Goodness Abounds (Part Two)

I had just gone upstairs to take my afternoon nap when I heard the doorbell ring. When I opened the door, there was a man whom I didn’t know waiting on the sidewalk.

 

Long story short, the man was Andrew the Roofer who had come to collect his check. As he came into the house, he noticed the piano to the right.

 

As he waited for my mom to write the check, we chatted about music. He explained that he didn’t appreciate having to take piano lessons as a kid, but he now appreciates knowing music theory and being able to play the piano.

 

He said, “If Dan weren’t asleep, I’d play a little song for you.” I said, “Oh, it won’t matter. He can’t hear the piano all the way back in his room.”

 

And so, after Andrew the Roofer got his check for the hard, physical labor of roofing, he, mom, and I went to the music room where he sat down and began to delicately play the keys.

 

He played for at least ten minutes, becoming more and more comfortable the longer he played,

clearly enjoying himself and the momentary escape that the music gave him.

 

Having no idea that my mom is practically a professional pianist, he asked her to play a little for him. She, of course, blew him away. He sang along to the melodies he recognized and when she finished playing, he just said, “Wow. You didn’t miss a beat,” and then requested Greensleeves 😊.

 

Mom once had a busy UPS worker stop for a moment on the porch to listen to her play, but she’d never had a roofer come into the house to sit at her piano and play for himself!

 

As Andrew the Roofer was leaving, he said, “This has inspired me to get out my keyboard and play more often.” I smiled. And after he left, mom and I looked at each other and said, “That was weird. And neat.”

 

And it was.

The power of music had spoken.

And I got to bear witness.

 

…

 

A few months ago, Barb The Art Teacher gave me some tins that she’d collected from her Aunt Pat. On Thursday night, as I lay in bed trying to sleep, I thought to myself, “You should make B something with her Aunt Pat’s tins.” B texted me the next morning to tell me that her Aunt Pat had died the night before. Coincidence? Maybe. But I can’t help but think not.

 

And so I went into the studio and began to peruse Aunt Pat’s tins. I deconstructed some things and pondered what I could make, but nothing spoke to me until suddenly it did. Early in our careers, B and I sat outside of our classrooms on the picnic tables behind the school and had a pomegranate seed spitting competition. A few years later, it became a joke with B and me that “Art is not art unless you put a bird on it.” One of Aunt Pat’s tins had a pomegranate on it. Another had a bird.

 

When I put them together, it was as if it was meant to be.

The power of art had spoken.

And I got to bear witness.

 

…

 

As we enter 2024, may we bear witness to

Music and

Art and

Goodness and

Light.

 

God IS goodness.

And goodness abounds.

 

Amen.

 

The HeART of Healing

 

A couple of weeks ago,

I had the opportunity to lead a grief support group for a friend.

I was part of a series called the heART of Healing.

Since the event was during my weeks of no voice,

And since my main gig is music,

I had to think of something different to do…

So, I thought, why not blackout poetry?

After all, it HAS become my spiritual discipline.

 

Nervous to undertake the activity with a group,

I did my best to explain it.

In short, I said:

Think of the page’s words as your word bank.

You can keep the words in order in true blackout style,

Or you can use the words out of order and draw connecting lines in modified blackout style.

It’s up to you.

Just sit with the words and see what comes.

 

And they did.

 

And what came, I later found out, was beautiful.

 

One woman wrote and shared a poem about her grandson who died by suicide a year ago.

She doesn’t talk much about it.

It’s too hard.

But she found words on the page to express a bit of her grief.

She read aloud…

“That I could hug you one more time.”

 

Another woman saw only one phrase on the page.

She tried and tried to find something more,

But all she could see was…

“I couldn’t quit sobbing.”

In those words, she saw a reflection of her reality,

And she realized she needed help.

Uncontrolled depression had overwhelmed her.

She was drowning in her own tears but she didn’t realize it until

She saw it on the page.

She is now getting help.

 

And a man, a poet and musician,

Suffering from bi-polar disorder,

Who hadn’t really left his house in a month—

For whatever reason, came to the session.

He had never heard of blackout poetry,

Yet he connected with it and found a life-giving outlet.

 

Friends: I know that blackout poetry isn’t for everyone.

And that’s fine.

Blackout poetry isn’t really the point.

Creating is the point:

Working with God to express a thought, feeling, emotion, or reaction—

Working with God to make something not made before.

Poetry, song, fiction, blog, cross-stitch, crochet, knitting, macrame,

Watercolor, acrylic, pen, ink, tin, a coloring sheet, a garden…

Creating is a process.

It is healing and transformative.

Not everything will be a masterpiece.

But everything will be good.

Because you will have created with God,

Who called God’s creation good.

 

Oh God of Creation: Help us to create alongside you. And thank you for the heART of healing. Amen. 

Spirit Ball

 I’m not supposed to have favorites—

Really, I’m not.

So…

Let’s just say that there are certain students for whom I have a special place in my heart.

Two of those students happen to be in the same Monday class this year,

So Mondays usually see some heart-warming moments,

And a week ago Monday was no exception.

 

One of the students who has wormed his way into my heart

Is a repeating first grader with ADHD.

He is so very sweet, and so very full of energy,

And so very creative,

Which, according to him on that particular day,

Is because his stomach often hurts and

That makes his brain and hands create things.

 

As he sat at my desk creating that day—

Which is what he does when he comes to class,

Regularly interrupting me to tell me things—

He suddenly said,

“I think I know what God’s spirit looks like, Ms. Deaton.”

Curious to know more, I asked him to continue.

 

He said, “When your dad dies, his spirit goes into a spirit ball.

And he’s with your granddad in the spirit ball.

And you know how you think everything is dark when you die?

You open your eyes in the spirit ball and you see this bright light and it’s God!”

 

He explained this to numerous students as he created his spirit ball.

I didn’t stop him.

Instead, I just listened and looked at him with such deep compassion.

His dad died suddenly and unexpectedly over the summer.

I don’t know if someone explained the spirit ball to him,

If his creativity made it up,

Or if he’s seen the spirit ball himself.

I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s seen the spirit ball.

God has a way of speaking to children who have a way

Of seeing and hearing God in a way

That adults don’t.

 

So, yeh.

I’m not supposed to have favorites.

But ever so often, a student lodges him or herself in my heart.

This student is firmly lodged.

I think you can see why.

 

Oh God: Grant us the faith of a child. And help us to hold to the hope of an eternity in light, with you, instead of in darkness, alone. Amen. 

No Fear Worm

This is what I see every morning when I come down the stairs: Marcenivo holding a sign that says “No Fear” and a yellow worm shining bright in colorful, abstract forest.

The titles of these words, respectively, are “No Place For You Here” and “Worm Shining Bright In The Forest In The Night.”

The artists are, respectively, Fabio Napoleoni and Dr. Suess.

The print mediums are, respectively, paper and wooden puzzle.

The purchase places are Fascination St. Fine Art in Denver, Colorado, and Gallery of Fine Art in Wilmington, NC.

The pieces were framed, respectively, by Nick and Steve at Hobby Lobby in Sanford, NC, and by Deanna and Sandra at home with a frame ordered directly from the puzzle company, Liberty Puzzles.

Not much is the same about these pieces. And yet they both set the tone of my day:

Live with no fear, Deanna. There is no fear in love. And be a worm shining bright in the dark in the night. Even in the middle of the day.

May they set the tone of your day, too, friends. Let’s be fearless, glowing worms together!

Love And Heartache In Between

In January, I had the privilege of officiating my second wedding. The wedding actually happened in two parts: Part one was a private ceremony at the hospital while part two was the public ceremony in an old church in Wilmington. At the time, the bride’s father was very sick and wasn’t able to attend his daughter’s wedding, so we took the wedding to him. Both parts of the wedding were beautiful, but the unplanned hospital ceremony was particularly special. It was one of those events that I will always feel humbled and honored to have been part of.

