Gotta Love Her

I love this girl.

How

can

I

not

?

She

made her own

mud.

While

the 8 and 9

year olds were

having a spa day in my living room

for her sister's birthday slumber party.

Guess she decided to do

some mud treatments.

So imagine

my feeling walking into church

yesterday morning with this child

to see that we were having communion.

Somehow I missed the memo.

Lately I miss alot at church.

I like to prepare myself and my kids for communion . . .

before we get to church.

Especially this one

so she gets a tiny glimpse of the significance . . .

But she is silly and fun

in one moment

and impatient and determined in the the next.

So, she let me know as I am trying to whisper about

Jesus' death on the cross

for her sins and mine

that

"This is boring!"

and

"Your breath stinks!"

And I tell her to "Sit here with me."

And she says, "I'm going to the play room" and walks off,

while my friends and family sit behind me,

and it feels like they are watching

(even if they are not, but how could you not watch this spectacle)

as our pastor is leading this most

precious moment of rememberance.

And I am not thinking about the precious body and blood of my Savior

given and shed for me

even though I want to.

But for some reason . . .

it is hard to focus on it

with a girl who likes to stick her tongue out and make cross-eyed faces

for the fun of it.

As my mind is being pummeled in the pew

with thoughts of

"Can't you get it together?"

"Why don't you do a better job of teaching your child proper respect

of the Lord and others before you come to church?"

"If you had the proper perspective of the way to reverence

the Lord, perhaps you would teach your children better."

"Why do you even come to church? 

It's just a waste of time and a disturbance to those around you

when you can't control your child and teach her proper behavior."

Proper.

Proper.

Proper.

I

am

improper.

These are the thoughts going through my head at church

. . . these horrible parenting thoughts . . .

these thoughts of

"You can't control her in the church pew,

what is she going to be like in 10 years?

You

are

teaching

her

disrespect.

You

are

disrespectful.

You

are

a

disgrace."

This is all going on in my head

as

I am sitting there trying to prepare myself and family for communion.

And the trays come around

and she searches for the biggest piece of Wheat Thin.

And then the cups come

and I give to the other children in my row,

take one for myself

and he walks away

and

she is whiny-whispering, left-out faced, saying,

"I WANT ONE!"

I tell her,

"You can have mine."

She goes to eat her cracker

and I say, "Wait! We have to wait for pastor and everyone else."

We eat the cracker, to remember the body of Christ.
The church is so quiet
that the crunching of every cracker can be heard.
Which only reminds me how
easily heard our whispering back and forth probably is.

We hold on to the cup that, if spilled,

will stain the carpet of our church.

So I am holding a cup with a four-year-old that is testing me,

thinking Dr. James Dobson has a book for me,

wondering if he knows how to wash grape juice out of the church carpet.

Breifly . . . back of my mind . . . thoughts
Stain . . .
 grape-stains . . .  blood stains
Wash . . .
washed in the blood . . .
cleaned . . .

We drink the cup.

She says, "Can I have it?"

I say, "No. I'll hold it."

She says, "I want it."

My son gives her his.

She does exactly what I expect:

sticks her tongue in the cup and rolls it around inside

getting the last drops of grape juice

making a little slurpy sound as she does it.

Then I think,

"This is exactly why some churches don't allow children to take communion.

Am I defiling this most holy tradition?"

Do

I

laugh

or

cry?

Well,

in that moment at church,

the answer was

cry.

That afternoon, I could laugh.

Today I can laugh.

At church I am thinking,

"What is the point,

I should just take

my child and myself home

and have my own communion at home

because this is completely a

battle for control played out in front of half the church

and I am losing it."

I am sitting there in the pew

and start

thinking about these pictures

that I took of my girl in the mud.

This vibrant,

alive,

all-in,

kind of girl

that I love so much.

And wondering . . .

how do I do this, Lord?

What do you want me to do

here in this moment

that is so full of reverence and holiness and meaning

yet feels so messy and chaotic and sloppy and frustrating.

Childlike faith.

Climb up in His lap kind of faith.

Faith in a Man who gave his life.

For the frustrated.

For the sloppy.

