Dictionary:  tornado |tôrˈnādō|noun                                                  a mobile, destructive vortex of violently rotating winds having the appearance of a funnel-shaped cloud and advancing beneath a large storm system.• a person or thing characterized by violent or devastating action or emotion: a tornado of sexual confusion.

Or it can come crashing in like a hurricane…

Dictionary:  hurricane |ˈhəriˌkān, ˈhə-ri-|nouna                                                 storm with a violent wind, in particular a tropical cyclone in the Caribbean.• a wind of force 12 on the Beaufort scale (equal to or exceeding 64 knots or 74 mph).

photo by Fabio

Finally, it can come like an earthquake…rumbling, shaking, trembling…the movements starting from deep within.

Dictionary:  earthquake |ˈərTHˌkwāk|nouna                                                      sudden and violent shaking of the ground, sometimes causing great destruction, as a result of movements within the earth’s crust or volcanic action.• a great upheaval: a political earthquake. Major earthquakes are confined to particular active regions of the earth’s crust corresponding to the edges of the crustal plates, and most earthquakes are due to the release of strain energy associated with the relative motions of the plates.

Thesauras: earth tremor, tremor, shock, foreshock, aftershock, convulsion, seismicactivity; informal quake.

photo by Fabio

If you go back and think about your life,  you could probably describe each pinnacle point of change as one of these natural disasters.  In some cases, they are a combination of all.  Right now…I’m assessing the damage after an earthquake… and maybe a little bit from a hurricane…well, shoot…I guess it’s a tornado too!  I’m in the freaking eye of the tri-fecta storm!  My path is moving around a bend that I don’t know.

Welcome to my studio!

Last Night!

I had my last art show at my art studio this past Thursday.  It marked the end of a two year adventure in my life.  I was filled with emotion remembering my opening night two years prior that I did with my Grandma.  It was such an exciting time and one of the most memorable nights of my life.  Now, I was closing the studio because of a situation beyond my control and she’s not here to help me.  There is an emptiness within me that only she could fill…I try and fill it up with her memories, but it’s not the same.  I wore the dress I wore to her funeral in honor of her.  I felt nostalgic, sad, but hopeful.

I really dreaded this change…all summer long,  I knew I had to move my studio, but I was in serious denial.  I was acting like my brother- in- law, Paul, in the book “Through Painted Deserts” (I’m in that book too…hee,hee,hee) while he was driving across America with Donald Miller.  They were in his volkswagon van headed to the Grand Canyon when the check engine light kept coming on.  Finally, Don asked him if he was going to do something about it, and without any verbal response, Paul simply took his gum out and stuck it over the light.

As you know, the check engine light is just the warning that bigger issues are going on internally.  Moving the studio was just the check engine light and I was definitely putting some Hubba Bubba gum over it.  I could feel the small rumblings of change happening from deep within me like an earthquake getting ready to explode, but I was ignoring the warning signs.  Like every good artist does….I stalled.  I kept asking God to give me direction, but was doing nothing to figure it out on my own.

In the meantime, my Dad bought a house in town that he had planned to renovate for him and my mom so they could move closer to me and the kids in Camas.  This particular house has a huge daylight basement that would make a perfect studio and  I always loved this house.

The wheels started turning and plans started changing.  As renovation started, I could see more and more that this house was suppose to be mine.  So my decision to move, came like a hurricane for my parents.  It was kind of a crashing statement…

“Soooo, heyyyyy  Mom and Dad, I know you guys just bought this house and were excited to move here, but…you know…I really like this house, and I’m kind of wondering if you could, like let me have it…no, not just the basement but the whole thing, and maybe you could buy another one close by….what do you think?”

I was having flashbacks of me at 16yrs. old kissing my Dad all over his face as I was snagging a $20 from his wallet and reassuring him that “Mom said it’s ok!…except this time it is was wayyyyy bigger!

We are now in the tornado part of the storm…my house is a mess, as I’ve got half my studio here and half of it in storage.  The new house is in complete renovation mode…there are walls knocked out, wood everywhere, floor boards and piping exposed and one might think it will never be resurrected.   Plus, my parents have to figure out a plan B as I hijacked their plan A.  In the meantime, I’ll need to run classes out of my current home until the new studio is ready.  That means everyone will need to be flexible!

