potted hands

As I munched on my asparagus, dill new potatoes and garlic herb chicken, I listened to several fascinating conversations. I was sitting next to a hand sculpture who discussed her art, process and comissions. My initial reaction to the conversation was: creepy. Imagine a pair of hands on a table or bookshelf. But, as the discussion developed, I started to think about the differences between male and female hands-- subtle but distinct. Memories of my grandmother's and my dad's hands floated into my head. She chatted about how ever since she started sculpting hands; she'd become aware of how much we use them-- even when we talk. Everybody became more conscious of their hands, but in a good way: using a fork, wiping my mouth, talking.

That was not the only conversation. There were conversations on drumming in Ghana, classical guitar, cooking chicken, compost, Food, Inc., dishwashers, organic, pottery, drawing, painting, Van Gogh, Asberger's, etc. The dinner was delicious and the conversation stimulating. As I sat in the chapel for evening prayer, Irenaeus's "The glory of God is a person fully alive" sprung to mind. The fascinating conversation stemmed from passionate women living life. I was by far the youngest (probably by about 25 years), but I found these women engergizing. Sometimes I dread getting older and lament how I've wasted time, then I come across these house wives, retired teachers, real estate agents that are nothing short of amazing. They took adversity and set backs (cancer, divorce, deaths of loved ones, career loss) as opportunity. After cancer or surgery, some of them started ministries or took Healing Touch. For them, adversity transformed into love and mercy for others instead of bitterness. The only thing they had in common that I could tell was relationship with God. These women's conversation weren't selfish or self-centered. The meal was the communion of saints. This dinner was nourishing and humbling.

The conversations led to self reflection. I'm no potter, no artist, no cook. But, who am I? The thought that popped into my head was studying for 8 hours straight (11am-7pm) this Tuesday. A lot of people couldn't do that. Granted, studying is the antithesis of sexy and seemingly pointless (grammar and classroom management). But, there's always the x factor in our lives: God. I'm nearing the end of Eugene Peterson's exposition of David's Life, Leap Over a Wall, and it's taking root in my mind. Writing about I and II Samuel, he states:

"We're getting a feel for the kind of narrative written here-- an immersion in the human condition with all its glory and hurt, promise and difficulty. But we're never left with mere humanity, mere history. The skill of the narrator keeps us alert to the presence and purposes of God being worked out in this story. We're being trained to read between the lines, for much of this story is implicit. But it's unmistakably there-- David isn't David apart from God. None of us is. Most of what we're reading about in David is God in David....

"The David story is a major means for providing us a narrative context for understanding our lives, in all their complexities as God-shaped.... ...Christians have characteristically lived themselves into the story of David.
As we do that, one of the things we realize is that the Christian life develops organically. It grows from a seed that's planted in the actual soil of our muscles and brain cells, our emotions and moods, our genetic code and work schedule, the North American weather and our family history....

"This is why the David story continues to prove so useful: it doesn't show us how we should live but how we do live" (pp. 137-9).

So reading the story of David this month, including the Psalms, with Peterson as my guide has been therapeutic. It's turned some of my angst into hope and faith... or at least converted the energy. I get frustrated with how utterly puny my life is. Last week, a friend and I started crying because we were laughing so hard from talking about our unexpected (and tragic to the naked eye) lives. But, we can laugh because we know there's more. There is, in fact, a loving, personal and gracious God who is as active in our lives as He was in David's. After all, that's the gospel: "The gospel is never a truth in general; it's always a truth in specific. The gospel is never a commentary on ideas or culture or conditions; it's always about actual persons, actual pain, actual trouble, actual sin: you, me; who you are, what you've done; who I am; what I've done" (Leap p.185).

But, perhaps I should replace "puny" with "small". PD James wrote, "Things good are small and fragile" to defend writing murder mysteries. Being on retreat has been replete with things small and fragile: Queen Anne's Lace, hugs, smiles, walking, naps, blueberries and hammocks. Meister Eckhart wrote, "If the only prayer you said in your whole life was, 'Thank you,' that would suffice." God's as present in my classroom of seventh graders as He is in the potter's studio of clay hands and as He was in David's field of sheep. My challenge is to be alive.