While waiting for that Saturday’s wedding festivities to begin, I went to an art gallery that carries Fabio Napoleoni’s work. [Fabio Napoleoni is my favorite artist.] While there, I was introduced to the art of Dr. Seuss for the first time. I didn’t know that Dr. Seuss artwork was a thing, but evidently it’s a pretty big thing. The gallery owner planted a seed of investment in my mind but that seed lay dormant until Read Across America Week. For that entire week and for the next week after, I thought and prayed and debated between two Seuss works but in the end decided not to get either piece until I could see them in person.

Last week, after a long, tough fight, my friend’s dad passed away. The funeral was Saturday. Because I was going to be in the area again, I decided to stop by the art gallery and look at those two pieces. I’m very glad that I did. In person, I didn’t like either piece. In a surprising twist, however, I found another piece that I really liked and ended up coming home with it. Even now, as I think about the piece, I smile…because I know that this was the piece for me. Will it end up being as great of an investment as the other two? I highly doubt it. But that doesn’t matter. Because it has meaning. I will include the image here so that you can find your own meaning:

The CD player in my car recently messed up. After 17 years of rotating between 6 CDs, I guess it just got tired. It’ll still play one CD, though, so I’ve been pulling random CDs out of my bag of CDs. One of the CDs was a Carolyn Arends CD and one of the songs on the CD sang out the lyrics, “Love and heartache and in between, Life is made up of little things.”

From the love shared in a wedding at the foot of a hospital bed to the heartache shared at a celebration of life, life is made up of little things—letters and writing and music and art and laughter and tears and shared meals and jeans days and talent shows and palindromes and sunsets and walks on the beach and challenges not to waste the time we’re given. May you, dear friends, celebrate your lives of little things and may none of us ever take for granted our moments with the people we love.

What We Can't Un-See

About a year ago, I found myself drawn to a work of art entitled “Rock With A Hole In Its Heart.” The piece was created by a local artist and hanging at the local gallery where Barb-My-Former-Art-Teacher-But-Still-My-Friend teaches classes on weekends.

The piece is abstract. The movement, the lines, the colors—or lack thereof—and the title all spoke to me. When I looked at the piece, I saw the hole in the rock’s heart. I saw a little person sitting on a rock looking at the horizon. I saw an elephant blowing water. Then Barb pointed out the outline of a woman, faceless, featureless, with the hole where her heart would be. It reminded her of one of her works from high school. That piece is called, “The Womanless Woman.” I have that piece hanging in my room. I also now have the “Rock…” hanging in my room. And guess what I see every time I look at it? Not the rock. Not the little person looking at the horizon. Not the elephant. But the woman: the image that I didn’t even seen until Barb pointed it out. Granted, I don’t mind seeing the outline of the woman. It’s not offensive. It’s just that I can’t un-see it.

…

I was talking to a friend the other day about a mistake I made many years back. I said, “If I could go back, I would probably not do it again.” I suppose that sounds weird, but I can’t definitively say that I would not do it again because I know that I’m who I am today because of the past—good or bad—and I know that everything that I know has been learned from what I have experienced, seen, and heard. I can’t un-know, un-see, or un-hear my life.

Sometimes I want to. Sometimes I want not to feel the sting of regret. Sometimes I want not to remember difficulty, hardship, stupidity, and grief. Sometimes I want to go back and change all things bad. But I can’t.

Thankfully, I can’t forget the good things either.

…

When I got into the car on Monday, Sara Groves started singing. As she sang, I realized she was speaking to me. She was pulling at some heart strings directly connected to the broken hearts of a couple of different friends—a couple of different people who, too, wished that they could un-know, un-see, and un-hear some things. And yet…we can’t. None of us can. Full, broken, or empty hearts. And somehow…that is okay. Somehow, we are all okay.

