Spirituality Out of the Box
A website of Inspiration, fueled by the creative work of Chip Bristol
Brushstrokes are meditations designed to let our souls breathe together. Offered weekly, brushstrokes seek to inspire us all to look at life more deliberately. Written not by someone with all the answers, but one wanting to ask questions along side others, I hope whatever I offer points readers beyond my words to something, or someone, greater than ourselves.
If you are fed by a particular brushstroke, please let me know and share the reasons why. Also, please share them with others and encourage them to subscribe so our spiritual circle widens.
A flock of geese fly overhead
Toward another season
While I stand in the shell
of what used to be
our chapel.
The foundation holds
Ashes waiting for spring.
as a new church looks on
With its antiseptic sheen.
I prefer weathered bricks
And weeds.
It’s where I sat as a student,
Where I learned best.
It still is.
The geese honk for me to join,
But I refuse.
Spring will find me, I say,
One day.
I’ll wait here,
Where I belong.
It happened again.
I put my glasses down somewhere and had no idea where. With my tail between my legs, I entered the store to purchase a new pair. “Don’t tell me, you lost them again,” the store owner said with a grin. Because of me, he drove a Porsche.
As I sat waiting with other customers, I thought about something that happened earlier that morning. I went to the Amazon website to look at the sales report of my recently published novel. It had only been two days since I had checked it and the information had not changed. The ups and downs of sales on particular days was interesting, but the fact was I would never make back the money I spent publishing the book.
I tried to remember all the good that had happened since the book went into the marketplace: I had received notes from readers the likes of which I’ve never received, reviews made the book seem like a bestseller, and I got to spend four weeks discussing the book with a Sunday school class, filling our souls in countless ways.
“Ok, your turn,” said the shop owner. As I got up from my seat, I knew that this new pair of glasses was not the only change I needed in my vision. Whether as writers or lawyers, artists or truck drivers, mothers or fathers we need to be careful about the glasses we wear. There will always be ways to see ourselves that diminish our souls. With effort, however, we can learn to look at our lives with a new set of glasses. The key is to find them and keep them on. `
Burning Faith is a novel about a congregation that loses its church and finds it faith. Available on my website (www.withoutacollar.com) or through Amazon.
Check out the “Burning Faith” mix on Spotify.
It was the last Sunday school class, and I decided to go out with a bang. We’d been studying my novel, Burning Faith, and I decided to have the class do what the characters in the novel do when beginning to rebuild the church: think in new ways.
On the table were lumps of clay, ceramic shards, and colorful pens. As we listened to a song, participants were invited to “play” with whichever element they wanted. With clay in their hands, they were asked to consider what it takes to be remolded. Arranging ceramic shards, they were asked to consider the pieces of their lives and how they can become art. The pens were an invitation to draw whatever their heart wanted. The adults around the table became children again, and I marveled at where their souls led them.
As I cleaned up, I was particularly touched by one person’s work. She constructed a basket out of clay and placed shards in it. There was something tender about it, something profound as well. I felt as if I understood what she was trying to say, and I’ve been thinking about it ever since.
My life is a collection of pieces. There are bright and shiny pieces, and darker ones, as well. There are things of which I am proud, and others of which I’m ashamed, with a many pieces in between. Too often, I’ve tried to pick and choose which pieces I carry, but I’ve slowly come to understand what the wisest among us have said: they all belong.
Into the basket I carry with me every day, I need to tenderly place the joys and sorrows, my accomplishments and failures. I’ll never know when I’ll need to use them to make art. The important thing is to place them in the basket. God will take care of the rest.
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