where colors can speak

An old saying goes, “I learned everything I need to know for life in kindergarten.” In some respects there’s not a better statement and then again… Perhaps the life lessons we take from kindergarten are those life-giving, life-saving, life-sustaining pieces.  Only through Crayola crayons and some watercolors could I truly embrace, reflect, and articulate the tough but sacred spaces of my first weekend on call.

Color has become another alphabet and vocabulary for me. When the 26 letters fail me, the deep purples or warm reds or energizing greens speak thoughts, emotions, and prayers.  This makes me wonder if the tongues of fire that blazed to a rest on each apostle during Pentecost didn’t also endow the Holy Spirit with visibility, vibrancy, and color.  How strange would the experience have been without some visual to mark the experience!  Colors have marked my memory in a way that articulates the intensity, depth, richness, and power of a moment in the hospital.

Without going into great detail because this is not kindergarten material, I spent a portion of my weekend with a patient who tried to end her life and a family and medical team who tried to save her life.  The depth of the pain for the patient and each person involved weighted heavy, like a dark stone falling ever so slowly to the bottom of a shadowy and mysterious blue ocean. My own emotions initially matched the family’s grief and hurt as the simple fact of immanent death loomed.

With each hour of critical toxicity and medical procedures, the weight took on an intensity of light striking and sparking, an extreme of tensions. Would she live? How do we decide her care? Why did she do this? What happens next? Isn’t there more to do? What can we do but wait? Why does sleep escape us in our exhaustion? What is God’s will…

Life hung suspended for minutes that sped forward into days and crawled into unavoidable moments.  I checked in with the family and patient several times, each time being another affirmation that I could approach for reasons of caring and comfort and not death.  Yet, the life remained, perilous and yet powerful, marked with pain yet vibrant.

In all these places of shock, suffering, grieving, wondering, waiting, praying, and hoping all for somewhat fuzzy and uncertain answers, God’s love abided. I so adore that word abide because I sense the hospitality but not coercion in it. The ever present but non-invasive existence characterizes the word. And there is God. A warm pocket of love to hold life tenderly.  

The Holy Spirit infused its mark in this painting. It is by the Spirit that I found breathing space and expression. I believe this painting will continue to live and speak to me of grace and truth, wisdom and God’s character. That’s what kindergarteners endeavor to do with their creations, too. Capture their world to share with others, bringing the truth into living color.