Magnolia Grove & A Mission

I was scrolling through instagram one morning as I usually do while I drink my coffee when I ran across a post that took my breath away! Lynthia Edwards had posted some photos from a road trip just taken. She’s a fellow Alabama artist I have recently begun to follow and whose work I admire.

What Lynthia had no idea of possibly knowing is that I had met a descendent of one of the slaves that once lived here! Back in 2017! What are the odds?

When I was on a trip to Chicago, I had the pleasure of taking a ride in his Uber. We hit it off instantly and I was so moved by his stories, that I was inspired to blog about our meeting. If you have not read that post, “Common Ground”, you can find it here.

When he found out I was from Alabama, he shared with me family stories about the lives of slaves that he’s a descendent of. He told me he had visited the plantation they came from in Alabama as a child. It’s called “Magnolia” but he had no idea where it was or if it was even still standing. I googled it when I got home to try and find photos for the blog, but I did not find anything that I felt sure was the place he was speaking of. But here there it is! So I messaged Lynthia immediately. We were both SO excited! This has to be the place where these things happened!

So now we are on a mission! We want to find him. I was able to locate his photo and our route on my Uber app, but I can’t find any way to contact him or get a message to him. Two artists in Alabama really want to speak with him. We want to hear more and share more of his family stories! And I’d also love to know he is ok during this pandemic that has hit Chicago so hard and I that am sure has impacted Uber drivers financially.

If you can help us find him, please message me. With so many decedents, it’s entirely possible that the owners of the plantation today know some of his family’s stories. But I will reach out and ask to be sure.

It is so easy to imagine a documentary or movie based on all of this! (Hello Tyler Perry? Are you reading this?) And it’s a great reminder of the importance of capturing stories of our older generations while we can.

For more on artist Lynthia Edwards, you can find her bio here. And you can follow her on instagram here.

The original post with some of the stories can be found here.

What Shall We Do Today?

She was the most adorable little thing. Rachel was probably three when I began working for her dad. I was a college student, happy to have a reliable job as the office manager at her family’s real estate office. Her mom would bring she and her brother by fairly often and we became fast friends. She loved to hop up in my lap at my desk and she always expected me to have something fun to show her. I never wanted to disappoint and I think I did a good job of coming up with crafts and games on the spur of the moment. The happy memories of those days have come back to me in light of the latest events. The entire world it seems is asking themselves “What shall we do today?” as their normal routines have been unexpectedly interrupted.

Our dining room and my art course production set up.

Maybe it was the viral videos of those beautiful Italians emerging onto their balconies with their instruments in hand. That rebellious human spirit that will dance and sing even when the heart is breaking. I don’t have any musical talent. What can I offer? So I announced I would create a free online art class. I love the idea of creating together while we are practicing “social distancing”. Hopefully everyone, regardless of artistic experience, can create together and lose themselves in art as I have enjoyed for so long.

The inspiration piece for “Hope Has Feathers”.

I jumped into all of this feet first! With little to no experience in how to do this, but wanting to learn how eventually, this provided a great reason to start. I created some YouTube Videos for what I have titled “Hope Has Feathers”, a series of free online classes. Created a Facebook Group where the videos will also be linked and there is room for Q & A. And I also made a “Hope Has Feathers” ebook that is an exclusive gift for email subscribers. If you are interested in my favorite art supplies that I use on a daily basis, a list with Amazon links can be found here.

It is my hope that these will be both useful and be a blessing. I would love your feedback! Would you like me to do some more in this series? If you give it a go, please share your work on social media and tag it #hopehasfeathers2020.

Paints for the painting video, number 3 in the series.

Jeanne Oliver shared some wonderful thoughts and advice on her instagram yesterday for parents with kids at home. She said to consider how we want our children to look back on and remember this time in their lives. As of now, our daughter will remember how I had art supplies and tri-pods and charging chords strewn about the dining and living room. Haha! But now that I’ve gotten most of it done, I plan to be more intentional with our time of self-quarantining. Our son is staying safe in his apartment at school.

I do hope this blog finds you doing well and healthy. And I hope one day we will look back at this time, at this blog, the same way I look back on the time I spent with Rachel.

“Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all…”
– Emily Dickinson

God of the Hills and Valleys

I love to write. I get it honest. There are many a writer in my family, my favorite being my mom. But I asked my cousin Jocelyn to write this time. Above is a painting she commissioned with a very specific vision in mind. I asked her to share, in her own words, a little bit about the story behind this painting.

Here are Jocelyn’s words:

“I adore my cousin Amy and KNEW despite her fears of not meeting my expectations that I needed her unique talent to express a strong vision I had been given which gave me great comfort…as much due to our knit hearts as for her talent with paintbrush. Amy is famous for her nests. But, I am soon to face an empty one!

I have a lovely daughter with a double name …Mary ( after many family members and the woman who worshipped Jesus with her tears and hair) Grace (my beloved grandmother and my favorite word). Mary Grace will soon be launching; and as her mother, it’s rather daunting considering the world she is journeying into!

That arduous future is expressed in the uneven and intimidating landscape background which I had “seen” as mountainous and rocky. In the vision I heard the phrase “everywhere that Mary went, the Lamb is sure to go”… I view Amy’s painting of my vision and know that though the future may be treacherous in some places, she will never be alone. Jesus the Lamb is with her, and ahead of her. What a sure hope and comfort when my nest empties.

While I had owned the verse “I go before you to make the crooked places straight.” ( Is 45:2) I had no idea until I looked it up today that some versions actually say “I will go before you and level the mountains” . WOW! I’m even more encouraged! 🙂

Finally…it is AMAZING discovering that the woman who penned those words “Mary had a little Lamb” (along with a man studying for the pastorship) was the same woman, who actually is responsible for Thanksgiving being a national holiday. The Heath side of our family through which Amy and I are kin would gather yearly on Thanksgiving to connect! I consider this painting among my most, most profound gifts in life.“

Be sure to watch this video forwarded to me by Elizabeth George Cooper. It’s a song that she thought of when she saw this painting and I think it fits this perfectly!

Link: God of the Hills & Valleys

Blessings,

Who’s Your Monkey?

Several years ago, I attended a leadership conference with my husband. One of the speakers was Dr. Henry Cloud. He shared a story about some researchers who studied stress and it’s impact on monkeys.

A monkey was placed in a cage and bombarded with loud noises and blinking lights. As you can imagine, he was very stressed by this and the scientists measured the stress levels. Then, they placed another monkey in the cage with him. A buddy. Then they duplicated the sounds and flashing lights and you know what? The monkey’s stress level was greatly reduced. He said this illustrated the need for having a good relationship with co-workers because they help reduce the stress we encounter at work.

I thought this was brilliant! I love a good analogy! I told my dear friend Melanie Morris about this and ever since then, we often refer to each other as “Monkey”. It’s not unusual to start a phone call with “Ok Monkey…” and then we share something that has us anxious like a deadline or a bad painting day. And just like Dr. Cloud said, it helps us greatly to know we are there for each other. Often times the closing reply is “Thank you Monkey”. I’m so thankful for all my friends and many of them are monkeys, they just don’t know it.

So, as Dr. Cloud posed the question, who is your monkey?

A Lovely Light

Light and dark have long been a favorite topic of mine. Even when I was little, I was captivated by scriptures and stories that use “light” as an illustration. I think that has translated into my work. I love dramatic light and shadows.

Today I saw a photo of an epitaph that is on a tombstone in Atlanta’s infamous Oakland Cemetery.

It says “She burned her candle at both ends, but it made a lovely light.” Don’t you love that?! When I read it I thought I might like to have that on my tombstone whenever my time comes. And then I thought, “But wait, is my light lovely?” Oh sure, I create paintings and some would say that is lovely.

That is what I feel called to do and it is definitely an easy way to shine this little light of mine. But its the burning the candle at both ends part that got me. (1 John 1:6) When I am running around frantically busy…carpooling kids, painting for deadlines, worried about you-name-it, driven to distraction and sometimes irritated…do I shine a “lovely light”? I chuckle as I type that, but it is the truth! What kind of light do I shine under pressure?

