Author: Janet Hanson

The Gift Of Fog

It is by suffering that human beings become angels. ~Victor Hugo

The fog lingers, sending an icy chill into a mid-summer morning. I shiver on the cool wood bench, willing the sun to break through out of pity for my thin sweatered self.

Beauty often comes wrapped in fog on the California coast.

And human beings love our comfort, don’t we? When it’s hot, we dream of icy waters. As winter winds howl, we imagine lying on warm sand.

When surrounded by the crowd we pray for solitude, and then anxiously wait for the phone to ring, a text or tweet to rescue us from the silence.

In a controlled environment, we adjust the thermostat, a comfortable 70 degrees no matter the season. The chill, the searing heat, is not of our choosing.

If I had the power, I would be tempted to prune away your pain. The green waste bin would fill with difficult people, ugly uncertainties and any twinge of critique or crisis. You would never have to sit in the damp fog of suffering.

I would be your helicopter parent, your well-intentioned friend, my own self-protector, hovering with a blow dryer at the first hint of mist. And so deny us both the gift.

The gift of empathetic depths, of heroic heights, of generous breadth.

The Gift of Fog

Coastal Redwoods lend a living metaphor. Their roots send nourishment to the rest of the tree, as is expected. But, unusual for their species, these giant trees reach high with mitt-shaped leaves to grab, not curse, the fog. Through tiny pores, the nutritious water travels through leaf and branch to nourish the roots below.

The same languishing fog of my morning misery brings life and health to trees around me. Can it be that the cold swirl of adversity holds a gift for me as well?

We are biologically wired for challenge–we thrive when we are tested. Growth, nourishment, the warmth of the blessing often come wrapped in fog.

Dear brothers and sisters, whenever trouble comes your way, let it be an opportunity for joy. For when your faith is tested, your endurance has a chance to grow. So let it grow, for when your endurance is fully developed, you will be strong in character and ready for anything. James 1:2-4

What have you learned from the fog?

Tags adversity

Faith Life

On The Way To Beauty

Made for beauty, we are satisfied with sentiment. ~N.T. Wright

I’m a seeker of beauty but I struggle to describe it.

Beauty is a word, like love and peace and freedom, that leaves both a lingering scent of promise and the sour smell of past assumptions piled on top.

Beauty is subjective, and the word is misused, but tenacious nonetheless. However we define or deface it, beauty haunts us.

As an entering college student, I was given a test meant to determine which major and profession would fit my interests. I scored high in two areas: Nature and Beauty. In their characteristic, pragmatic way, the test designers pointed to taxidermy as a perfect job for me.

Taxidermy.

I’ve been struggling off-road ever since, distracted not by beauty but its opposite. There are so many reasons in this world to cry foul. I hack away at ugly, and lament its noxious presence, with its twisted intentions and poisonous attitudes sending runner roots into every human heart. Including mine.

I’m wondering now if it’s time to put the weed spray away and try planting beauty where I can.

In France, I met Ted Nuttall, a water-color portraitist of considerable talent and an easy demeanor. Ted paints ordinary people, caught by his camera in unguarded moments. The people in the portraits are beautiful, because beauty is what the painter sees.

I asked, “Do you grow to love these unsuspecting models as you labor with your paintbrush?”

“Opposite,” he replied. “I love people, so I paint them.”

Beauty As A Sign

In his book, Simply Christian, N. T. Wright describes the biblical message,

“a story of what the one creator God has been doing to rescue his beautiful world and to put it to rights. And the story…indicates that the present world really is a signpost to a larger beauty, a deeper truth…not just the beauty of God himself, but the beauty which, because God is the creator par excellence, he will create when the present world is rescued, healed, restored, and completed.”

I’m a pilgrim, a planter, and a teller of the story, and at every turn I choose the cause of beauty or the thief that would destroy it.

Are you planting beauty, or distracted by the ugly?

