Christmas and Paintings: A matter of heart.

I learned an important lesson about Christmas yesterday from an unexpected source, a painting.

I painted it for my daughter for Christmas and was taking a last look before I gave it to her. There’s something about the painting that draws me in. “It works,” as they say, and I look beyond the elements of composition, contrast and color and just enjoy the painting. I know the place, and it draws me in.

Down the hall is another painting that doesn’t have the same effect. When I look at it, I notice lines that are crooked, perspectives that are reversed, and colors that compete. All I can see when I look at that painting are the details that are wrong, and I am left feeling restless and agitated.

When a painting works, you know it because you are drawn closer. When a painting doesn’t work, you’re repelled. When it works, you look beyond the details and enter in. When it doesn’t, every detail drives you crazy and you want to walk away.

Whether you're a painter or not, you might know this phenomenon from other projects. Maybe you paint or redecorate a room, build a shed, write a speech, or craft a deal at work. When it works, you want to sit in the room, look at the shed, or reflect on a job well done. If it doesn’t, the room will drive you crazy and your regrets about the speech or deal will become resentments. One you want to think about, the other you don’t.

I sometimes have Christmases that work. For some reason, I find myself drawn in and hardly notice the details. Other years, the details are all I see and they drive me crazy. Some years, I don’t notice the traffic, overplayed music, and rush to get everything done. Other years, they’re all I see. When Christmas works, I find myself dancing with God in everything I do. When it doesn’t, I’m stepping on God’s toes and wanting to sit this one out.

What it comes down to is a matter of heart. It’s not the painting or the season, but the heart with which I receive them. When my heart is open, I see beyond the details. When my heart is closed, they’re all I see.

So I now know the quality of Christmas is all about the condition of my heart.  When it is centered on what really matters, I enter into the season in a profound way and walk closer to the one it seeks to celebrate, hardly noticing any of the details. When my heart is distracted and unfocused, I only see the details and miss the point.

The condition of my heart draws me in, or pushes me away. It’s that way with paintings.  It’s that way with Christmas.