A LIFE OF DISCOVERY
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I always cherished the moments when I would walk with my grandfather down the railroad tracks on our way to the Saint David River. This land was always special to me because we had this unspoken understanding that we walked on sacred ground. We shared a bond because we both knew that dreams sprouted from the earth here. From my five-year-old viewpoint it felt magical.
One afternoon we were walking down the train tracks to the river in St. David. I looked up at my grandpa’s face to see his twinkling eyes surrounded by the light of the sun in a blue afternoon sky. He called me his “grand-chicken” as he teased me about dragging him through the moss-covered mud with it squishing between our toes. My hand was safely wrapped in his as I pulled him along laughing. My Grandpa was a dreamer, a wordsmith, and my protector.
Years later when he passed it became heart wrenching to think of his St. David land sitting there empty without him, and his dreams for the land unfinished. I avoided thinking of that place so that I wouldn’t have to grieve him all over again as I had done so often these past twenty plus years. Yet again I felt the sadness of his memory overtake me as I sat alone to process my grief, and I asked a question out loud: “how many times do I have to grieve him before I can remember him with happiness? I was so frustrated that the darkness of grief all these years had overshadowed the joy of our memories. I had an immediate answer come barreling into my mind: “paint”. It was such a distinct answer that I sat down straight away to try watercolor painting for the first time. I allowed my grandpa to be with me in that moment, and it was the first time the grief gave way to joy in over 20 years.
I chose colors and textures that felt like him. I used the shape of a miniature saw to shape the center of the painting. It was a purposeful choice, and more than a coincidence that I had just found the saw blade that day on my hike, because it was an exact replica of a larger saw that my grandpa chose to have a mural of St. David painted on. Through painting, I felt that Grandpa’s spirit came to life, and the once empty place in my heart was forever filled with joy. I felt that I could carry on the legacy in a way that felt right to me. Instantly, I knew that I was meant to paint for others, so they too can experience the light of joy that heals grief in the way that my grandfather’s painting did for me.
Have you ever experienced that moment of clarity where everything in your mind and body synchronizes? That feeling of deep joy rising to the surface, allowing you to see your life’s purpose?
For me, that experience was profoundly peaceful and it felt like it would last forever. The excitement started to build around the idea of creating the life I was destined to lead. A life of spreading this deep joy.
Unfortunately, I was facing a suffocating reality with so many obstacles in the way of what I wanted to do. I desired to make rapid progress toward my goals and dreams, but I felt entrapped by anxiety and even health concerns. No matter what I did, I felt like I was constantly failing to be in control of how quickly I wanted to reach my destination.
My wise mentor, on the other hand, gently suggested that I sit in the metaphorical dirt because the greatest power and strength come from the humble moments of suffering that we surrender to. He said that in some cultures people intentionally sit on the ground just to learn contentment in the discomfort of the dirt, even when there is a more comfortable option. He said that the moments of surrendering to what is can be difficult to do, but can be one of the most transformative decisions. His suggestion struck me on how important it was to find contentment in my current set of circumstances & especially honoring the discomfort of my anxiety and health concerns.
In an attempt to release my stubbornness and control, I implemented his teachings while painting what it felt like to surrender to life’s hardships in pursuit of joy. I chose to embrace the highs and the lows and to appreciate the moments in between.
I will never forget the day when I was making dinner, and my 17-year-old son walked out. He had his backpack on his left shoulder and his suitcase in his right hand. He said he was moving out and was never going to come back, which was terrifying because he was obviously on drugs again, enraged, and it was hard to know if I would ever see him again. Alive. As a mother, the fear of losing a child is penetrating
beyond words, and nothing could truly describe the heartache of knowing there is nothing I can do about it. I often find myself searching through my thoughts for him. I always see him in my arms as a baby, and he is belly-laughing at the sound of loose change bouncing on the table in front of us. It speaks to me how he delighted in the simple beauty of that moment. That memory takes me straight to the time he was eight years old at a family vacation at the beach noticing the merchants suffering in the heat. He decided to collect a cooler full of water bottles to run over to each of them as they passed by. I believe that my boy and his heart of kindness and joy still live on somewhere, and I cannot help but keep searching for him in hopes that he will return. That must be exactly the reason it is so excruciating to feel so far away from his little heart of love and joy. Only the earth could begin to hold the sorrow of that kind of loss and drink in the limitless tears. Only a mother could hold on to hope for her boy when all hope seems lost.
Each painting is a journey to create a unique piece of artwork that heavily resonates with you, guiding you to discover healing. I would love to meet with you and help you Discover Healing through Art. Click the button below to see how you can discover your healing.