Blank Canvas
Forgive me as I type this on my phone - it’s a flow of consciousness...
This morning, I didn’t realize I needed the imagery of a blank canvas to soothe my hurting heart.
I read everything I could get my hands on about grief in 2015, to suppress the feeling of abandonment, hopelessness, and loneliness. I tried to answer the questions for my son, “Why would God think it better for me to grow up without a father? If He answers prayers, why didn’t He answer mine?” There are times, even in the appearance of the strongest of minds and hearts, death seems to be the only respite from the pain.
A simple Amazon search recommended one of the most impactful books I’ve ever read - A Grief Observed by C.S. Lewis. I consumed it in a day. It was comforting reading the words of a man who seemed to have a direct line to God had felt as angry, lonely, confused and filled with pain as I was. He asked questions of God that I hadn’t even thought of yet!
I’ve viewed Lewis as our modern-day Apostle Paul. But other than a superficial knowledge of the writer of The Chronicles of Narnia and a few other Christian stalwart books in theologian libraries, I knew very little about the man.
Lewis left his childhood faith as the result of the death of his mother when he was 10 to become a “determined atheist” as an adult. He was an introverted scholar at Oxford and a simple search will give you plenty on his life, writings, and eventual journey to Christianity. He married a divorced American named Joy Davidman in his 40s and likened her to a soulmate. She died three years after they were married of cancer. A Grief Observed is his journals as he wrestled with similar feelings that had caused him to turn from God years earlier.
The recent struggle my family has been enduring, post-traumatic stress feelings that awaken in my soul this time of the year with the approach/passing of death dates, the shocking news of celebrities taking their lives, personal news of everyday people taking their lives, friends struggling with illness... I’m reminded of a description Lewis used to illustrate these traumatic moments in life.
He described the death of a loved one as an amputation. For people around us, that amputation could be death, divorce, addiction, mental health struggles, illness, broken relationships, etc. As a society, we’re wired to adhere to antiquated prescriptions of proper days of mourning... essentially how many days until we, “Get over it.”
Lewis writes: “Getting over it so soon? But the words are ambiguous. To say the patient is getting over it after an operation for appendicitis is one thing; after he’s had his leg off is quite another. After that operation either the wounded stump heals, or the man dies. If it heals, the fierce, continuous pain will stop. Presently he’ll get back his strength and be able to stump about on his wooden leg. He has ‘got over it.’ But he will probably have recurrent pains in the stump all his life, and perhaps bad ones; and he will always be a one-legged man. There will be hardly any moment when he forgets it. Bathing, dressing, sitting down and getting up again, even lying in bed, will all be different. His whole way of life will be changed. All sorts of pleasures and activities that he once took for granted will have to be simply written off. Duties too. At present I am learning to get about on crutches. Perhaps I shall presently be given a wooden leg. But I shall never be a biped again.”
Why does recent events and a blank canvas make me think of C.S. Lewis?
As I look at the canvas before I began to sketch the outlines of a symbolic olive branch, I’m reminded of the joy each day can bring, as well as the struggles. This painting might progress the way I’ve pictured it in my mind, or I could get my colors wrong, need to scrape off paint that is too thick to work with, wait for paint to dry to paint over mistakes, I judge it harshly as fear creeps in to show it anyone because it’s personal and I don’t want to be judged, decide I will never paint again, or ... I might just need to start with a new blank canvas.
It’s my therapy. Therapy for the days that “getting through” is at the top of my to do list because I will never “get over it.” As a result, I feel things so much deeper than I ever did, and that’s a struggle too.
My friend, if you’ve suffered the kind of amputation described above, think of a blank canvas when you awake each morning and give yourself grace for that day. Have someone you know you can call, or just call anyone and say, “Help!” if it’s too much. You are loved by so many more than you know. And that stump is going to hurt some days more than others but embrace the days it doesn’t and figuratively paint something colorful you can hang on your heart’s wall to patch up the scars.
If you haven’t experienced an amputation, please, give grace to those around you. Consider your words, your tone, your actions.
Do good.
Be kind.
Love.
