i do.

"Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish 'til death do you part?"

Even if couples choose to write their own personalized vows to read before the "I do" and "You may now kiss the bride," I've heard this said by the pastor and repeated line by line by the bride and groom at just about every [American] wedding I've ever been to. And having been an intern for a wedding planner and having been to more weddings of friends, family, family friends and church members than I can count, I've heard these words quite a few times.

So most of us have at least heard these vows before and some could probably list them off by heart. But it wasn't until a couple weekends ago that two families I love made me realize what they really meant.

"In sickness and in health..."

For many people, marriage [or if you don't believe in marriage, insert "true love," "soulmate," "life partner," "companionship," "intimacy," etc.] seems to be the goal [or at least a goal]. Sure, you may have other hopes and dreams or things you want to do beforehand, but there seems to be security in ultimately "settling down." Wouldn't it be nice to have someone to grow old with? Isn't it normal and expected to want someone to make plans and decisions with, to have fun with, to share intimacy, to share everything? Aren't we entitled to that? Isn't it what society expects of us? When you finally find your person, won't that, at long last, be it? Deep whooshing exhale...ultimate fulfillment...sappy Facebook posts...let's start a family....Right?

Maybe you're realistic enough to know that another person cannot fulfill you and that the more you want him or her to satisfy you, the more he or she will disappoint you and fall short of your lofty expectations. Okay, so maybe you get that. Or maybe you're already married and can remember wanting to be married so badly and are wondering why you ever thought this would be such a joy when your tone-deaf husband won't stop singing in the shower or your oblivious wife keeps putting the toilet paper roll on the wrong way. Or maybe things are going pretty well...you each have your quirks and pet peeves and differing opinions, but you've learned to communicate well and work through things even after the rose-colored glasses have long since been buried in the bottom of the dirty clothes hamper or accidentally thrown in the trash that is definitely his turn to take out.

So that's another level of healthy realism that acknowledges both the desire to be with someone and the reality and "it's not always rainbows and butterflies; it compromise that moves us along" [Why am I quoting a Maroon 5 throwback to middle school?]

But what if your husband is diagnosed with Lou Gehrig's Disease?

Lou Gehrig's Disease, or Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis (ALS), is a progressive neurodegenerative disease in which motor neurons reaching from the brain to the spinal cord die, causing the brain to lose the ability to initiate and control muscle movement, eventually resulting in the under-nourished muscles atrophying, or wasting away.

Two weeks ago, I visited a very dear friend of mine. I met her at a Christian conference four years ago, and we've never lived in the same city or even the same state, but we have kept in touch, I have visited her family, she and her sister came to stay with me in Rome, and whenever I'm with her I never feel like it's been months or even years since I've seen her. She's truly, to quote Anne Shirley, "a kindred spirit."

The last time I visited her family was the summer before I went to Italy. Her dad had just been diagnosed with ALS and they were planning to move to a house without stairs and wondering what else the future might hold. That weekend, her dad was a little different than the first time I had met him, but he was still kind and hospitable and funny. I had dinner with their family and her parents told me about their experience in the two-year program that I was about to do as well. We laughed and shared stories and talked about what God had been doing in each of our lives. At the time, they were on the brink of what they knew would be [and already was] a difficult time. But they never stopped trusting in the Lord's sovereignty and provision. They hadn't lost their joy.

Two weeks ago [almost three years later] I visited them again. As always, being with my friend was a blessing and it felt like we hadn't spent any time apart. We caught up on each others' lives and I told her about leaving Rome and starting grad school and I heard about some of the many ways she is so intentional about ministering to people in her life. 

She also told me how her parents had moved to their family's farm, and we went to visit them. Her mom hugged us and said, "I just finished rubbing his feet and he just laid down for a nap, but you can go in there and say hi!"