…

I saw what I saw and I can't forget it
I heard what I heard and I can't go back
I know what I know and I can't deny it
Something on the road, cut me to the soul

I say what I say with no hesitation
I have what I have and I'm giving it up
I do what I do with deep conviction
Something on the road, cut me to the soul

Your pain has changed me
Your dream inspires
Your face a memory
Your hope a fire
Your courage asks me what I'm afraid of
And what I know of love

We've done what we've done and we can't erase it
We are what we are and it's more than enough
We have what we have but it's no substitution
Something on the road, touched my very soul

Your pain has changed me
Your dream inspires
Your face a memory
Your hope a fire
Your courage asks me what I am made of
And what I know of love

The Art That Surrounds Me

If you’ve never been to my house, then you’ve never 1) been barked at by Bullet [who is super cute but incredibly protective and therefore inhospitable], 2) heard my mom play her piano [which is an incredible experience], 3) had my dad share one of his breakfast table sermons [which are often profound], or 4) experienced an aesthetic overload when visiting my living quarters upstairs.

I don’t know if it’s because I’m intuitive, feeling, blue, or just plain sentimental, but I like to surround myself with visual reminders of the people I love, the things I’ve experienced, or the words and images that inspire me.

Earlier today, when mom and I saw a storefront building for sale, I joked that we should buy it so that I could live in the apartment upstairs and use the downstairs for my art gallery.

I have a lot of art.

As I write these words tonight, I’m sitting in the orange fish art room. I have a huge fish that Barb the Art Teacher painted me for being Teacher of the Year the first time around, a multi-textured fish that Jack the Nephew made for me in 7th grade art class and another little finger painted fish that Jack made when he was 4, a yard art piece that Holli Who Lived In Laos painted orange for me, four surrealist prints that various friends have given me, and quite a few other pieces as well. They probably aren’t worth much to anyone but me, but to me they are worth so very much.

Then there is my room. The art work on my walls is an eclectic mix that holds pieces from as far back as high school. Currently, I have the pieces in my room grouped by subject/artist. I have a section of paintings that my friend Karen painted for the women’s retreats we used to attend. I have a section of drawings by a local artist that I stumbled upon in Vass. I have a Jesus section—that includes Laughing Jesus and a modern interpretation of the poem Footprints. I have a Fabio Napoleoni wall. I have a cross wall. I have a miscellaneous wall. I even have a wall-border of paper plates that I colored in college.

I have words in my room, too.

Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will direct your paths. Proverbs 3:5-6 [Not only one of my favorite verses, but also cross stitched especially for me.]

Embrace yourself as you are. Celebrate yourself as you long to be.

It’s not about controlling. It’s about being present, being open, being aware—and allowing it to come.

The baby in the womb was the maker of the moon.

And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.

Just keep swimming.

There are others words. Poems that people have written and shared with me. Words that I hold close to my heart.

And there are pieces of pottery. Ornaments. A Scentsy warmer. Orange fish and other collectibles.

Every piece of art in my room has a story that has influenced my story, just like every piece of art in this room has a story as well. And every time I look at the pieces, those stories and the people who helped make the stories run through my head—and I find myself remembering and praying and feeling the full gamut of emotions that they bring. And I am grateful. I am so very grateful.

I Give Up My Right

Yesterday during the children’s sermon, as I was explaining some of the words from the hymn we’d just sung, one of the preschoolers said, “I think you’re trying to make a point.” I realized I must have been boring the kids, chuckled, and said, “I do have a point. The point is that no one can act so bad that God cannot still love and forgive him.” We were talking about Saul’s conversion and how, after being blinded by the light of Christ, he received forgiveness and his life was changed.

During the actual sermon of the day, Patrick the Pastor took his points a bit further. In talking about Saul’s conversion, Patrick wondered what would have happened had Ananias not been willing to visit Saul in his blindness and to carry God’s message of redemption to him. What if Ananias had been too afraid because of Saul’s reputation? What if he had refused to go because of their differences?

As Patrick pondered these questions, he also spoke about forgiveness—about the importance not only of God’s forgiveness to humankind but of humankind’s forgiveness toward one another. If we are to be the church alive in this world, then we must be a people who forgive—a people who can look at one another and say, “I give up my right to be angry with you.”