"Love is not an affectionate feeling, but a steady wish for the loved person's ultimate good as far as it can be obtained." - C.S. Lewis
This morning, I didn’t realize I needed the imagery of a blank canvas to soothe my hurting heart.
I read everything I could get my hands on about grief in 2015, to suppress the feeling of abandonment, hopelessness, and loneliness. I tried to answer the questions for my son, “Why would God think it better for me to grow up without a father? If He answers prayers, why didn’t He answer mine?” There are times, even in the appearance of the strongest of minds and hearts, death seems to be the only respite from the pain.
A simple Amazon search recommended one of the most impactful books I’ve ever read - A Grief Observed by C.S. Lewis. I consumed it in a day. It was comforting reading the words of a man who seemed to have a direct line to God had felt as angry, lonely, confused and filled with pain as I was. He asked questions of God that I hadn’t even thought of yet!
I’ve viewed Lewis as our modern-day Apostle Paul. But other than a superficial knowledge of the writer of The Chronicles of Narnia and a few other Christian stalwart books in theologian libraries, I knew very little about the man.
Lewis left his childhood faith as the result of the death of his mother when he was 10 to become a “determined atheist” as an adult. He was an introverted scholar at Oxford and a simple search will give you plenty on his life, writings, and eventual journey to Christianity. He married a divorced American named Joy Davidman in his 40s and likened her to a soulmate. She died three years after they were married of cancer. A Grief Observed is his journals as he wrestled with similar feelings that had caused him to turn from God years earlier.
The recent struggle my family has been enduring, post-traumatic stress feelings that awaken in my soul this time of the year with the approach/passing of death dates, the shocking news of celebrities taking their lives, personal news of everyday people taking their lives, friends struggling with illness... I’m reminded of a description Lewis used to illustrate these traumatic moments in life.
He described the death of a loved one as an amputation. For people around us, that amputation could be death, divorce, addiction, mental health struggles, illness, broken relationships, etc. As a society, we’re wired to adhere to antiquated prescriptions of proper days of mourning... essentially how many days until we, “Get over it.”
Lewis writes: “Getting over it so soon? But the words are ambiguous. To say the patient is getting over it after an operation for appendicitis is one thing; after he’s had his leg off is quite another. After that operation either the wounded stump heals, or the man dies. If it heals, the fierce, continuous pain will stop. Presently he’ll get back his strength and be able to stump about on his wooden leg. He has ‘got over it.’ But he will probably have recurrent pains in the stump all his life, and perhaps bad ones; and he will always be a one-legged man. There will be hardly any moment when he forgets it. Bathing, dressing, sitting down and getting up again, even lying in bed, will all be different. His whole way of life will be changed. All sorts of pleasures and activities that he once took for granted will have to be simply written off. Duties too. At present I am learning to get about on crutches. Perhaps I shall presently be given a wooden leg. But I shall never be a biped again.”
Why does recent events and a blank canvas make me think of C.S. Lewis?
As I look at the canvas before I began to sketch the outlines of a symbolic olive branch, I’m reminded of the joy each day can bring, as well as the struggles. This painting might progress the way I’ve pictured it in my mind, or I could get my colors wrong, need to scrape off paint that is too thick to work with, wait for paint to dry to paint over mistakes, I judge it harshly as fear creeps in to show it anyone because it’s personal and I don’t want to be judged, decide I will never paint again, or ... I might just need to start with a new blank canvas.
It’s my therapy. Therapy for the days that “getting through” is at the top of my to do list because I will never “get over it.” As a result, I feel things so much deeper than I ever did, and that’s a struggle too.
My friend, if you’ve suffered the kind of amputation described above, think of a blank canvas when you awake each morning and give yourself grace for that day. Have someone you know you can call, or just call anyone and say, “Help!” if it’s too much. You are loved by so many more than you know. And that stump is going to hurt some days more than others but embrace the days it doesn’t and figuratively paint something colorful you can hang on your heart’s wall to patch up the scars.
If you haven’t experienced an amputation, please, give grace to those around you. Consider your words, your tone, your actions.
Do good.
Be kind.
Love.
"Love is not an affectionate feeling, but a steady wish for the loved person's ultimate good as far as it can be obtained." - C.S. Lewis
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