The man on the bed was much thinner than the last time I had seen him. He has trouble breathing on his own now, so he was wearing a breathing mask. But when I walked in, he immediately stretched out his arms and I bent over to hug his feeble frame. He can't communicate verbally anymore, but through gestures and spelling out words in the air, he told me, "I like your haircut! Have you lost weight? You look great!" He then proceeded to make a joke about what they would put in his feeding tube at his daughter's wedding reception. 

I've been reflecting a lot on this amazing family and their unwavering faith...and the joy and fierce love they have for each other and for God despite [or maybe even because of] difficult circumstances. How would I deal with the possibility that my dad wouldn't be able to walk me down the aisle at my wedding? What if I had to bathe my husband and help him go to the bathroom and he could no longer literally "have and hold" me or "love and cherish" me physically? Or what if my body was wasting away and I felt like a prisoner inside of it? Would I, like Job's wife, develop a "curse God and die" attitude? 

It just made me think....we are not promised health. When I envision marriage, I certainly hope and even expect that we'll have fun together, be travel buddies, serve and help each other, and make babies. But what if that's not the case?

"Til death do us part..."

Okay, it was an emotional weekend. Not only was I blessed and challenged by my friend and her family, but I also went to visit Kyra's parents. Kyra, in case this is the first post you've read, was my supervisor's wife/very dear friend who was killed in a car accident six months ago. I wasn't able to come back to the U.S. for the funeral, so this was the first time I had seen her parents and sister since the accident...the first time I saw where the tractor-trailer careened down the hill...saw pictures of the car they were in...went to the graveside...saw and heard about the struggles her family is still facing in the aftermath.

What if death does quickly and unexpectedly do us part?

Marriage [or love/companionship/intimacy/whatever] does not come with a satisfaction guarantee. It could [and probably will] include disappointment, disillusionment, inconvenience, loneliness and loss. 

So should I throw in the proverbial towel? Should I live in fear of what could happen? Is love too much of a risk? Should I still trust God when there is so much tragedy and pain and brokenness in the world? Should I dread the trials and the sufferings and the "what ifs"? 

I choose to believe Moses's words to the people of Israel in the wilderness still apply to God's people in the "wilderness" of this life before we reach the Promised Land: "Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the Lord your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you." [Deuteronomy 31:6]

Did the other weekend change my perspective? Do I now see the reality of the vow to be faithful "for better or for worse"? Do I now realize that I do not deserve nor am I guaranteed "better," "richer" and "in health"? Do I know that marriage is not going to bring me happiness or fulfillment? Do I now realize that, whether God's will is for me to get married or not, my life may not turn out the way I had planned or expected? Even so, do I want His will, His way? Do I believe He works all things together for the good of those who love Him and are called according to His purpose? Do I trust He has laid down His life for me in order to be in a covenantal, committed, eternal relationship with me? Do I commit to honor and love Him, no matter what [in marriage or in singleness]?

I do.

going green.

Everyone expects moving to a new country to be difficult. Not everyone expects returning "home" to be just as challenging.

Traversing oceans and being smacked in the face by culture shock and being surrounded by people who don't understand you (both because you don't speak their language and because your experiences have given you a worldview and mindset that differ from theirs) are all rough. 

But traversing oceans and being smacked by reverse culture shock and being surrounded by people who don't completely understand you (because your experiences, perspective and worldview are no longer the same as theirs) is also  rough. 

I left Italy on December 19. And it's one of the hardest things I've ever done. The past two years in Europe were both the greatest challenge and the deepest joy of my life so far. 

I beat myself up constantly in the beginning and thought I could never learn Italian. I was paralyzed by fear of failing. I've been hurt by people and had my heart broken by the brokenness of others (and that of myself). I experienced the pain and ache of grief and loss. Losing a loved one has always been one of my greatest fears, and that happened a few months ago. So it's been a tough two years.

But oh. Have these past two years been breathtakingly beautiful as well. I never expected to see so many amazing places or experience so many new things or become friends with so many wonderful people. It has truly been a joy.

