Do you want me bad enough to put me back together? Am I worth the time this takes?
I come up with three questions: one for God, one for my heart, one for God and my heart. I take three index cards and write one question per card, then turn the cards over and shuffle them. Without looking at the questions, I tape them down to a scrap of paper or board. Now comes the fun part: color! I paint each card with whatever color or texture I feel like. While the paint is drying I get to go through magazines and tear out pictures…whatever pictures I have a strong emotional reaction to, consonance or dissonance. Then I arrange the pictures on the cards and glue my little collages together.
I try to forget about the question and focus on only the color and images while I am working. The idea is to stay in the question instead of looking for answers. When I finally get to turn the cards over and see which question goes with which picture, I find that I am learning more about myself and God, about my unspoken hopes and desires, and about faith. Not every picture is an answer per se, but they do correspond.
God: Do you want me bad enough to put me back together?
Extracted from an insurance ad, the words positioned over clouds and beach-grass with a running shoe gave me the uneasy sense that this road would get harder before it got better. I honestly did not know what to make of it.
Here I am, almost a year later, and I can tell you two things: stuff happened again, and God wanted me enough to put me back together.
…did I make the right choice?
…what if I never get this? Will you still love me?
…did I let you down?
…what do you want to bring out in me this week?
…what am I hoping for?
…am I worthy of you?
…what do you want for me, God?
…how do I live well?
The questions are deeply personal, and although I have shared some very general ones, I can look at them and remember the ache, sometimes confusion, and longing. This evening I spent assembling the 20 sets of cards from 2010 into a book, and as I look at each collection of cards, the thing that stands out to me most is hope.
The exercise is a discipline of faith, being willing to trust God enough to let the question sit unanswered while I make pretty pictures. Even asking the questions has taken a good measure of faith. I have poured out all my doubt, fear, and misgivings into these questions, and without meaning to I have discovered what it means to live in hopeful expectancy. I wonder if we realize just how interconnected fear and faith truly are.
I would really like to try this. It sounds like an idea where God can show up and surprise you and show you how much he does care. Thanks.
What was it Bill said at Grace that you told me?
Hope is faith on tiptoe?
Nora, I'm so glad you'll try this. Let me know how it goes.
Mom…exactly. I tried to find that blog entry from my Xanga, but I think it might be gone now. Sad…there was a lot of good history there.