"It's alright. Let her keep them."

May 13, 2015

It was a lovely gesture; this giving of a flower to my Mom, on Mother’s Day.  There were half a dozen to choose from: blushing pinks, subtle yellows and flashy reds. Most, if not all of the moms had been in the morning church service, but we went in the evening, as I had been at work earlier in the day.   As Pastor Pernell presented the vase to Mom, for her to choose a flower, she just took the entire vase into her hands and said, ever so graciously and so happily: “Thank you.”

A moment I will not soon forget, I felt heat climbing up towards my face.  I tried to explain to Mom that she was to choose one.  Thankfully she did not hear me, with her nose in the sweet bouquet; nor did she hear the answer to my unspoken question:   ”It’s alright; let her keep them.” 

Even now, I have tears in my eyes.  Mom was blushing, and her cheeks matched the hue of the flower in her hand.  I could hear church family smiling; no, they were not laughing at her, they were smiling.  Incredible to me, that we could all share in that precious moment; it felt like a foretaste of heaven, and I am so very thankful.  Oh, the kindness of the Lord, not to let me spoil it with a feeling of embarrassment; there was no shame to bear and only love to be seen and heard.

Over the next few months, I hope to focus my heart and my mind on the fruit of the Spirit, giving a month of meditation for each one, in the order in which Paul has written:

“But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control; against such things there is no law.”  (Galatians 5:22, 23)

How timely it is that May, this month of new beginnings, has love as its focus.  

Poiema

May 8,2015.

Mom and I have been working on art projects.  When I first arrived home to live with her, she decided she wanted to paint her cat, Angel.  At 89 years of age, she did need a bit of help with angling the box “just so,” in which Angel was crouching.  Other family members added some shading and texture so now it hangs on our wall, and it’s a sweet reminder to me of what Mom can do.

At 90 years of age, she decided to paint a picture of the home where she was raised.  We only live two kilometres from there so we drove over and took some pictures.  This time around, she needed more help with depth perception, colour choices and keeping the windows straight, (which was my job but I won’t be hired any time soon)!  She wanted me to add my signature to hers, at the bottom of the painting.  I told her: “Not this time around, Mom.  It’s mostly your work.”

Now, at 91, she has started a new project.  Painting Evangeline, the heroine of Longfellow’s poem, is a labour of love as Mom is 100% Acadian, (and so am I, for that matter)!  We found a simple drawing, but Mom has not been able to keep her focus.  By the time she looks at the picture and then turns to her easel, she loses her moorings and ends up erasing everything and starting again.  Now, I have picked up the pencil, and we are doing a work of art, a handiwork; together.  The Greek word, “poiema,” has the idea of this “handiwork,” and Paul writes it into an amazing verse about Christ working in us so that we can then work out of love, for Him:

“For we are His workmanship, (poiema), created in Christ Jesus for good works,

which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them.” (Ephesians 2:10)

We get our English word, “poem,” from this Greek word and it is so- our lives are a poem, a work of art, written by God and yet we are implicated in the writing of it; we as believers have choices to make.  Will we participate in the work God has already prepared beforehand, for us to do, or will we relinquish that precious gift and let the poem be an unfinished work of art?  Paul ends the phrase by admonishing us to “walk in them;” be busy at the work you have been called to do.

Mom and I will both sign the painting, when all is said and done, and I wouldn’t miss out on that for all the world.

Even though I am in a bittersweet frame of mind, thinking back to Mom’s beautiful paintings over the years and looking now at this canvas filled with my feeble strokes, I am grateful, as we are creating this poiema together.   I have been reminded that the canvas of my own heart has been transformed by the power of the gospel; a work of art attributed to the Creator of the universe.  I don't intend to miss out on the unfolding of the rest of the painting, on the rest of the poiema, for all the world.