The ones who get the brunt of any of our frustrations are often times the ones we love the most. So thank you “EsVM” of Oakland Cemetary, whoever you are, for your epitaph that led to an epiphany today.

Stay lovely,

P.S. I’d like to thank Paula Gabriel Futrell who shared the origin and inspiration behind this quote on my Facebook post:

Edna St. Vincent Millay, 1892 – 1950

My candle burns at both ends;
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends—
It gives a lovely light!

Common Ground

“Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside, you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.” – Naomi Shihab Nye

I knew he was special when I got in his car and he was eating an ice cream cone with James Taylor singing “How sweet it is to be loved by you” on the radio. (That was my mom’s favorite song.) He said it never fails. When he is at McDonalds he always gets notified that he has an uber rider to go pick up. This time it was me. I teased him that he should have brought me an ice cream cone too and we shared a few laughs while discussing food. He told me his grandmother made the best apple cobbler and homemade vanilla ice cream. From there we discussed the culinary differences between what is considered “good barbecue” in different regions of our country. He, originally from Michigan, is a rib man. Me, I prefer the North Carolina vinegar based pulled pork served with a side of hush puppies. From there he told me about how his family originated from Alabama. They moved to Michigan during the “Second Great Migration”. *George. I almost forgot to tell you his name. When you are eager to tell a story, sometimes details like that can get left out.

George told me about his grandfather. How he had many wives. And ultimately 36 children, at least that they’ve been able to identify so far. Perhaps wanting to explain he told me his grandfather was a “breeder”. I thought he said “reader”. But as he went on with his story I understood what he was saying. His grandfather was a slave on a plantation in Alabama called “Magnolia”. And the plantation owners sold him around to other plantations for breeding purposes. I told him I had never heard of that. “Like some sort of stud horse?” I asked in shocked disbelief. “Yes”, he said, “thats a good way to put it.” That breaks my heart. He continued to tell me that his grandfather could read and write, and so he would teach other slaves how to read and write. In secret of course, we agreed. And his grandfather was also a preacher. Eventually, the white man put a bounty on his grandfather’s head. So the slaves held a fake funeral, complete with a casket. They “buried” him while he managed to escape. Wow. Just wow. I took his story in and imagined what it must be like to have lived this life and to have a family history like this. I found myself teary eyed. I think George could sense this. Maybe I had heard about this breeder thing a long time ago and just forgot. But it’s one thing to hear about it and it’s another to hear someone directly impacted by it talk about it.

When George was young, he visited Magnolia plantation, and the church his grandfather built was still there. George got to play the piano in that church. Imagine that. He does not know if it’s still there. I told him that this was an amazing story and that people need to hear it. He said his family knows it. But I think he understood what I meant. I asked him who taught his grandfather to read and write and he said, “You know, that’s a good question! There must have been a white man or woman who taught him, probably in secret.” I nodded. George says there were some good white people on plantations too. And he added cautiously, “You know, if it was a white woman, that could’ve been very dangerous. He could’ve been hung from a tree.” And I said I know. And the tempo of our conversation had slowed a bit. We were bonding over the sorrow of the past. And I said there were monsters and good people both back then. Just like there are today.

As we were arriving to our destination, we discussed how I had come to Chicago for the U2 concert. Since we had already lightly discussed politics, I shared that I heard the Obama’s were there for the show too. He said he knew Bono to be an activist. I said I had a lot of respect for Bono because of his actions, not just words. He said he understands Bono is good friends with the Obamas. And I said I know and he is also friends with George Bush. And that’s part of why I like him. He works with both sides, and is passionate about helping the widows and the poor. When it was time for me to go, George said I must be pretty special. That was a great compliment because I think he is too. I told him thank you for the ride and for sharing his story with me.

It was an honor to ride with George today. He asked for my card and said he will call me when he comes to Birmingham. I believe him and I hope he does. I texted my friend from the gate while I was waiting for my flight and she said I should paint his story. I’m still choked up about the thought of it. I’m not sure what that might look and feel like.