 Photograph by Melanie Hunt

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Faith Life

The You Hidden From Our View

Post author By Janet Hanson
Post date July 12, 2013
4 Comments on The You Hidden From Our View

Sin is not simply the breaking of a law. It is the missing of an opportunity. ~N.T. Wright

Who in the world am I? Ah, that’s the great puzzle. ~ Alice in Wonderland

At the end of the winding Galamus Gorge, hidden in the crags of the foothills of the Pyrenees, perches the Galamus Hermitage. A chapel, built when the nearby village was saved from a deadly epidemic, hides the natural caves behind, where one solitary hermit dwelled.

What was it like to live long lonely years removed from the comforting sound of other voices, the touch of other hands, without seeing the smiles and scowls we take for granted every day? Was it torment or relief?

As a die-hard introvert, there are times I dream of a hidden life, safe in some cool cave from the noisy extraversion of the world. Would I be content to be known only to myself, invisible to the complicated crowd? More important, would I be “me”?

The Hidden Life

The Jahari window, familiar to self-help gurus and corporate consultants, is a sometimes useful aid to self-understanding. The results of a simple test are shared in the form of a four-pane grid.

#1 The OPEN self, information about you anyone can know. Some of us are hermit-like. We parcel out a pennyworth of self-disclosure, while we watch for a hint of rejection. The challenge is to allow this area to grow, to let yourself be known.

#2 The BLIND self, those quirky traits, egregious sins and saintly habits known to everyone but you. The challenge is to learn to step behind the eyes of others when the subject turns to you.

#3 The HIDDEN self lurks behind your careful self-presentation. The challenge is to shorten the list of areas withheld, to tear down your facades.

#4 The UNKNOWN self is yet to be seen, hidden from even you. The challenge is to let God have his way, to trust him with what you may not like, to watch him uncover what can’t be predicted–the potential and purpose for which you were designed.

Are you hiding yourself in hermit garb, or are you ready to risk being known?

Faith Life

Finding Your Life, Unexpected

Post author By Janet Hanson
Post date July 9, 2013
10 Comments on Finding Your Life, Unexpected

An identity grounded in God would mean that when we think of who we are, the first thing that would come to mind is our status as someone who is deeply loved by God. ~ David Benner

The journey to knowing God and knowing self follows the same, often arduous path. We don’t find one without the other.

But the lie we stumble over on the way is a potent one: Life is a self-design. You are the meaning of your own being.

I am my life. I decide who I am. I work alone.

We craft our image, composing a self, preening in the mirror of our choosing. The dressing room is littered with effort, outfits tried and found wanting. Accessories scatter as we pick through the bin to find something

original, yet acceptable,
charming, yet purposeful,
cute, yet calculating.

We have goals to achieve, worlds to conquer, and crowds to impress…and so little time.

We are gladiators in the cruel arena of validation. Every moment we must justify the air we breath, our place on the planet, our position in the pecking order.

And we count and hoard the treasure of every “like” we can get, every evite to the party, every plaque on the wall. We fortify our defenses against the constant threat of nobody-ness.

I am my life. I thought I knew who I was. Why do I feel so alone?

Ah, but you are not your life. Your life is bound up in another. Crafted, yes, but not by your design. Life is not something to be made, but found in relationship with the Maker.

I fought in the validation arena. I learned to pose and posture so only the parts I was proud of showed. Everyone became a threat to the dazzling image I had in mind. Every failure was a fatal blow. The applause was never loud enough, my accomplishments were always eclipsed by more-talented others. The world orbited around me as I labored to create my own worth out of any material at hand.

Until, one evening I died. Standing in the moonlight on a bike path near my home, I surrendered all and felt no loss, just oddly free.

God is my life. He knows who I am, and he made a way for me to be found.

Galatians 2:20

Are you trying to make, or learning to find your life?

You may like: The Ultimate Identity Theft and God Wants To Make You Real.