The thing about natural disasters, is even though they are devastating & terrible,  the most beautiful things blossom from them.  You get to see humanity work at it’s best as people from all over the world come to help!  It’s the same with our own personal storms.  You see how amazing, wonderful, and caring people really are.  It’s in these times you see God’s hand reaching down into the universe… & touching our souls and it’s in these uncertain times, that I feel the most grateful.

I remember talking to one of the AWW girls in class a few months ago.  Feeling a little stressed and sad, I was explaining how uncertain everything was as this was prior to me hijacking my parents house.  I said that quite possibly I’d have to run classes out of my basement.  She looked at me and said with a smile,

“Elida, we will go wherever you go…it’s not the location, the building, or even the class that we come for, we come to be with you, to be inspired and guided by you…so if you are in your basement, we’ll be there!”

I felt my heart skip a little, I looked around at all the other reassuring smiles and felt so utterly loved!

Have you ever had someone give you advice and it seemed so simple at the time and then hit you with a wallup much later?

I had such an experience recently and it has changed my outlook to such a degree that I can only assume it was an act of divine intervention table cloth yanking. It was a veil of resentment lifted to free myself. I do believe that when you pray for delivery from damaging thought patterns, it is possible that God comes through and seemingly out of no where you are released…like a group of people on the losing end of tug-a-war…except this time you win. You are washed over with something you never thought would show up.

The advice that I got?

It came from a dear freind who knows me well….knows my struggles with disappointment and frustration with certain folks in my life. At a high school football game where we were using the stands for a chat-fest rather than spectating, she smiled and listened to my mess. After a minute, she cocked her head to the side (wise sage that she is) and said:

“You need to not have any expectations of this person.”

I squinted my eyes, as if someone had put a very complicated calculus problem on the board…huh?

I barely remember much more of the evening. These words drifted in and out of my head for days and then POOF! they settled like sediment in the darkest corners of my heart. There was relief. What’s that old saying? “Having resentment toward someone is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die” ?  Yup. ‘Pretty weary of this experience and I prayed for peace and delivery from it daily. I realized the history of my childhood does not dictate anything about how these present days will go, especially if I continue on the course of trying to provide the most stable home I can. It’s been the quest since my kids were born and I am missing the success we’re having by dwelling on what wasn’t so many years ago.

Never before had the words LET IT GO meant so much. This friend thankfully triggered the wires to intersect–the same wires that were frayed and damaged. It was the strangest thing…I just decided to do something crazy…

Love people for who they are right now.

Yes, there may be consequences with my kids with lack of action on their part, but it isn’t my responsiblity. The only job I have is to love , extend my hands and when it’s needed, ask for what I need. Even if my needs aren’t fulfilled, I will love them anyway and go about my life. I think that’s what we’re asked to do—extend grace toward others because it’s so freely given to us. I will admit with a heavy heart that sometimes those closest to me have not been recipients of this grace. I recognize it and I am willing to do my best to reverse it. YET, I do think it also involves not being a martyr. People need to ask for what they want from others—and not freak out when the needs aren’t met. That is the time to move forward with your own happenings with the door kept open for a change of heart in your loved ones. We’re not just talking about a shoe-in-the-door either, but a wide-open-to-the-wall entrance that may or may not let in a little wind and rain.

I do feel  that this new outlook is a gift because I feel physically lighter. There is so much to be thankful for. So many wonderful experiences to be had. Tonight there was a moment when PH and I teetered on the edge of a complaint sharing hill, but we backed it up and ended up planning a family trip instead. I realized that so much time has been spent wallowing in the disappointments that we allow to take center stage. There is behavior that might never change from people in our lives. We change the dance–we get to decide what feelings pitch a tent in our minds. I’m clearing away the ramshackle dwellings that have made a small village in mine for so much time now. There’s a very busy rebuilding plan that involves the best kind of thoughts and feelings going on for me.

I’m asking them to stay.

Do you have expectations of people in your life that you know will never be fulfilled?

Why not release them and set yourself free in the process?

Grandma Dottie & Me!

My Grandma Dottie and Grandpa Wes!

