My Word For 2022
New Year’s Eve 2021 already feels like six months ago, for The Preacher and I.
Because after a beautiful Christmas season, after selling out my largest collection of art and ornaments to date, and after buying a fabulous sequined t-shirt just for family New Year’s Eve dinner…
…I tested positive for Covid on exactly December 31, 2021. And because I snuggle The Preacher, he came down with Covid, too.
Two of my grand girls and I, on just about the very last day I felt human.
The week immediately following Christmas, the weather here in East Tennessee was so balmy and wonderful, that the whole culdesac, plus my momma, decided to get out, set up The Preacher’s Nikon, and capture some family photos.
four generations of God-loving girl-power…
In less than one week, my attitude went from owning and feeling all this generous, feminine power - to wishing the fleas of a thousand camels into the hair extensions of the woman who messed up my grocery delivery.
And I may or may not have also threatened to drop-kick kittens:
Ok, I did. I did threaten to drop kick kittens. I was an aching, anxious, angry Covid lady.
But none of those words (aching, anxious, angry) are my word for 2022. I just needed to bring you up to speed. I’m all better, now.
The Lord actually gave me my word for 2022 this past November. I have been seeing repeating numbers since 2018, and their significance is profound for me. Suddenly, I realized the coming year was a repeating number. And the Holy Spirit said, “Collaborate with Me creatively in the coming year, daughter. Two are better than one.”
I also had the immediate longing to do important work with dear friends. And so, after hearing this word “collaborate”, within three days, two large collaborations came in - both of them with friends of mine: I am now one of the contributors for the magazine Eden and Vine for the coming year, and I will also be bringing you another art and lifestyle class on Jeanne Oliver's creative network - a class that I believe will be my best and most important work there, to date.
I have a strong intuition that there is one more large collaboration out there. I’m just waiting on the Lord for it. (And no, I’d never drop-kick a kitty, in case you are that next person/company/collaboration, and you are now very worried as to the content of my character!)
My most recent finished art
As I was recovering from the dreaded ‘rona, the Holy Spirit took me to the book of John, chapter 20, verse 22 (“2022”). It was one of the holiest moments of my life, and here is what it says:
“And with that he breathed on them and said, “Receive the Holy Spirit.”
As lovely as the other collaborations will be, this year, it’s this collaboration with the Holy Ghost that’s got me all excited. I can’t wait to see what He wants to do together with me.
A Season of Loss, And A Season of Harvest
It has been a few months since the last blog post. The same lapse in words happened for about the same space of time, in 2020. And it was for the same reasons.
As difficult as 2020 was, 2021 has “one-upped” it in every way, in my life. That’s saying a lot, seeing as 2020 brought the loss of my father. (I taught at a beautiful artist’s retreat, at Eagle Rock Retreat Center, three days after my father’s funeral.)
This year, I lost my “best girl”. We were best friends since high school.
Two weeks after speaking at her Celebration of Life, in late October, I taught again at that same beautiful artist’s retreat.
I will never understand the way that life really does go on.
(Beautiful Eagle Rock Retreat Center)
In April of this year, my precious friend Melissa received the devastating diagnosis of advanced pancreatic cancer. She fought hard and well, for months. I had the profound privilege, in a very simple way, of “walking her home”.
I can’t lie - as wholeheartedly as I prayed for her complete healing, I had to admit to myself that the spiritual atmosphere around her felt thin and yet weighted with glory on our short bi-weekly visits in her home, whenever she felt well enough between chemo treatments.
Looking back, I wonder if I will replay those conversations in my mind until I see her again in heaven.
How do you hold down a conversation with someone who already has the light of eternity on their face?
We mostly talked of everyday things. As best as I could tell, that seemed to comfort and cheer her the most. Or did it comfort and cheer me the most? I’m afraid I’ll never know the actual answer. We watched the hummingbirds visit her feeders, we talked of our love for flowers, and even laughed about a few things.
We did speak of eternity and friendship and family and our regrets in life - but not as much or as often as you might think.
It is with a deep sigh that I wrap my mind around my losses. Twice, in less than a year, I have walked someone I dearly love home to heaven. Twice, in less than one year, I also had clear, advanced notice that heaven was imminent for someone I adored, unless there was a miracle.
Still, in both instances, we always mostly talked of ordinary things. And it felt right. Because…well, because heaven was imminent. The hope of heaven is as solid and real as the sunrise.
In 2020, with my dad, we watched old John Wayne movies. Only once did he want to discuss a serious memory. One day, he did mention something that took place between us many years ago: he didn’t like my choice in a husband, once upon a time. Though he did walk me down the aisle that November evening in 1986, he had asked to have the part in the ceremony removed that said, “Who gives this bride in marriage?”
Because, in his mind, I was making my own choice - one with which he did not agree.
Obviously, he was wrong. And he had apologized to me several times over the ensuing years, and every time I had told him that all was forgiven.
But he wanted to hear it from me one last time. And got to be there to look into his eyes and assure him that the thought of it never crossed my mind anymore - ever. Everything had been that thoroughly forgiven - so much so, as to be quite literally forgotten. I earnestly said to him, “Dad. I really never even think about it. Ever. It is like it never happened.”
His voice shook with emotion, and he thanked me.
And that was that. Otherwise, all of our conversations were of everyday things. Mostly, I often watched him nod off to one of those John Wayne movies.
Real life has a way of being surreal, and not at all like any book you’ve ever read.
Because alongside the biggest losses of my life so far, there are the biggest harvests.
The Preacher and I celebrated 35 years of marriage this week, and I need somebody to know: I was all there. (Thank you, Melissa….thank you. You didn’t realize it, but you were my teacher.)
I was fully present to every bit of it. This enneagram 5, always-up-in-my-head wife was wholeheartedly engaged. I was in my body, and savoring joy. I could feel, down deep to the marrow, the gift that I have in my marriage, in my family, my grand children, my church, my art…
…I sense that finally, after years of committed practice, I have learned how to easily, naturally, “love what is mine”.
The long obedience in one direction that comes with cherishing what has been given to me, as it has been given to me, without wishing any of it to be one bit different than it is, is reaping a staggering harvest of blessing.
It is well with my soul. All is more than enough. Every gesture of love and friendship that comes my way, feels like grace upon grace. I’m living a dream I have not earned and do not deserve.
I don’t need “change for the sake of change”.
I don’t need to compare myself to anyone - not my burdens, not my blessings. All of it, grief and glory, has made me who I am.
More and more (and more), I am getting to know the Holy Spirit as “Comforter”.