings for my book of poetry and paintings I plan to launch in the Fall of 2024. I've been working on that book off and on for the last almost 5 years. It will take more work to bring it to fruition, but the creating phase of that project is nearly over. Then I will focus on design and publishing tasks so I can finally bring that entire experience to you.
I'm also planning my next series of paintings for this year. It's early seed work. It's a restful time with focused action. I love the feeling of productivity without all the rush. Some people have seasonal depression, and I've struggled with that in the past myself. I'm wondering if my creativity is the best antidote for chasing away any blues that may come with all the winter greys. Getting outside. The contrast of birch trees against an evergreen grove. The soft blended grays of lake and sky. The special quiet of deep snow and days of sparkling ice. All lovely gifts for me. All fodder that never ceases to surprise me as it works its way into my paintings.
You have loved me through so much and I'm finally in a season where I can finally share more. I want to explore where my faith, nature, art, and beauty have come together for me. This year I want to share more of my thoughts with you, more of my paintings. I can offer you a greater view into my process and my life. I want a deeper connection with you. It's time.