Yesterday I was talking with my friend Lori about all the things that were concerning me going into this weekend's big annual Art Show on Main at Union Center. People are praying, work is coming together but still these anxious thoughts and legitimate concerns sit on top of my brain like unwanted squatters. I say to Lori "I don't mind working and praying and even being tired. But I don't want to miss the beauty of all that is going to happen. I don't want to be walking around like a squinty-eyed grouch." Lori laughed (God bless her), reminded me that it was going to be OK and promised to pray.
Fast forward to last evening. I knew I needed a good night of sleep so I mixed up my best sleep-aid cocktail that involves smooth Canadian whisky, Sprite (because I'm a girl afterall), a shot glass and a lighthearted book. I'm laying in bed reading a lovely, old Moss Hart autobiography my mother gave me and this sentence stopped me mid-page: ...there is an old and fond phrase in the theatre which actors whisper to each other on opening nights: 'Eleven o'clock always comes'. Well, there's comfort in that sentiment, I guess. That no matter what happens with the big, scary thing you're about to risk, the clock will keep ticking and, eventually you'll be able to slip behind the door of your private dressing room and move on with your life. Well, I guess there's comfort in that.
So I say to myself, November always comes. But it doesn't feel that comforting because I know that the temptation to close my eyes and hold my breath through the month of October is not the way to truly live. It's not the way to be alert to the small beauties that come, no matter what. I don't want to miss the graces of art and community that will happen this month. I don't want to miss the invisible breezes of the Spirit caressing all that is good and difficult about our fourth annual Art Show on Main.
In the interest of walking through each moment with this kind of awareness, I'd like to share some of the small beauties I've already seen along the way. There's far more that can be recounted here, but the discipline of writing even a few of them down is good practice in living and praying with my eyes wide open. Alert to the ways God is showing favor on our labor. Assured of the reward, seen and unseen.
Here's one for starters: