It’s that moment just before it all happens. That moment much like when the Millennium Falcon prepares to bolt into warp speed. It’s that space where the lines are all squiggly just before they pixelate into a zillion dots and we are propelled into something new, something different.

It is Christmas Eve and most, if not all, is ready. So much planning, preparing, buying, making, wrapping, decorating, baking, partying, festiving, musicing, working, movie-watching, event-attending…it’s enough to make even the most stout-hearted a bit dizzy. I always land on the other side of it all wondering what just happened, looking around at what seems like new terrain, indeed a New Year ahead of me.


Before this all goes down, everything in me wants to holler “WAIT!” I want time to take a deep breath and look around, taking stock of all that is around me. I might be bringing all this with me. Then again, I might not.

I’d like to create a space, even if it is only for five minutes or ten, where I linger at the manger. I imagine it would be quiet here, with the exception of some animals snuffling and occasional bleating. Others are here too, talking in hushed tones because of the sleeping babe, the wonder at hand, the beauty under foot. We have all come here from our various work and worlds. Everyone is welcome here…from shepherds to kings, and everyone in-between.


As for me, I’ve put down my paintbrush and knitting needles. Just so I can have a long peek, a full-attention gaze at the marvel of why all this craziness has been happening anyway. On the other side of warp speed I know I’ll pick them up again and paint the beauty I saw and knit the memories into my heart. For now though…I’m here in this humble yet holy place. I want to drink in this fleeting moment of quiet and wonder. I’d actually like to take it with me wherever it is I land on the other side of hyperspace.

Into all the travel and the eating, all the gift giving and receiving, all the family and the fun, all the tension and the tease of celebrating something we’ve warped out of recognition…I’d like to take this bit of wonder. I’d like to bring with me the liquid light of a baby whose life rearranges mine. I’d like to haul the star along with me to guide my way onward. I’d like to kneel in everything I do from this point onward.Just let me linger a bit more here, drinking it in, inhaling all the earthy magic of divinity in hay.


I wish you all a Very Merry Christmas!

See you on the other side of warp speed!


Light in the Waiting Room


I sat in the waiting room for the final appointment with my surgeon last week. The lamp on the table beside me was on even though it was daytime and fairly bright in the fluorescent hospital lighting. It struck me as odd, to have a lamp in a waiting room that was already lit with overhead lights. I marveled at the shape of the lamp, the light it was barely exuding, and the surroundings…a few tattered magazines, an art print on the wall…nothing special.

But it occurred to me that this moment, all these waiting room moments, COULD be special, if I just had an eye for it. From the first time I waited in this particular room back in April of 2014, so much has happened. I am different, physically and otherwise. Life is different. My outlook on life is different. This would be the last time (hopefully) that I would ever need to sit here. Sock knitting in my lap.

Special? Maybe not. But that lamp has stayed with me. I keep thinking:

There’s always a light in the waiting rooms of life.

Waiting rooms are everywhere. At soccer practice. In grocery store lines. In traffic. At intersections. We wait for vacations to come, for the weekend to arrive, for our ship to come in, for a big break, or just for life to make sense. And while we wait, life happens.

I want to be a waiting room artist. Ha! That sounds pathetic doesn’t it? I don’t mean that I want my artwork on the walls of waiting rooms across the medical community, although that wouldn’t be bad at all! What I mean by being a waiting room artist is someone who seizes the waiting room moments of life and looks for beauty, sees the light there, and creates in and throughout the waiting room days. Yep. That’s what I want to be. In fact, I think I already am, I just haven’t named it as such. Perhaps in naming this as my desire and goal, I will have less impatience in the waiting room moments. Perhaps I will stop pacing for the BIG moments and just reach for the special stuff already there in the waiting room.

This is a high calling I believe. It is the pinnacle of artful living. Being the kind of artist who takes his/her creativity into every moment of their day no matter the mundane activity at hand. Waiting can be FULL of LIGHT!

I just need to look for the lamp. Draw it. Collage it. And knit by it.