Time and space for painting and writing is scarce this summer. Without accessing those deep creative parts of my being, at times I feel dry and out-of-touch with myself and with God. But I am simultaneously aware that my heart is storing away moments like treasures from a far-away land. Moments in time that, when there is time, I will pull out like a mosaic. I will hold it in the morning sun and savor its glittering sweetness. I will paint, I will write.
Moments of joy. Of watching a son swing a bat, sending a ball out into the air like his dreams reaching into the future.
Moments of sorrow. Of lying in the grass at midnight with a son and our beloved greyhound, dying of cancer. Of surrounding our dog on the patio on the day he died this week, and feeling love immeasurable as we met one another’s eyes, as our dog gazed into each of our eyes and knew he was loved.
Moments of frustration. Of watching a child throw a temper tantrum, with stomping feet and all, about something small, knowing it is really about grief.
Moments of struggle that somehow become moments of joy as they are engulfed in love. All of it flowing into and through my soul, becoming who I am.
The time will come, in the fall, to capture it all through the gift of creativity. But for now, I’m simply embracing each moment. I’m grateful to be alive and present. I am pretty sure that being present, in and of itself, is art.
In this passing moment, as I catapult into the next, I realize: last summer at this time, when I grabbed precious time to paint, I painted a dead weed. This year, I am painting tulips. Summer has come.