Tags Identity, life

Faith Life

Choosing The Better Window

Post author By Janet Hanson
Post date June 28, 2013
20 Comments on Choosing The Better Window

All that God requires of us is an opportunity to show what He can do. ~A.B. Simpson

Not every window should be left open.

During my two weeks in the south of France I ignored the newspaper, made no plans beyond lunch, and walked the cobblestone streets with carefree joie de vivre.

My what if? and what then? windows were left shuttered, my what’s here? and why not? panes were thrown open wide.

One day a bird flew into my fourth-story room, a symbol of the right here, right now attitude I’d embraced. Embraced because someone else was taking care of me–I was happily dependent on those in charge.

But happily dependent is not my norm. In the wee hours of restless nights I tend to respond to every insistent window tap of worry and concern. I throw open the sash to anxiety, and then fling my pleading prayers at the heavens, only half-believing I’ve been heard. When dawn comes, I marvel at my faithless night-fears.

But later with my morning coffee, I let the news reports sink their teeth in me, bold-inked headlines taunting me to straighten my tilting planet. I pile up oughts and shoulds like poker chips on the table before me–calculating, hedging my bets, plotting and planning until I’ve regained my illusion of control.

If you’re in charge of what you see out the window, you’d better not mess up.

A Window With A Better View

Oh, you weary, misguided soul, lay down your self-sufficiency, and be happily dependent once more. You were never meant to invent yourself, to be strong and stand alone. You weren’t made to measure up to the wisdom-less crowd, to please any set of eyes but His. Throw open the shuttered window and drink in a better view.

“He covers the sky with clouds; he supplies the earth with rain and makes grass grow on the hills. He provides food for the cattle and for the young ravens when they call. His pleasure is not in the strength of the horse, nor his delight in the legs of a man; the LORD delights in those who fear him, who put their hope in his unfailing love.

Psalm 147:8-11

Who is in charge from your point of view?

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Culture Faith Life

The Past Is History

Before the hills in order stood, or earth received her frame, from everlasting, thou art God, to endless years the same. ~Isaac Watts

I’m drawn to the Old World. My newer world is still young and forgetful. We pull up history by its roots.

Our rhetoric can be naive, as if the answer lies in the next amazing new thing. As if a heavy foot on the accelerator will take us where we long to be.

Don’t look back! Don’t look inward! Heaven can be purchased at a pre-season sale. Constant innovation and restless self-reinvention will restore our joy.

No wonder we are so tired.

The Dust of History

I’ve come to Alet-les-Bains to paint beside the ancient river Aude. From the snow-melting Pyrenees, the river flows swiftly on its relentless, timeless journey to the Mediterranean Sea.

I breathe in the damp air where once the son of Julius Caesar came to bathe in thermal waters and drink from the natural springs.

I watch a woman fill a bucketful of that same water from a faucet in the town square. Shuttered windows silently watch, as they have through numberless years.

History is alive in the stones of the hotel, once a Bishop’s palace standing in the shadow of a Benedictine Abbey and Cathedral, later humbly reformed into a henhouse by unforgiving Revolutionaries.

Now her ancient doorways welcome tourists with mushroom omelets and glasses of the region’s fine wine.

I’m conscious of the dust of history underfoot as I paint the 17th century arched bridge, my progress noted by a curious French hen.

The river flows, the ancient stones crumble, a fellow pilgrim quietly sips a cafe au lait under

wizened trees and gazes at the roses in full scarlet bloom.

I feel the backward pull of the past, while life’s demands draw me forward.

For a moment, paint-brush in hand, I’m free of the future’s uncertainty and the weight of history. I am content to be present, because I remember: While time is slippery, and the ages of humankind converge and diverge like the ebb and flow of tides, I am held by history’s Author. I stand on dependable ground.

