I was walking through the MoMa (Museum of Modern Art..though there is much more than just modern. It's split up into rooms.) in New York City by myself while the family had gone to a movie... looking at the brilliant walls and walls of art. Sometimes when I look at paintings, I feel as if I'm staring into someone's imagination. I always wonder what the artist was thinking. Some paintings are like a deep glimpse into someone's heart, like the watercolor poetry for the whole world to see. One of my first stops that day was the room of modern art.
There are some kinds of modern art I just can't get into- like the canvas with a big orange square I was supposed to stare at for twenty minutes. I'm just not artsy enough to get what's going on, I guess. At first I though maybe everybody else was seeing something I wasn't, like maybe if I stared hard enough it would be one of those things where I could suddenly see a 3-D tree or something.
I was relieved when we finally moved into a room full of classic paintings. One artist in particular caught my eye, and before I knew it I had sat down cross-legged on a bench in the room in front of his storybook of work. That day, when I stared into his imagination, I learned a lot about perspective. And eternity. And how I fit into God's glorious canvas.
His name is J.M.W Turner, and his paintings are astounding. He painted ships out to sea that look like something from Neverland. He painted Hannibal's army crossing the Alps through a swirling dark storm. Some of his work resembles a fairytale, and some of it looks like a bad dream, with sunrises and natural tragedies alike.
My Turner overload became even greater when the tour guide started commenting on his work. He said that usually Turner's focus was on the ordinary. If you look at most of his paintings, there's this place where the light swells, and you see something very serene- the struggle to survive in a storm or a placid farm off in the distance. At first, you see the vastness of a picture, but when you look closer you see the true beauty: a normal everyday moment we overlook, something that may always be there that we just choose not to see. I used to have a postcard in a box under my bed of one of Turner's prints called Norham Castle, Sunrise. The people around me who were digging the orange squares in mod art weren't as inspired as I (that's the cool thing about art- there's something for everyone!), but this picture in particular is the one I love. The colors are sparse- blurry green grass, and animal grazing and a smeared blue castle. It looks like a kingdom in the clouds. Some people think it's so blurry because Turner was losing his eyesight. Other people say it just wasn't finished or that he was experimenting with different techniques.
Whatever the deal is, I think the picture is really special. It reminds me of Paul's words in 1 Corinthians 13:12: "Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known." I also love how it's paraphrased in the Message. "We don't yet see things clearly. We're squinting in the fog, peering through a mist. But it won't be long before the weather clears, and the sun shines bright!"
There are things that'll never make sense to me while I'm on earth. Part of really trusting God is knowing that while I am here, I may not understand why something I wanted, even something that seemed to glorify Him, didn't work out. And still, He's there. He's in the ordinary. He's in the storm. He's in all the hazy, blurry confusion. He doesn't change, and I love that.
On the flip side, the castle picture reminds me that eternity is real, even if it's just a blurry picture in my mind right now. Heaven is a very real place, and I'll physically stand before Jesus and be accountable for how I used the gifts He gave me and how I loved the people around me. On that day, the stuff I wasted my time thinking about, piles of stuff I want- the funky designer bags that look like something right off the shoulder of Sienna Miller; the jeans I saved up for; the new iPod; the books; even the random awards I have- will mean nothing.
What WILL matter is the what I did for Him while I was on earth. It's amazing how random moments help me realize how fast and quick my life is in the grand scheme of things. I want to know that while I live, I use up my life in His service. Maybe that's why I don't care so much about spending my money on the people I love... investing in them over dinner, cupcakes, or a blue shirt... even if it's not recognized or the purpose isn't realized. I want my life to matter. When the foggy glass lifts and I see Him face to face, I won't regret letting the white spring capris I saw on sale get away from me. But I WILL regret not making the most of the minute I had to change someone's day.
Usually on my morning drive to school, I see the Redding skyline, and I always look forward to it. For a week or so, there was so much fog I couldn't make it out at all, not even when it was right in front of me. I thought about how weird that is- to know it's right there in front of me and not be able to see it at all. Then I though of the Turner painting. Then I thought of heaven and how sweet it is to know that Jesus wants me to be there with Him forever. We're told our wildest dreams can't even come close to what God has in store for those who love Him- now and in the future when we're with Him face to face (1 Corinthians 2:9)
What we do know is His promise: that even in our darkest and loneliest days, even in the moments when we get so obsessed with having more stuff and more status that we forget about Him, if we'd just look over our shoulder we might be surprised. Our greatest moments of joy in this world are just shadows of a kingdom we can't see yet, the faintest outline of a blurry castle our eyes can barely make out.
When that veil is lifted, and He's standing there, we won't wonder anymore. Then, and now, Jesus is already holding us through every moment of joy and sadness, making our story-book ending, our watercolor lifetime, while we wait for the sun to rise.
You are, in every way, His favorite work of art.
~Poppins
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