My Grandma Dottie died October 23, 2012.  I was in Turin, Italy..feeling like a million miles away.  The call was expected JUST NOT NOW!  I wanted time to come home, time to re-group, time to make plans, time to visit, time to connect, time to just be, time to deal. Death never waits for us to be ready.

Maybe you read my earlier blog post, “My Grandma, The Rockstar!”  If not, read it!  It touches on her amazing life and our history together.  The world has lost a beautiful soul and heaven has gained a fiery angel.  She was truly a gift to this world.

In the last few moments of her life, she knew she was going to die.  She climbed into bed, looked at my Grandpa and said, “Honey, go get the girls…I am going to die!”  Within minutes my aunts were by her side and they watched her take her last few breaths as she slid into eternity.  Even going into death, she remained poised, gracious, and godly.

Because of my special artistic bond and relationship with my Grandma, I was asked to speak at the memorial service in California.   I thought it might be nice to share this with all of you.

P.S.  My Grandma was quite the fashionista!  I had a subdued, grey dress all picked out, but decided on the fantastic, flamboyant, flamenco skirt instead (she would have approved).

A little Flamenco skirt goodness!

My Grandma Dottie, The Artist

I am Dottie’s granddaughter, Elida, and I, like Dottie, am an artist.  I am speaking not only as a granddaughter, but also as a peer in the world of painting and art.

During my formative years, my Grandma Dottie was in L.A. working with USC and the hospital that she helped fund and develop.  Even though she wasn’t painting during this time, she was always very creative through sewing, designing, decorating, and certainly with her own personal style.  Anyone could have looked at her and thought… “Now there’s an artist!”

Her introduction to painting didn’t happen until she was in her 70’s.  Her sister, Jean, was visiting and playing with watercolors.  Grandma Dottie, who never sat still for long was getting bored, and decided to just dabble with the paints.  Something awoke the painter asleep inside her creative brain, and she decided to keep going. Eventually she took some classes, expanding her capabilities and skills along the way.

Our first time to paint together happened in 1999 while I was in Ridgefield, Washington.  Grandma Dottie was visiting and we painted a big red barn together.  I still have it today.

I continued to paint in Washington and she went back to California.  On one visit, she showed me a painting that was beautiful and quite advanced for a beginning painter.  The story behind it was even more impressive.  She was taking an oil painting class and brought a picture in that she wanted to paint to show the instructor.  The instructor dismissed her stating “you’re not ready!”  Of course, this just fired her up, and within the week, she painted the whole thing on her own.  The next class, she said nothing but propped her painting prominently on an easel and let the class “oooohhhhh and ahhhhhh” all over it!  Needless to say, the instructor never discouraged her again.

Fast forward to 2006 where I had my first “Art-Women-Wine” show in Vancouver, WA.  When she arrived, and saw I was painting a horse on a huge canvas, she wanted to do the same.  I tried to reason with her as we only had two days until the show, but to no avail. One of the nights she was working on it for so long she literally fell asleep standing up.  Of course she finished it in time, and it was the hit of the entire show!

She had become a “full on painter”..even built a studio in her home.  Because of the distance, we’d chat on the phone… “talking shop”, brainstorming new ideas and techniques.  She’d call me about colors or mixing questions.  Eventually I started to fly down for extended weekends calling these getaways my “swedish retreats” to paint with Grandma!  My Aunt Deb, who lived right next door, joked that she never even knew I was in town, because Grandma had me shut up with her in the studio all day only to emerge for food, water, and the occasional glass of wine.

We were like twins separated in time.  Physically, we were the same height, weight, and shoe size.   I loved raiding her closet.  She had phenomonal taste and a timeless collection.  On one of my visits, she went through her closet, telling me the story behind each piece.  There was the jacket from Paris that Grandpa had bought her, the perfect suit that she never tired of, and the silver ballroom dress and shoes that she wore only once.  I tried on all kinds of things that day, twirling through the living room to get Grandpa’s approval and going home with many of them.

Beyond our physical likenesses we shared a deeper bond.  I feel her blood pump through my veins, her thoughts, ideas and creativity carrying on through the generations and coming out of me.  When we’d paint, it was a linking of our spirits.  Everything flowed out as if we were one person.  She’d start on one side of the canvas and me on the other.  Without words we’d dance effortlessly around the canvas together, our brushstrokes intermixing, working our way to the other side.  We signed our last piece with a new name.. “Eliottie” as a combination of Elida and Dottie.