O God, our help in ages past, our hope for years to come; be thou our guide while life shall last, and our eternal home. ~Isaac Watts

Tags history

Faith Life

The View From Limoux

There is nothing insignificant in the world. It all depends on the point of view. ~Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

I have a room with a view, of Limoux (lee-moo). My windows open in three directions on this lovely ville, and the Pyrénée foothills that surround it. Life is filled with grace-filled surprises, n’est-ce que pas?

I flew to the south of France to learn to say merci, and somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean, I opened my clenched heart and gratitude settled in. Je vous remercie de tout mon coeur, mon Dieu.

A Room With A View

Another View — The River Aude, my view as I type this.

My Top Floor Apartment — My top floor apartment

Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpse the windows of the château next door, where my new friends stay. The gift of community was unexpected. Ten artists and two unflappable young guides–each woman warm, generous and unique–are now family. We paint from different points of view and speak with varied accents, but we fit comfortably together.

A sketch by Nancy of a few of us. That’s me, standing, third from the left.

Dinner at Modern et Pigeon in Limoux on my birthday

Our teacher, Randy. — Our gracious teacher, Randy.

Our tour guides, Penny and Maeve. — Our charming tour guides, Penny and Maeve.

Gourmet meals are eaten with paint-stained hands, foie gras and creme brûlée washed down with laughter, poignant connection, and poetry read from an i-phone. I leave the table filled, but not with food alone.

My Morning Croissant. — My morning croissant.

Charcuterie. Fresh deer sausage in the foreground.

Every day I feast on light, color and conversation–even some spoken in French–but my writing fingers are tongue-tied. In the place of words, I hope these pictures capture a glimpse of my beautiful view from Limoux.

Painting in the Poppy Fields — Poppy Fields Near Limoux

Painting in Alet-les-Bains — My Painting of Alet-les-Bains

Have you ever been left wordless by the view?

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Faith Life

Je Vais En France Aujourd’hui

Post author By Janet Hanson
Post date June 7, 2013
10 Comments on Je Vais En France Aujourd’hui

The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes. ~Marcel Proust

Allons-y!

Here I go! Today I fly to the south of France for a plein air painting workshop. I’ll spend two weeks peering at poppy fields and vineyards, castles and Roman ruins. And, after I’ve gazed, squinted, breathed, looked around me nervously, I will dip a brush in oily color and….

My teacher is great, but I’m a rookie among hall of famers. A friend posted this quote for me yesterday, “Painting is easy when you don’t know how, but very difficult when you do.” (Edgar Degas). I think Degas was right. I’m in the Junior T-ball stage, I can’t fail, and there’s a juice box and fist bump waiting at the end of every effort.

So far I have:

Practiced Sketching

And Mixing Colors

Created My Values

And Packed My Paint Supplies

Blogging In France?

I hope I will. But more than that, I hope to savor every moment of this gift. Traveling teaches us to pay attention, to look at the world through less smeary lenses. I leave, already repentant for daily graces I seldom notice, the kindness of God reflected in ordinary moments, and people I walk past every day.

I go to France to learn to paint. I go to France to learn to say “Merci beaucoup” more often when I return.

What has travel taught you?

Tags gratitude, painting

Faith Life

When Thinking Is No Longer In Style

Post author By Janet Hanson
Post date May 31, 2013
6 Comments on When Thinking Is No Longer In Style

The ultimate freedom we have as human beings is the power to select what we will allow or require our minds to dwell on. ~Dallas Willard

Reason. Wisdom. Critical thinking. Thoughtful analysis and open dialogue.

So, so last season.

Thinking, a quaint but unstylish activity, now shoved to the back of the closet.

Because the new styles dazzle us, as they parade down the runway.

This season’s fresh new look: Fear-driven rants. Self-righteous sentiment. Delicious self-pity. The whimsical, melodramatic wave of the crowd. Who would trade the temporary buzz for the ponderous world of the thoughtful?

Don’t confuse me with facts, it’s easier to relax with the flow. I’d rather not know what you are thinking, I’ll only get confused. It hurts to use my brain.

