Last week, I had white paint on my arm and a family friend that I don’t see very often asked, “Are you still painting?” Yes, last week it was a white shelf for our basement. This week it was our front door.
I paint when the boys nap or in the evening when they are asleep. I find these ‘down times’ are the hardest times to negotiate without my mom’s presence. The memories and sense of loss come often and quickly these last weeks.
I am still in the boat on the ocean of grief. The waves have been still and the sun on my face, but on the horizon I sense a storm brewing. One year ago was when I first started noticing mom wasn’t well. Last June, we were living with mom and dad as we renovated our house. They went to VCity to help my sister. They had a night away at The Hill spa, but all was not well with mom. She thought she had a bladder infection, but how could we know the path that we were heading down…
So I paint.
I keep moving.
Trying to make sense of a senseless time.
Holding tight to my faith.
One step at a time.
When we lived in Vtown, we had a great intentional friend and neighbour who was very present in our daily lives. Here she is:
Lizzie in her backyard with the boys.
She has the most beautiful blue door. It is stunning with a handmade stained glass window:
I decided our front door needed a pick me up colour. Blue it is!
Before I painted the door I drew hearts for our family and every visitor that comes through the ‘threshold’ wishing us all the fruit of God’s spirit: Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness and self-control.
I pray that all these qualities roll over and through each of us this day no matter the colour of our door.