The painter
My habit is to write down a spiritual intention each morning. Recently my spiritual intention was to accept and trust the gift of grace. In the Christian tradition the word grace is often translated as unconditional love or unearned love. The Greek word in the New Testament is charis. The use of the word depends on the context and can be translated as kindness, love , good will, loving kindness, or God’s mercy.
In non-religious context the one might think of grace as the gifts which one is given. Father Greg Boyle who works for/with those coming to out of the violent survival gang life of Los Angeles as described in several books including Tattoos on the Heart reflects on the fact he cannot take credit for the fact that luck or chance or some other unnamable factors resulted in his being born to a particular family with opened certain doors for him rather than being born the son of parents living in survival mode whose only options seems to the violent life associated with the street survival in sections of Los Angeles and other cities. In any city one can quickly move from the luxury of a gated a condo community to a precarious cardboard, worn canvas or wall less home. One can ask, “Why them? Why me? What responsibility do I have as result of gifts I have been given (the grace I have been given?)”
As gas prices seem to soar as quickly as temperatures are dropping here in Tulsa, Oklahoma, on a recent January day, I decided to fill up my car’s gas tank. I was quickly reminded of the luxury of having a car and of not having to ride my bicycle on this cold, winter day. I also was acutely aware I was not one of those whose home was on the grassy edge of the land which houses the neighborhood gas station and convenience store. On this day a woman who seemed to carry her home with her was sitting on the grassy edge of the gas station lot on a stool painting. She had a coat and a knit hat pulled down over her ears. Her gloved handheld a tiny paint brush. Surrounding her were small paintings for sale.
I thought of my spiritual intention for the day and questioned myself, “How am I using the gifts I have been given? Would I, in her position, be painting out in the cold? Would I even have the courage to face another day and night?”
How shall I use the gifts I have been given? Can I infuse my gifts with the courage and the strength of the Painter?
What shall I learn from this teacher, the painter? What can it mean to accept and trust the gift of grace?
If not careful, I grow heavy with the responsibility of gifts while the painter shares her gifts with humility. She does not seem to look for the pride of position, exclusive art galleries, or the fame of a Georgia O’Keefe or a Van Gogh. She smiles through her chapped lips nonverbally proclaiming, “Here are my gifts. Buy them. Don’t buy them. Do not pity me. I am not burdened by the arrogant heaviness of your heart.” She does not repeat the words of Descartes, “I think because I am.” Her dance says, “I am. ”
How shall I trust and accept grace of gifts, the gift of grace?
Written January 20, 2022
Jimmy F Pickett
coachpickett.org
My habit is to write down a spiritual intention each morning. Recently my spiritual intention was to accept and trust the gift of grace. In the Christian tradition the word grace is often translated as unconditional love or unearned love. The Greek word in the New Testament is charis. The use of the word depends on the context and can be translated as kindness, love , good will, loving kindness, or God’s mercy.
In non-religious context the one might think of grace as the gifts which one is given. Father Greg Boyle who works for/with those coming to out of the violent survival gang life of Los Angeles as described in several books including Tattoos on the Heart reflects on the fact he cannot take credit for the fact that luck or chance or some other unnamable factors resulted in his being born to a particular family with opened certain doors for him rather than being born the son of parents living in survival mode whose only options seems to the violent life associated with the street survival in sections of Los Angeles and other cities. In any city one can quickly move from the luxury of a gated a condo community to a precarious cardboard, worn canvas or wall less home. One can ask, “Why them? Why me? What responsibility do I have as result of gifts I have been given (the grace I have been given?)”
As gas prices seem to soar as quickly as temperatures are dropping here in Tulsa, Oklahoma, on a recent January day, I decided to fill up my car’s gas tank. I was quickly reminded of the luxury of having a car and of not having to ride my bicycle on this cold, winter day. I also was acutely aware I was not one of those whose home was on the grassy edge of the land which houses the neighborhood gas station and convenience store. On this day a woman who seemed to carry her home with her was sitting on the grassy edge of the gas station lot on a stool painting. She had a coat and a knit hat pulled down over her ears. Her gloved handheld a tiny paint brush. Surrounding her were small paintings for sale.
I thought of my spiritual intention for the day and questioned myself, “How am I using the gifts I have been given? Would I, in her position, be painting out in the cold? Would I even have the courage to face another day and night?”
How shall I use the gifts I have been given? Can I infuse my gifts with the courage and the strength of the Painter?
What shall I learn from this teacher, the painter? What can it mean to accept and trust the gift of grace?
If not careful, I grow heavy with the responsibility of gifts while the painter shares her gifts with humility. She does not seem to look for the pride of position, exclusive art galleries, or the fame of a Georgia O’Keefe or a Van Gogh. She smiles through her chapped lips nonverbally proclaiming, “Here are my gifts. Buy them. Don’t buy them. Do not pity me. I am not burdened by the arrogant heaviness of your heart.” She does not repeat the words of Descartes, “I think because I am.” Her dance says, “I am. ”
How shall I trust and accept grace of gifts, the gift of grace?
Written January 20, 2022
Jimmy F Pickett
coachpickett.org
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