I painted my living room a glorious gold. I had plans to create a beautiful and meaningful space here.
Then I was interrupted...for oh,
a year.
This May all that had been stirring beneath the pause germinated.
What was gained in the meanwhile was well worth the wait.
I now have a sacred space, though not finished yet.
As with me, it's sanctification is both now and not yet.
First let me introduce you to my constant companions in this room.
This is my Lady of South America. When I was 9 my mother bought this piece from Prisca, a struggling artist in Sao Paulo, as a favor to a friend. She is now a well-established artist in Brazil. God finds the most creative ways of putting treasures in our hands. (Not being limited by time surely has its advantages.) She is fruitful and strong and bright against the dark skies.
My Lady of Asia, sheltered by such a lovely parasol, is a stone rubbing from Okanawa, Japan. Matt was born on a military base there and over Easter his parents gave us this rubbing they acquired during his Dad's deployment. Her eyes seem downcast, perhaps the sun is too bright, the rain too harsh.
Toward the door, you will see the ladies and girls of Swaziland. Sawabona is the siswati greeting.
It means I see you.
To me, it means
I won't forget you.
You, little girl with the mary jane shoes and a message to love on her shirt. You little African queen. And especially you Cinderella.
It reminds me that I need to build one more house, for one more of them.
Beneath hangs my head covering. I remember the solidarity I felt with the woman who put it on my head. She taught my awkward hands how to tie it on with such dignity. We all have so much to learn.
How often I am drawn to pray for them when I see their faces.
In the center of it all is La Dama das Mariposas (The Lady of the Butterflies, by Felix Mas) This painting for me is a breathtaking representation of Sanctuary. When I light the candle beneath her at night, she glows even warmer. The butterflies have found safe place to heal under her covering. She has such tenderness and intimacy with them. They trust her. She loves them. Her beauty is her holiness, don't you think? She sits above two six sided chairs that we got second hand. Matt repainted them for me for Mother's Day. Eventually I will get new cushions, but for now I don't mind the worn ones. They have a story, even if they can't tell it.
The table was going to be thrown out by our neighbor, and I found that fit just perfectly under the painting.
Each item on it has a story.
I think the iris's, in all their royal plumes, might look like heaven's throne room...I mean, who says God builds with brick and mortar? I picked mine from the backyard. Purple of course, is my favorite color...especially with green (that's mint in there for scent).
The cover on the table was brought back for me by a dear friend of mine who was in Afghanistan. It hides everything underneath it, (I have some precious treasures on the bottom shelf) kind of like the coverings over the women there. When I look at the fabric, I can see the clouds in the reflection. There's always freedom in the sky.
Below the candle sit my anointing oils. One is a priestly oil and one is a prophetic oil. To me, they represent communion's essence. A priest is one who speaks to God on behalf of others. A prophet is one who speaks to others on behalf of God. Some measure of this essence is in each one of us in whom the Holy Spirit dwells.
In the marble pot on the other side of the table is a broken butterfly I found on the ground when I was walking one day. I felt like the Lord told me to keep it. It reminds me of so many broken women, and the girl, a stranger, who approached me and said, "People's hearts are crying all over the world.
God hears their cries.
God hears your heart crying."
It whispers, The power to help these women is inside of you. The well of intercession must be dipped into if you will draw living water.
The stone is from Brazil. There are so many lessons it teaches. Mostly it says there is much that seems dull and ordinary...until it is broken open. It is only where it has been broken that we can see the crystals.
And when the light hits the crystals...then there is glory.
Red and yellow, black and white...or in butterfly tones, teal and bronze. They are everywhere, and constantly in need of being lifted up before the throne of grace. How gently she cares for the least of these.
I needed a cross in the room, so Sarah said I could use the one she made. It seems to belong in the room, as does she and the moth she found. (It's on her finger.)
And of course my other friends are there. The White Lady, who has been with me for 6 years. I love her elegance, though I can't quite hear all that she whispers to me. She reads my books though, and I think she likes them.
When I read them, I curl up under a new covering. This one I bought on the beach of the Brazilian shore.
From the couch I am graced with a view of the stained glass fleur de lis. It is on my wall for now. There is so much in this design that speaks to me. The pointed bottom feels like Simeon's words to Mary,
"A sword shall pierce your soul."
It's the trinity, it's a flower, it's the mark of a saint.
It's the banner of Joan of Arc, who was sentenced to death rather than renounce that the One who was speaking to her and leading her was in fact, God. When I get a coffee table, I'll put her story on it, along with some of my other favorite picture books. Maybe a photo album or two. They all have meaning. Alice and her magical imagination. The tree who loved the boy and gave her life for him. Most pictures speak, though not all explain.
Somehow, when I walk into the living room, it all comes together. I don't have to think about it all, I simply feel its presece. It comes together in a form of prayer, but I'm not sure who is talking. Maybe that is what communion is about, and what a sacred space is for.
Welcome...