So much so that I felt such a heaviness during my last week in Italy. I started stressing about not being able to fit my life back into the three suitcases I came with....How did I have so much stuff?? How was it possible to give so many things away for the last couple of weeks and still have overweight bags and run out of room for everything?? I also started stressing about saying goodbye well. These people had come to mean the world to me and I didn't want to leave without spending time with them and showing them how much I loved them. And because I loved them so much, that constant stream of goodbyes during the last few days just about ripped me apart.

But somehow I managed not to cry through any of it. Not sure if that's healthy.

And I had the most perfect last night in Rome...a night that reminded me of my very first night in Rome...wandering from monument to monument, piazza to famous piazza, just taking in the beauty of my city...the city that had stolen my heart...with people I had grown to love. And of course, there was amazing Italian food and gelato!

Then at 5:30 a.m. on December 19, two brilliant Brits picked me and my bulging suitcases up from my apartment, helped me sort through the contents of my suitcases sprawled all over the airport floor (because one was overweight and the check-in attendant didn't take pity on me), bought me my last cappuccino and cornetto, and waved goodbye as I started the long journey back to America for the first time in two years.

After a layover in London, watching Inside Out in Italian on the plane, and telling the British stewardess "Grazie" and realizing that was weird and wrong and I should probably be careful not to do that in the future, I finally wheeled my luggage trolley through customs and into the open arms of my family and one of my best friends from college holding a "Welcome Home" poster. And then I had my first all-American meal in 24 months: Cracker Barrel. 

Since then, for better or for worse, I've dived in head-first, knowing I would be starting graduate school exactly one month after landing back in the U.S. So in the past two weeks, I bought a car, got car insurance, got a new cell phone and a cell plan, and have been to the dentist and several doctor appointments. Oh yeah, and Christmas and New Year's parties and a trip to Atlanta thrown in there somewhere too.

I'm thankful for the busy-ness that helps me not to dwell on missing Rome. But there has also been down time to think and process and consider the reality of reverse culture shock (the struggle is real). I had read a lot about reverse culture shock and talked about it a lot with people who had lived overseas...but I guess nothing quite prepares you for an experience until you actually experience it.

A friend recently sent me some helpful information about returning to your home culture. Here's what it said about re-entry and some of the ways the difficulty of the transition can manifest itself:

What causes re-entry time to be difficult for some?

Generally it’s because you have changed or are changing in attitudes and values, and are coming back to an environment that has not changed in the same way. The deeper these attitude and value changes are in you, the more likely it is that the transition period will be unsettling. Points of dissonance that you may experience include:

·      Unexpected tiredness, confusion and sometimes discouragement

·      An awareness of habits or behaviors that were second nature before leaving, but seem meaningless or disturbing once home

·      Adjusting role changes, either defined or undefined, that lead to an unsettled feeling

·      A change of responsibilities, a change of pace

·      An unexpected adjustment period leading to frustration or anxiety

·      A sense of loneliness and a need for a close friend to listen

·      An inability to express or share the experience and resulting changes

·      A reaction to North America affluence/ lifestyle/ wealth

·      Disillusionment with the abundance in the North American church and seeming lack of concern for the world

I have experienced all of these things with varying levels of intensity. It's comforting to know that these reactions are normal! Another thing this document said was that you could be an Assimilator (someone who easily fits back into the home culture and quickly forgets the way the experience in the host culture has changed them), an Alienator (someone who becomes very frustrated, pessimistic and critical about their home culture), or an Integrator (someone who is " able to identify the changes they have undergone or are still experiencing and don’t demand immediate closure on them. They desire to see their short-term cross-cultural immersion have a lasting impact on their lives and the lives of others. This means they will wrestle with how to integrate the things they saw, learned, and questioned into creative alternative choices.")

I'm hoping and praying I'll be the latter. 

Someone explained it to me this way a few months before I left Italy and this example really stuck with me: Imagine you have two balls of Playdough, one blue and one yellow. The blue culture is your home culture, the one you left behind. The yellow is your host culture, the new one you're moving into. So you start out pure blue. But little by little, you start to take on some of the properties of the yellow culture. Of course, you cannot actually change your color from blue to yellow, even though you might want to. Rather, you become a mixture of the blue and yellow cultures. You go green. Then you go "home." Everyone around you is still blue. But you've changed. There's a little yellow in you now. And you can't take the yellow out (you've mixed Playdough before...once you squish two colors together, there's no going back). So you're just different. You're no longer blue, but you didn't turn yellow either. 

I guess I need to find some green people who get me ;)

So there you have it...some of my jumbled thoughts and feelings about returning "home"...and how weird it feels to no longer really feel at home at home...

I'm weird. I'm different. I've changed. But that's okay. Times of transition are hard. But that's okay. 

So here's to being thankful for the great adventure of the last two years and looking forward to the next one, whatever He has in store.

il giorno del ringraziamento.

This Thanksgiving was the weirdest, most unique, most stressful and most beautiful of my life.

Let me tell you about it.

Last year was my first Thanksgiving away from family, but I spent it with my "family away from family" in Rome. This year, I journeyed to Bologna to revisit some people I met during my first trip to the city and at a retreat with my friend's church up there. Last year (and every other year of my life) I celebrated this excuse to eat an unreasonable amount of food with only Americans. This year, I was the only American there.

Let's start at the very beginning (it's a very good place to start, after all).

Knowing that I would be in Bologna on Thanksgiving day, my fabulous friend (who is Colombian but lived her preteen through college years in Miami and just married an Italian in October) planned a party with two small groups from her church that consisted of all Italians except for a Scottish guy, her and me. Which would mean that I would be the only full-blooded American (U.S.A., U.S.A., U.S....Ok I'm stopping) there. Which I was really excited about!

Upon my arrival, my friend informed me that we would be making the turkey. That's right. My very first time making a turkey! It was also my friend's very first time making a turkey... (Are you seeing why "most stressful" might have been included in that opening sentence?). 

So on Thanksgiving morning, my friend and I took a 45-minute bus ride into the city center to pick up "Lola" (We were about to get very intimate. She needed a name). We wheeled our little rolling shopping cart thing (the one all the old ladies take to the grocery store around here) along the cobblestoned streets to the meat shop. We passed by the pancetta and chicken (as well as the pig's feet and goat's head) and asked for the turkey she had ordered. Then out come two fresh, ready-to-be-cooked turkeys. We weighed our options (literally...two Italian men held the bodies like babies and hosted them each onto the scale. We went with the big one). After making our decision, the "macellaio" wrapped up our bird (twice, because her legs busted right out of the first bag), and we put her 17-pound (8 kg) body in our "carrello" and wheeled her to the bus stop. Of course, we had to make a pitstop to get some fresh pumpkin ravioli and pumpkin gnocchi to make for lunch and then went to the main piazza to take a few quick pictures, all with Lola in tow. 

When we got back to my friend's apartment, we ate our pasta (SO. GOOD.) and took a good look at the recipe for the turkey. We started by plucking off some feathers that had been left behind. Then we rinsed her off a bit. Then we rubbed her with the butter/sage/rosemary/pancetta concoction the recipe called for (all while taking deep breaths amidst high-pitched squeals of "Eww"). Then we stuffed a stick of butter and fresh rosemary and sage up her butt (or "inside the main cavity," in turkey-recipe jargon). Then we stuffed her in the oven (quite forcibly, because she very nearly didn't fit).

And then we started to get paranoid. We didn't have a meat thermometer. What if it didn't cook all the way and we gave everybody Salmonella? Was three hours really enough time? Tent with foil? What does that mean?? Were we supposed to do that at the beginning or end? Was the skin supposed to kind of bubble up like that?

So we ended up taking the turkey in and out, in and out, tenting her with foil then taking it off, rotating her in the oven, checking to see if she was done by basically lacerating her in several places. 

But alas. Four hours passed. And she wasn't done. 