These are the conversations we need to share. We need to listen and love well. To “find a common ground by seeking higher ground” just like Bono said last night. Here is the poem I quoted at the beginning in full. One of many that scrolled on the screen at Soldier Field before the concert:

Kindness

Naomi Shihab Nye, 1952

Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.

Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing. 
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.
Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to gaze at bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
It is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you everywhere
like a shadow or a friend.

Hope Springs Eternal

A couple of years ago I painted a series from photos I took of a particular camellia bloom and I titled it “Vespers”. They were done in my monochromatic palette and looking back now that seems especially fitting. Many of you know I lost my mom in May 2014. Fewer of you know she was in hospice care at home during her last few months.

Her garden was her creative outlet. She knew every plant and flower by name and it always amazed me. Well, when she was at home during her last days, this single bloom appeared outside her back door near the kitchen window. Someone cut it and floated it in a bowl, like she would have, and carried it inside for her to see. I took it home one night and took several photos because I thought it was beautiful.

I chose the name “Vespers” because she loved those prayer and worship meetings and even held some in this house. And because I knew that people coming in that back door to say goodbye were praying and broken hearted. And some even came by to offer a song.

And it occurred to me this time, while I was painting this special camellia, that this must have been the last bloom from my mom’s garden. Wow. And, I painted it in color.

Time doesn’t heal all wounds but I think it brings the color back. Pretty special to me. Thank you for reading my story. I hope maybe it blessed you as much as it did me to share it.

We Are All Just Visitors Here

First, a disclaimer. I am writing this off the top of my (bed) head. I just woke up with so many thoughts and feel like writing them will help me process some things.

Someone I love suffered a horrible and violent thing just two nights ago. I mean to tell you, this is the life-changing kind of stuff that no one can begin to know what to say or do to help.

So this morning I’m thinking there are these “brotherhoods” in life that we don’t choose to belong to. Groups like “addict”, “hospice”, “cancer survivor” and “widow” to name a few. But you can find yourself there one day and suddenly, when you meet someone who is also a member, there is this bond. A relief that someone else understands and relates. As well as a sense of purpose. That maybe there’s an unexpected gift or good that comes along when you can actually use what you’ve been through to help someone else.

Last night at an art show in Nashville, I got to meet my artist neighbor whose booth was behind me. His name is James Makuac and he cannot wait to tell anyone his story. Before the artist’s dinner we greeted each other and immediately he began to tell me. He is one of the “Lost Boys of Sudan”. At 11 years old, his village was attacked by men who had this mission to kill all the boys and his parents told him to run into the woods. He has survived numerous massacres and witnessed unfathomable blood shed, rape, starvation, sickness, separation from loved ones and refugee camps. He has had his hopes dashed and his sleep interupted by violence. He saw his mom 25 years after he ran for safety. She thought he was dead and he didn’t recognize her. He tells his story through his art and I loved his small book that tells what happened with his illustrations. He made it for his mom. I can’t even wrap my head around it all.

My favorite line in his book is, “My heart grew stronger because I had to walk on blistered feet.” This was written about the time he walked for 3 days through a dessert with no food on burning hot sand. And I wept because my heart could barely take it all in and he patted me on my hand and on my back and said “It’s okay. I appreciate your tears.”

When you ask James how he survived, he says it was hope. He said “You know, we are all just visitors here. This is not our home.” And he is not talking about being a refugee living in America. He knows God has a purpose for his life and telling his story is a huge part of it. I know my “problems” sure look silly now. And I know his is the type of story telling that can bring hope to everyone. Especially those like my loved one who has experienced unimaginable violence. I think it was no accident that I met him last night.

Here are some of his own words, from a post card he gifted to me:

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Gather Ye Rosebuds While Ye May

“But if you listen real close, you can hear them whisper their legacy to you. Go on, lean in. Listen, you hear it? – – Carpe – – hear it? – – Carpe, carpe diem, seize the day boys, make your lives extraordinary.” -John Keating, Dead Poets Society

Today I was finally able to watch the movie, my all time favorite movie, with my son. I fell in love with the Dead Poets Society when it first came out, and while we were watching it today, I couldn’t help but wonder if this movie inspired a movement in teaching. I also thought about an experience on our summer vacation and how together they helped me make a decision this week.