A few years ago, I was on vacation and I found a photography book of Native American portraits.  Grandma loved to paint portraits, and was especially drawn to the Native Americans. I bought the book and began marking the pages of my favorite portraits for her to paint.  When I got home I called her excitedly and started chatting away about my find.  Midway through my description,  she stopped me as she realized that she was already painting the exact portrait I was explaining, and had bought the same book at the same time as me!   I couldn’t believe it!

The “Young Buck”, painted portrait by Dottie!

Grandma Dottie often joked she was like Grandma Moses… “just not quite as old or nearly as rich and famous!”  It’s true that she started late in life with a brush, but I believe it was just the beginning.  Like the horse she painted here, breaking free and running wild, this is her!  On earth, she was bridled and held by the reins of her own human capabilities.  I imagine my Grandma Dottie now, running free with no bridle, no halter or ropes to tie her down.  I imagine her painting wildly on a giant canvas…with colors beyond my imagination.  I bet she’s leaving a few of them unfinished, …so when we re-unite we can “talk shop”, paint together, and sign them with our new name.

“I’m practicing Grandma!” I can’t wait to paint again together!

There isn’t room for laughter when dealing with extreme pain as a leg is being set and casted. Yet, as my youngest endures the days after this traumatic soccer injury, she is allowing humor to get her through the hardest parts. We are doing our best to bring it back into the fray ourselves so that everyone can breathe. Luckily, my kids learned this skill from their father.

My husband was given a triple dose of the humor gene when he was born.

He is quick. He is clever. He is incrediby talented at turning even the most hideous situation into a bearable one with side splitting observations of the obvious. It’s his best quality and I didn’t know how important it was for a successful marriage until I was right there in th middle of it…doubled over with laughter. He, thankfully, passed it on to his girls and there is more quipping at our dinner table than in a comedy club.

So…in examining our latest predicament (i.e., my 11-year-old in a wheelchair with a cast almost to her pelvis), I’d have to say we are relying heavily on this family virtue.

Goofy socks, a screaming yellow cast full of sharpie pen marks, and a tricked out wheelchair have made it into the mix. There have been countless comedies rented to keep her spirits up while she was couched for three days.

I will say that there has been despair, agony and anxiety. There have been countless tears shed over the lost soccer season and the chance to defend her cross country title on the national level. Hard core athletes can be born in 6th grade. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. I’ve stood on the sidelines in awe of what her little body can accomplish. Some of my proudest parent moments have been experienced with my hands in the air at the finish line. To say that the sadness runs deep and wide with this injury is the understatement of the year in our household.

I do believe it’s important to sit in it for awhile., the sadness, I mean. Denying it in some super human attempt at “getting over it” or “letting it go” is not helping the healing process. I’m an emotional person—I cry when others cry. This is not the best method for cheering up your downtrodden offspring, but I do feel it validates that the despair is present. I am not one to minimalize the gravity of a person’s pain. It’s not my job to tell some hurting to “get on with it” or “suck it up”. This week I let her have the time to grieve. I felt nauseous myself as I watched the disappointment. I’m sure if you x-rayed my heart this week there would be a huge jagged crack down the middle. Yet, I also know that as a mom, my next job is to do what I can to bring joy back in…even if the bright side is dim and barely visible beyond the horizon.

Thank goodness old interests have returned to her repertoire. I’ve seen more beautiful drawings and collages created this weekend than I have in two years. The amount of books being devoured is equally impressive. She is also at the point where visits from friends are a big pick-me-up.

She is one tough kid.

Humor and happiness do live here even in the rough times…so thankful for that.

Sometimes some trauma in our lives smacks us right back to where God wants us to be.

He asks us to pay attention…

To fall in line with wonderful little details that get lost in our days.

Through my daughter’s injury, I have slowed down…looked up and said thanks.

The story is here.

There’s been some crazy travel for Elida and me lately. We will be back it with inspiring posts soon!

How about you? Are you holding on for dear life or wobbling down the beam with each step? I think this might be a risk-taking week…it’s time to be brave.