That's when my friend's husband came home and told us we had the oven on the wrong setting and she hadn't been cooking properly/efficiently/whatever. So back in the oven she went, dooming us to a delayed departure. But fortunately the two casserole dishes of mashed potatoes, pan of cornbread and tray of pumpkin muffins were all ready to go.

Then, finally, she seemed to reach a state of golden, not-too-dry-and-definitely-not-raw perfection. But the gravy! We hurried to whip up this essential condiment. But my ill-timed addition of extra flavor left it nothing short of chunky. So, in a state of near-panic, my friend Facetimed her mom (in Spanish), who told us to try putting it in the blender. It seemed relatively cohesive and "abbastanza" gravy-like after that.

So everything was finally ready! All we had to do was juggle the decorations, the potatoes, the cornbread, the muffins, the pitcher of gravy and the ginormous turkey between the three of us and get it all situated in the car.

But we finally made it to the party! An hour later than expected, but we still weren't the last ones there.

And what a beautiful Thanksgiving party it was! Not only was Lola a hit, but it was such a blessing to see people again and meet some new people as well. 

And this group of Italians taught this American girl the true meaning of Thanksgiving.

Seriously. There was so much more intentionality to it all. Typically my family just eats. I mean, of course we enjoy being together and say a prayer before the meal to thank God for blessing us throughout the year. But at this party, not only did we do that, but after we had eaten, one of the guys basically just shared the gospel (using a clip from the Big Bang Theory. Genius.) and then a few people shared what they were thankful for.

Some things were pretty typical (one couple was having a baby, some said they were thankful for that community of friends, one guy said he was thankful to live in a country with more freedom and safety than many others). 

But one guy said it was good to also reflect on the truly difficult times. The trials. The pain. The dry seasons. 

Because during the struggle, in our desperation, we get the joy of seeing God's provision. Because when we reach the end of ourselves and we realize how much we truly need Him, we cry out for help and we are more thankful when He does meet our needs, because it is inescapably clear that it is His hand...that He -- The Lord -- has done it (Psalm 109:26-27).

It's easy to take things for granted if we feel okay...fine...full...satisfied (enough). Kind of like the way maybe I don't appreciate my Nanny's amazing cooking as much as I would if I had gone without food for a few days...As it is, I just feel so absolutely stuffed from lunch at my Grammy's house that it's hard to truly appreciate the extravagant, wonderful meal set before me at dinner (yes, back in the U.S. I am spoiled rotten by two amazing meals on Thanksgiving).

I like these lyrics from "Great Things (Worth It All)" by Elevation Worship:

Thank You for the wilderness
Where I learned to thirst for Your presence
If I'd never known that place
How could I have known You are better?

We avoid hard times like the plague, but maybe we should embrace them. Even if the situation is painful and exhausting and heartbreaking...it can bring us (almost paradoxically) to a place of true joy...of understanding what it means to be truly thankful...and to be truly thankful for the only Thing that is constant and wholly good. Only then -- when all the "gifts" are stripped away -- are we able to be thankful for the Gift-giver Himself. We are able to love and enjoy Him for Him, and not just for what He gives us.

Something to chew on.

So that was my Thanksgiving Day this year. Then I went up to Turin to celebrate (again) with two American families up there and hug them all goodbye for the last time in who knows how long. (As my friend said, very profoundly and accurately, "Goodbyes suck.")

These were some of the first real, final (for now, anyway) goodbyes. Yup. These last few weeks are going to be rough. Okay, I can't. I'll save the emotion for another blog post when I'm blubbering through my final days here and/or reverse culture shock. For now, here are some pictures of my (two) Thanksgiving(s):

Love from Rome,

Elizabeth 

Il mio mestiere è creare.

"I must create a system or be enslaved by another man's; I will not reason or compare: my business is to create."

I've always loved that quote by William Blake.

