Leaves Leaves Sam Drew
18 Oct

leafinthewindThe first excericise in our Art, Vocabulary for the Soul retreat this last weekend, we responded to the question: "How do you find rest?"  Next we traded paintings, and in the second excercise we painted a second painting as a response to the painting we had been given.  These two exercises together help us focus on two key ideas of the retreat, listening and trusting the process.  We listened to ourselves in the first exercise, and we listened to the painting of another in the second exercise.  Painting is always a process, we don't know the end from the beginning.  Each painting is a journey with much for us to observe both in the painting and ourselves along the way.  The journey continues as another responds to our painting, and as we respond to another's painting.  The story begins in one person's heart and continues in another's, and the process of God's work in us weaves through it all.

The paintings and poem below (or to the right)  show how intricately the whole process can work.  The first painting, by Sam Drew,  is a tree in fall with all the leaves in beautiful colors fallen or falling to the ground.  (We use finger painting and tempera paints for our Friday evening exercises so there is less emphasis on precision in painting, and more on just letting the images out)  For Sam this tree in fall was an image of rest.  The second painting, just below the first, was the "response painting" by Ruth.  The leaves of Sam's painting stood out to her, and she drew just one leaf, resting gently on the ground.

The process continued in Sam's heart as he listened for God's word for him during the weekend.  Both paintings, the beautiful scenery of King's Fold, the scriptures, and the idea of resting mixed together in his spirit, and he tried to let God's Spirit sort it out.  The poem below, took shape in that process, and Sam shared it at our time of worship and sharing on Sunday afternoon.


A Leaf in the Wind - Sam Drew

All my life
has been about
being connected

It seems
that maybe it is not.

I know the wind,
or I thought I did,
often it blew through the valley,
and we felt
its warm breath of gentleness,
or crisp, cool freshness,
or harsh unpredictable strength.

We enjoyed the wind
or endured the wind
from the shelter of the tree,
connected to the tree.

The tree is the source of
warmth and care,


The wind is
at times fearsome,

until, maybe it is not.

The wind
was gentle,
a breeze.
It did not pull so hard,
or twist,
but perhaps,
in just the right way,
in just the right places,
It wasn't even so much
that it pulled me away
as I
let go
all that I had held on to
so tightly
for so long,
all that was so important,
so necessary,
that life,
that connectedness,
all I knew
until it was not.

Until I trusted,
in the wind
and let go.

I don't know
where it comes from,
I don't know
where it goes.

I am a leaf in the wind.


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