For the chaotic.

For the messy.

For the broken.

For the one who can't keep it together in the church pew.

For the one whose mascara and nose are both running.

For the heart that hides insecurities.

For the heart that tries to push back fears.

For the one that feels condemnation.

For the one that cannot keep all the rules.

For the one that feels like a failure several times a day.

For the heart that says at last . . .

"I can't do this .

But here I am, Lord.

I need you.

In the big stuff

and in the every-Sunday-battle

in the pew

of a little country church

and the battles

of a little house

in day-to-day life."

And I am reminded that

life is not about painting a perfect picture

even in church where it feels so pressured to do so.

And perhaps my daughter will learn of Him

through this time of remembering.

And perhaps she will teach me that I am not a perfect and proper parent

who does not need a Savior,

but rather that I am imperfect and improper

and desperately needing my Savior.

And that I am never

in my own strength and performance

enough.

But He is.

And He makes up where I lack.

And He went to the cross for all of me.

And I know that I need it . . . need what He did.

And I receive the gift

of being enough

in

Him.

Hosanna.

Palm Sunday.

He enters Jerusalem on a donkey.

Wednesday, I will share the Easter story

of Jesus . . . his death and his resurrection

with preschoolers with Resurrection Eggs.

It will be messy,

chocolate stained chins,

chaotic, questions, and poking back and forth,

wiggles and squirmy kids

while I tell them about Jesus.

It will be imperfect.

And it will be a seed

planted in their heart

and mine

that He died and now lives

to wash away our stains

that are far deeper than

the chocolate eggs on our faces.

Clean us and give us new lives

to live

in

His grace.

Linking up with these great women of faith

Read their stories here:

Soli Deo Gloria Sisterhood

Testing Waters

Each day

is

testing

new

waters.

Putting

one.

foot.

in.

front.

of.

the.

other.



A

new

today

to

begin

again.



To bloom.

To be real.

To be me.



To

take

another

flying

leap

of

faith.



Each step

with

writing,

photography,

and

art



has

felt

big,

risky,

vulnerable.

Fifteen months ago

I bought

my first

"grown-up" art supplies,

and I took a deep breath of courage when I did.

I

felt the same

way

yesterday

when I bought my first canvases.



I can't believe how much courage

it takes to move from

found wood that others were planning to burn . . .

to a canvas.

And that was just buying them.

I haven't even begun to paint on them.

But these pieces of wood and my newly matted photo prints

that I have poured

my heart into

will be part of my first public events.

And my "studio"

is  full of

works in progress.

Small steps and big steps

toward living the authentic & creative life I want to be living.

Each has felt big.

Resigning a work position.  Beginning a blog. 

Speak at Women's retreat.

Flying Lessons e-course.

Black Hills Photo Shootout. Writing Believe Truth.

Painting~collage~mixed media.

Showing pictures of my work.

Opening an Etsy shop.

Art booths

at

Cammack's Open House, Union Center, SD, April 14

Faith Spring Fling, Faith SD, April 15

South Dakota Chocolate Festival, Spearfish, SD, April 30-May 1.

This is a sneak peek of what I am preparing for

in my studio

{which is in my kitchen}.

Each is a step

that requires me to be

brave,

and

have faith in the One who called me on this journey.

To

be strong

and

courageous,

not terrified or discouraged

for the Lord my God

will be with me

wherever I go.

(Joshua 1:9)

I am so proud and happy

to have been invited to be a part

of Jennifer's

In The Studio Sneak Peek Friday group

which is on

(in) Courage this week here:

In The Studio on (in) Courage

I have been richly blessed by the talents of these women

and

grateful to Jennifer for hosting, brainstorming with me,

and inspiring me with her

creative life.

*

Art & photography copyright Jodene (Jodi) Shaw 2011.

More Alive



I love linking today with

Jen and this sisterhood here:

Soli Deo Gloria at Finding Heaven.

I have finished the blocks in memory of my Grandma Marj.