Okay, "always" is an overstatement. I've really liked that quote since I first heard it in P.S. I Love You. (I wish I could say I first encountered it when I was actually reading William Blake in college, but alas...a tearjerker chick flick beat Brit Lit II to the punch.)

Anyway, yeah..."My business is to create." As an Art major, I really liked that idea. It was encouraging to think that whatever I ended up "doing with my life," creativity in some capacity would be involved. (And like Holly says in P.S. I Love You, "it doesn't matter if it's a work of art or a taco or a pair of socks...just create something...")

[As a side note, that movie is actually a very interesting and in-depth look at the grieving process, and oddly enough I happened to have been watching it (in Italian...language practice...merely language practice...) the day before I got the news about Kyra. I watched it again soon after and now I can relate to it in a different way. As a friend said recently about losing someone, you just don't fully understand until you're punched in the face by the personal experience of it. Then you're like "Oh. That's what it feels like. Crap."]

As those of you who have been keeping up with me throughout this entire journey already know, my original job description when I came to Italy involved working in a non-profit art gallery. And if you've been reading this blog for the past two years, you also know that it closed shortly after I arrived in Rome due to lack of funding and personnel changes. So, through this "loss" and many other discrepancies between expectation and reality, God has been teaching me about submission and flexibility and trusting His will even when I don't understand it. 

[Other examples have included being delayed three months because of visa issues, my supervisor telling me he was leaving in three weeks as he was rolling one of my suitcases into my apartment complex for the first time, and our original landlord deciding to sell the apartment we were renting just after I had finally unpacked and started to settle in.]  

None of that was what I expected. But I think my experience here has been just as good (if not better!) in spite of (or because of!) each of those changes. So, my new supervisor and his family became like family to me, I felt at home in our new apartment, and I happily settled into my new role that focused more on teaching English and being more involved in my Italian church. At that point, I had just more or less set my passion for art aside, assuming I wouldn't really have an opportunity to create while I was over here.

But plot twist! 

My pastor came to another lady in my church and me with an idea. We were in the middle of a series of discussions on Tim Keller's The Reason for God. Each month, we met in a coffee shop and discussed a chapter, working through questions like "Can there really be just one true religion?" and "How could a good God allow suffering?" and "Has science disproved Christianity?" So, he had this idea of using art to talk about one of these chapters. The chapter he had in mind is called "The Clues of God."

I loved the idea, and immediately the proverbial wheels started turning. How does God demonstrate Himself to us in the world? It's a theme I've enjoyed exploring in the months since Leo suggested doing this art show.

The act of creating is a joy and privilege. Having this art show to work towards was an even greater blessing after losing Kyra. Much of the subject matter of the show changed after her death, inspiring three new paintings and changing my perspective on all the others. 

[Sometimes I think about what she would say if she knew there are two paintings hanging in a coffee shop right now that are meant to depict her...her life, her faith and her love for others. She would probably think it was ridiculous. But these paintings about her helped me process my grief over losing her. Working on them helped me say goodbye to her in a way. And hopefully they will help many people remember how beautifully she radiated Christ's love...that God demonstrated Himself to us in the world through her life.]

So here are some of the paintings. And below is my artist's statement. And Courtney took photos and is going to make a little video too, so hopefully I can share that with you soon as well.

I am many things.

American. Artist. Traveller. Writer. Teacher. Daughter. Sister. Friend.

But above all these things, my true identity is in Christ. I am a Christian. And this affects all the other things about me.

He is my Hope. My Anchor. My Compass. My Captain.

He is also the lens through which I see the world. My faith affects my perspective on everything. I believe God reveals himself to us in the world, if we would only have eyes to see and ears to hear.

He leaves traces. Hints. Clues.

I see Him in the vastness of the Earth and the beautiful diversity of cultures and individual people, because I believe He created the largest planet in the solar system and the smallest atom in the tiniest microorganism. I see Him in a husband’s love for his wife, because I believe the church is the bride of Christ. I see Him in a father cradling and delighting in his child, because God is my Heavenly Father. I even see Him in the brokenness in the world, because it reminds me that only He can heal and satisfy and that this world is not really our home.

I also see Him in other people whose identity is in Him. I’ve encountered few people who reflected Christ so vividly as Kyra Karr. All of us who knew and loved her were devastated when we heard about the car accident and that she didn’t make it. Her death truly rattled me, making me more aware of the uncertainty, frailty and brevity of life. But more than anything, her death made me reflect on her life…how she lived it to the glory of God and how it has impacted my own. So the series about hospitality is for her, because she had the gift of hospitality and she used it to love and bless others. The “Colors” painting is also for her, because she was a “color…[who brought] glory to the Light.”

I love art. I love to create. It is a cathartic release and a small miracle turn an idea and a blank canvas into something beautiful and meaningful. I hope that even in this I could reflect the Ultimate Creator…that the colors of these paintings would bring glory to the Light.

Thank you for looking at these paintings. My prayer is that from now on you might be more inclined to see God in your day-to-day life. That you might be inspired to consider His existence….to consider getting to know Him…

To consider the possibility that He could not only exist, but be Creator, Sustainer, Redeemer and Friend.

Sono tante cose.

Americana. Artista. Viaggiatrice. Scrittrice. Insegnante. Figlia. Sorella. Amica.

Ma, innanzitutto, la mia identità è in Cristo. Sono cristiana. E questo influisce su tutta me stessa.

Lui è la mia Speranza. La mia Ancora. La mia Bussola. Il mio Capitano.

Lui è anche la lente attraverso cui vedo il mondo. La mia fede determina la mia prospettiva su ogni cosa. Credo che Dio si riveli a noi nel mondo, se solo abbiamo occhi per vederlo e orecchie per sentirlo.

Ci lascia tracce. Accenni. Indizi.

Lo vedo nella vastità del mondo e nella magnifica diversità delle culture e degli individui, perché credo che Lui abbia creato il pianeta più grande del sistema solare, e anche l’atomo più piccolo del più minuscolo microrganismo. Lo vedo nell’amore di un marito per sua moglie, perché credo che la Chiesa sia la sposa di Cristo. Lo vedo in un padre quando culla amorevolmente il suo bambino, perché Dio è il mio Padre Celeste. Posso anche vederLo nella devastazione del mondo, perché mi ricorda che solo Lui può curare e appagare e che questo mondo non è veramente casa nostra.

Lo vedo anche nelle altre persone che hanno trovato la loro identità in Cristo. Ne ho incontrate poche che sono state il riflesso di Cristo così vividamente come lo è stata Kyra Karr. Tutti noi che la conoscevamo e amavamo siamo rimasti totalmente sconvolti quando abbiamo sentito dell’incidente stradale e che lei non ce l’aveva fatta. La sua morte mi ha veramente scossa, mi ha resa più consapevole dell’incertezza, della fragilità e della brevità della vita. Ma, soprattutto, la sua morte mi ha fatta riflettere sulla sua vita…come la viveva per la gloria di Dio e quale impatto ha avuto sulla mia. Così la serie sull’ospitalità è per Kyra, perché aveva il dono dell’ospitalità e perché l’ha usato per amare e benedire gli altri. Anche il quadro dei “Colori” è per lei, perché era un “colore che ha reso gloria alla Luce.”

Amo l’arte. Adoro creare. È una liberazione catartica e un piccolo miracolo trasformare un’idea e una tela bianca in qualcosa di bellissimo e significativo. Spero che anche in questo io possa riflettere il Sommo Creatore…che i colori di queste opere possano rendere gloria alla Luce.

Grazie per aver guardato questi quadri. La mia preghiera è che d’ora in poi siate più desiderosi di vedere Dio nella vita quotidiana…che siate più inclini a tenere conto della Sua esistenza…a volerLo conoscere meglio…

A considerare la possibilità che Lui non solo esista, ma sia anche Creatore, Redentore e Amico.