Ah, but your brain is being used. You’re just not holding the controls.

The Wisdom Of The Wise

Bluntly, to serve God well we must think straight; and crooked thinking, unintentional or not, always favors evil. And when the crooked thinking gets elevated into group orthodoxy, whether religious or secular, there is always, quite literally, “hell to pay.” that is, hell will take its portion, as it has repeatedly done in the horrors of world history. ~ Dallas Willard in Renovation of the Heart

Bringing Thinking Back

Read great books. Study the Bible. Take a class, learn a new skill, explore a different language. Surround yourself with smart people who will challenge and disagree with you. Admit your ignorance, be grateful you don’t have to remain that way.

Begin and end each day unfashionably unplugged from the wordy wastelands of this world. With mouth closed, ears open, eyes focused, thoughts directed upward, think about these things:

whatever is true,
whatever is noble,
whatever is just,
whatever is pure,
whatever is lovely,
whatever is admirable,
whatever is excellent,
whatever is worthy of praise,

and pray to become what you think.

What do you think about thinking?

Philippians 4:8

Photo by Melanie Hunt

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Faith Life

A Passport, A Pencil And A Child

Post author By Janet Hanson
Post date May 28, 2013
12 Comments on A Passport, A Pencil And A Child

…and a little child shall lead them. Isaiah 11:6

A redwood grove in the Santa Cruz mountains, a determined child, a simple tool to break the ice.

The Annual All-Church Retreat.

We were each given a little book, assembled like a passport. “Have as many people sign it as possible (like a stamp from each port of call), and as you exchange signatures, take a few moments to get to know each another.”

Some left the passports in their rooms, pages blank and forgotten, but others were more cooperative, awkwardly tapping shoulders of people they had never met.

Then there was Jason, six years old, but wise in his intuitive grasp of what was needed. Passport and pencil in hand, he wandered the camp, approaching each of us in turn. Earnest, purposeful, he spent the weekend covering the pages of his book–name after name.

Saturday evening the leaders awarded a prize for most signatures gathered–a teenaged girl raised her arms in triumph. Jason was undeterred–the prize was not what mattered.

At the late-night concert I watched him walking up and down the aisles, pointing to each person in turn, searching his memory, silently pursuing. Stepping over our feet to claim one more for the book, he seemed oblivious to the music or the propriety of his actions. His mom told me Jason was normally shy, and uncertain around strangers. I was filled with wonder at his tender, tenacious spirit.

What The Passport Reveals

Sunday morning found Jason still looking–145 names, but was there someone he had missed? We gathered in a grove of redwoods for the closing service–worship, praise, communion, sharing. The pastor asked, “What do you want to thank God for?”

A lonely widow stood, tears streaming down her face. “Bless you, whoever gave us this way to welcome each other. So many Sundays I try in vain to catch just one person’s eye. Everyone is so busy, rushing off with things to do. It meant so much to have many of you approach me. Please, let’s keep doing this.”

A young man, awkward and slow of speech, grabbed the microphone and agreed, “You were all so nice to me! I’m used to people being mean. Thank you.” He cried, too and told us he loves us.

Others stood, the sharing continued.

But the leaders were choked up, something holy was happening. Someone was there, tapping on our shoulders, tugging on our hearts. We grew silent–no one knew how to express in words what we felt.

It crossed my mind we should take off our shoes.

Drew was asked to close the service. He hesitated a moment and stood, holding something above his head. “Here is my benediction: I have in my hand Jason’s passport. We are all in it. No one is left out, we all matter.”

What else was there to say?

Christ walked among us in the guise of a little boy one weekend. And we, his church, for one shining moment looked just like Him.

How many names are in your passport?

[I shared this story my church’s newsletter eleven years ago. Congratulations to Jason, now a high school graduate! Years have passed, but the Spirit of Christ still pursues, pointing to each one of us in turn…]

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