We were on our way out of the Grand Canyon after sunset and heading to our cabin when we stumbled upon this sign. A perfect spot for a family photo to commemorate the trip! As we got closer, we saw a woman taking several photos of the sign. After noticing that she was alone, I offered to take a picture of her with it. She was thrilled! So together we took several photos of her in front of and behind this sign with her camera. She then insisted she return the favor and she took this one of us.

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Her name was Tina and it did not take long to learn her story. She was traveling alone on a cross country trip that had just begun in California and would take her back east via her hometown of Philadelphia. She was with a large touring group, all strangers, and had been assigned a roommate. But unfortunately, they were not finding much in common so she was very much touring solo. Thus no one to take her picture.

Soon it was quite dark and we did not think she should walk alone to her cabin so we insisted we give her a ride and she accepted. Once we were in the car, she shared something I have not been able to forget. Tina’s husband had recently passed away. They had enjoyed a long life together and you could hear the heartache in her voice as she told us about him. Then, with a note of courage, she shared that this trip was for them. She had made a decision to take the trip they always had dreamed of but never found time to do.

“I went to the woods because I wanted to live deliberately, I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, To put to rout all that was not life and not when I had come to die discover that I had not lived.” -Henry David Thoreau

This week I have been given one of those “once in a lifetime opportunities”. It was a decision I wrestled with a good bit and discussed with my husband. Should I do this “thing” that was offered to me? Prayer is key of course, but I always think “Carpe Diem!” and I thought about Tina. So with my adventurous spirit once again stirred into action, I accepted.

Like the words of Robert Herrick that I first heard in the Dead Poets Society,

“Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying.”

(Part of the adventure is that I don’t have too many details and I’m not allowed to discuss it yet. Keep an eye on my social media because it’s very possible I’ll be sharing the excitement!)

Don’t be like Mrs. Muss

“Courage starts with showing up and letting ourselves be seen.”

– Brene’ Brown

I’d like to introduce you to Mrs. Muss. She once resided in my grandmothers home although I can’t say she made an impression on me. It wasn’t until she took residence at my mom’s house that I paid her any mind. She was like the ever present guest at gatherings on display in the dining room. Inevitably someone would ask, “Who is she?” and the answer was always “That’s Mrs. Muss”.

You know those moments when it feels like you’re the last to “get” things? It was not until years later, and my asking more questions, that I finally got the joke. No one knew who she was! And her name was short for “Mrs. Anonymous.” Another example of my family’s humor. Clever! But WHO was she?

“What we know matters but who we are matters more”

– Brene’ Brown

Being the Nancy Drew type it did not take me long to connect her portrait to some letters we had also inherited dating back to the late 1700’s. With the help of google and stamps on the back of the portrait I estimated the date of this painting to be around 1840-1845. Those dates are also about the time that, according to the antique letter collection, Sir Captain Lewis Fisher passed away.

Mom and I had never noticed that she is wearing a black arm band before. Aha! This is his widow! Ladies and gentleman I’d like to introduce you to Mrs. Ursula Bacon Fisher. Also known as Lula. Also known as Mrs. Muss. If you have any ancestry.com experience, you know that finding out much about women is very difficult. Thankfully the letters tell her story. Leave her mark. Lula was here.

So why do I say “Don’t be like Mrs. Muss”? I’ve been contemplating my own story lately. There are many books and seminars about “story”. Our stories matter! Don’t make someone go Nancy Drew on you to find out who you are and what makes you YOU.

“Owning our story can be hard but not nearly as difficult as spending our lives running from it. Embracing our vulnerabilities is risky but not nearly as dangerous as giving up on love and belonging and joy—the experiences that make us the most vulnerable. Only when we are brave enough to explore the darkness will we discover the infinite power of our light.”

– Brene’ Brown

I’ll be posting my snippet short stories periodically on Facebook. Perhaps together they will make a future blog post. So tell me. Do you journal? Are you also learning the importance of story? Here’s hoping we all grow deeper connections and find the bravery to be vulnerable.