Here is an excerpt from a little essay

I wrote of my memories with her:

After school in the breakfast room, over a glass of apple cider, a wooden bowl holding Triscuts , and a date-filled cookie, I remember Grandma Marj saying, “This morning I saw what I thought was a flock of cedar waxwings in the ash tree, Jodi, but when I looked it up, I found that they were Bohemian waxwings.” She spoke to me at six years old, like I was an Orinthology student in grad school, like I knew without a doubt what a unique treasure it was to have waxwings in the front yard. And, of course, I eagerly responded with a mirror of her reserved excitement as she so precisely pointed out the differences between Bohemian and cedar waxwings as illustrated in her well-worn green covered Field Guide to Western Birds by Roger Tory Peterson. She also noted the comparison information from her Birds of North America Golden Field Guide.

The Peterson field guide was always her favorite and regarded as the most superior to all other bird books. It was a birthday gift to her in 1966, from my Uncle Bob and Aunt Janet Klein from Homer, Alaska. I knew that it was a gift not only because it was a detail that Grandma would have shared with me, but also because it was written in my Aunt Janet’s handwriting on the first blank page as is customary in the VanDervoort family. Along with birds, books were also to be treated with respect and reverent interest. It was assumed that the book would be kept for years. A book was a gift from the heart of another to the heart of the recipient. This was a truth in our family culture that I knew as a child.

Now in reality, I did not know when I walked through the screen door in the garage that day what in fact a “waxwing” was. But I responded with studious interest. A new bird to add to the list was not to be taken lightly. It was a celebration, though not with outbursts of “hurrah” and applause and emotion. No, it was with whispered, wide-eyed excitement and wonder.

I was not sure if the quiet excitement was so as not to scare the birds away or if it was not to disturb my Grandpa Rand reading the newspaper—perhaps it was both. And perhaps outbursts of emotion were improper. They all weaved together I suppose. Even today, I have difficulty allowing excitement and passion burst forth. Reserved and composed, even in excitement, I remain—serious and studious.



Yet, not knowing how to identify a waxwing earlier that day did not stop me from peering through the glass of the living room window at the Bohemian waxwings with wide-eyed fascination and delight.  If Grandma Marj had never pointed them out, I would have missed them.  The significance in this was not just that she told me the bird’s name, nor even the extravagant beauty of the bird.   Because a waxwing is just brown, with a black mask over its eyes and a crested head—like a cardinal but tan instead of red.  The significance was the way that she spoke to me.  It was the care, precision, interest and time that she took with me.  It was a relationship of appreciation between Grandma Marj, myself and the birds.  It could not be separated.

And so, it was with sweet memories that I put these art blocks together . . .

 

copyright 2011 Jodene (Jodi) Shaw.

Bird Art ~ Memorial to Grandma Marj

I have 3 events coming up in which to take my art!

{Yeah!  So excited . . . some of my first bigger public events}

So, lot's of work to do

"in the studio"

{kitchen}

{Check out my studio friends here:  Studio JRU}

*

In my art journal, I had an idea to do a bird series

in memory of my Grandma Marj.

I get my boards, bird photos, and quotes.

Looking for items to collage with . . .

Last summer my Aunt Janet had sent a package

from Alaska

of a wall hanging sewing project that

my Grandma Marj had started but never finished.

I admit that when I got it, I had no idea what I would do with it.

Until last night.

Grandma had cut these pieces of fabric.

The colors are distinctly her colors.

Golden yellow, avocado, russet.

Her favorite bird book

was always a

Roger Tory Peterson.

I found these amazing quotes of his.

"Birds are eloquent expressions of life and vitality

and watching them makes you a bit

more alive."

"If you get bored with birds,

you get bored with life."

"The birds are HIS heavenly messengers,

not unlike the angels

which are always pictured

with

feathered wings."



I will not be able to part with these pieces.

Won't be finding them on my new Etsy site

{opened this week}

{happy dance!}

Thanks for all of the support!

So many have encouraged me with words,

with giving new homes to my work,

writing notes.

Really, it is fulfilling to do art for myself

but there is something full circle

about another heart finding delight in it.

There is a communication with that person that feels

special,

even

intimate

~

because

what

I

create

comes

out of

my

heart.

*

Jodene (Jodi) Shaw

copyright 2011.