…I give up my right to be angry with you…

Folks…I need to confess something. While it takes a lot to make me angry at anyone other than myself, it doesn’t always take a lot for me to struggle to be around certain people. I do my best not to show it, but there are people who challenge my capacity to truly be kind and there are people who I would prefer not to keep in my company. I am not proud of this reality and it is a reality with which I struggle, so Patrick’s statement about giving up my right to be angry with someone really struck a chord in me.

It’s not really anger that I feel most of the time. Oh. I feel anger at unfair and unjust systems and toward the figure-heads who promote those systems. But toward individual people in my life, it’s usually something else. Something different. Something that made me zone out of part of the sermon for a few moments and jot down these words:

I give up my right to be angry with you...angry, annoyed, hurt by, bothered. I give up my right to worry what you think of me. You only have the power I give you. You are not better than me. I am not better than you. I give up my right to think of myself more highly than you. I give up my right to judge.

Fabio Napoleoni, my favorite artist other than Barb the Best, has a piece called Jimmy’s Revenge. I’ll include its image with this note. The story with this piece is this:

To fully understand this title you have to understand the story of Jimmy. Jimmy is that odd little boy in school (the outcast) that sits there doesn't talk much and seems to be very shy. In reality Jimmy is very observant, witty and greatly dislikes those who lack compassion, those who feed of greed and most of all those who thrive of sorrow...

And what is Jimmy’s revenge? Love bombs. Jimmy throws love bombs.

I give up my right to be angry with you...angry, annoyed, hurt by, bothered. I give up my right to worry what you think of me. You only have the power I give you. You are not better than me. I am not better than you. I give up my right to think of myself more highly than you. I give up my right to judge. And I embrace my right to throw love bombs.

And that, dear friends, is the point.

Defining Moments: Please Fill This Emptiness

“I just saw some of your favorite artist’s work,” I read. “There’s a big display in an art gallery in Miami.”
“I love him,” I replied.
“I like him, too. His work makes me feel. And that’s a good thing in art.”

His work makes me feel, too, and it’s made me feel deeply since the moment I laid eyes upon it at Pop Art Gallery in Downtown Disney in July 2011.

After spending the week at a work event in Orlando, FL, my friend Amy and I stopped at Downtown Disney to get some food and visit some shops before beginning the drive back to South Carolina.

When we walked in Pop Art Gallery, Amy and I parted ways, each walking around the store to take in the sights on our own.

As soon as I looked at Fabio Napoleoni’s display wall, I was mesmerized. I stood there and gazed upon his paintings and prints, and I wept.

I felt sort of stupid standing in the middle of a busy store crying, but I couldn’t help it. Fabio’s work spoke to me in a way that no artist’s work had spoken to me before. I got it. It made me feel. And so I soaked it in respectful awe until Amy came around the corner, shook her head at my tears, and laughed at me for wearing my heart on my sleeve (and everything I own).

Fast forward a few months and find my brother at Downtown Disney. Having unsuccessfully been able to find Fabio’s work cheaper online and having been unable to get his images out of my mind, I asked my brother if he’d see if the piece that had resonated with me most deeply was still there. It was. And not only that, but Fabio was going to be at the gallery that next weekend. If I purchased the canvas then he would sign, date, and Remarque it for free.

I purchased the canvas. “Please Fill This Emptiness.” And to this day, when I look at it, I get it:
I get feeling beaten down. Exhausted. No energy left to keep going.
I get longing for love. Reaching. Hoping against hope that love will come.
I get being surrounded by beauty but only being able to stare at nothing.
I get being shielded by friends and family stepping in to hold the weight of the world.
I get it.

And tonight,
as I process the suicide of a former student and member of my youth group,
as I feel the hurts of those who have been emotionally damaged and abused,
as I still grieve Kay’s death and mourn the loss of baby Sam just two short months ago,
as I cry for students whose parents are so absent that they do not realize their child has no underwear,
I am reminded that I am not the only one who gets it—
Who prays each day,
God, please fill this emptiness.
Please.
Fill this emptiness.
Amen.