I was driving the kids to school and as usual, we were racing the clock. With a quick look left to check for cars, I saw her.  In ripped up shoes, with matted hair and stains running up and down her pants, she lumbered along the busy road.  I winced as I watched car after car buzz by her, waiting for one of them to catch her sleeve and roll her into a ditch. She was unconcerned and seemingly out of it. I wondered how this woman wound up smack dab in the middle of suburbia. I also wondered, after I drove past her, why I failed to pull over and offer my help.  After all, the book Wrecked had been sitting on my nightstand for days.

This was my opportunity….and I missed it.

Jeff Goins, the author of Wrecked, has a way of reaching inside your chest and gently squeezing your heart with his words.  Like many books I’ve read on the subject, I was moved by his stories of service and compassion. Yet, this time I wrote down a detailed list of what I could do to journey down my own wrecked road. Of course, topping the list was the lofty idea of heading to a poor village in Kenya. Our family financially supports a school there, but I yearned to sit in the bare bones classroom and serve the children with my hands.  As if Jeff was sitting across from me at the table, I could hear the words that he would say. He would remind me that “Kenya” was all around me.

The heart ache,

the need,

the suffering…it’s all here.

Be it bustling suburbia, quite countryside or busy city, strife can rain down in buckets. Just one umbrella yielding soul can make a world of difference.

With my list in hand, there were a million questions and worries taking up real estate in my head. Then came the epiphany:  Jesus just asks us to show up. He doesn’t ask us to know where to take a homeless woman on the road or understand everything about addiction and mental illness. He simply asks us to be there, show compassion and love the way the Master did.  Another favorite author, Jen Hatmaker, had the verse Feed my lambs running through her mind as her family created a hands and feet church in downtown Austin, Texas. She felt strongly that her life should be devoted to serving the lost instead of preaching to the saved.  After reading her words, I began to notice that His lambs were everywhere. It’s the phenomenon where you’re made aware of something and it begins to show up in spades.

As a fine art photographer who feels things deeply, I tend to create art as a source of therapy. The books I was reading were causing deep longing for connection through service. I began to make a piece about these sweet lost lambs in the world, but I had a block and couldn’t make progress with the art. I’m experienced enough in the studio to know that creative blocks can be flushed out through diligent prayer and journaling.  The light bulb lit up.

It finally occurred to me that we are all His lambs.

Suffering, sadness, and hardship circulate through our collective veins as fallible humans. Heaven knows I was a wandering, afflicted lamb in distant pastures more than once in my life. I decided to depict this in a self portrait and insert into the piece. We may be lost, but thankfully we are not in this alone.

The grace that is granted to each of us every moment of the day is astounding and at times, a concept very hard to grasp. What I do understand in full is that we are to extend this grace to others because it has been gifted to us without cost. God asks us to reach out with gentle hands, hearts exposed to the elements.

It is then that we will have the privilege of being wrecked.

What? Is there a cure?!!!!

I am dripping with sweat!  My lungs are burning and I have a grin from ear to ear.  Another song starts…I can’t do it, my legs are jello..but it’s Meringue…I love meringue and I can’t resist!  As I lean against the wall to regroup before diving into hip swinging goodness, my eyes scan the room.  I see flickers of lights everywhere.  They aren’t from the candlelit tables, or from camera flashes…No, these are the lights of cell phones, their blue and yellow hues bouncing off of the faces of those who stare down at them.

Meringue….how I love Meringue!

The tables that line the walls are full of people.  They are oblivious to the fullness of life that surrounds them.  They’d rather see what “distant friend Debbie” is making for dinner, or “long lost LeAnne’s” new political stance is.  Or maybe they are updating their own status…”letting the world know how much fun they are having right now!”   The cuban salsa music keeps playing, the dancers keep dancing, real people are engaging in real life all around them and yet they still stare into a lifeless handheld device.  These people suffer from N.E.T.C.

N.E.T.C. is an “elidaism” which means:”Not Engaged-Too Connected”!

That’s correctamundo!  Most Americans suffer from N.E.T.C.  I find myself slipping into this category on a daily basis.  Just tonight Caleb, my son, was trying to tell me about his home run he hit in baseball at his game.  I sat at the kitchen table half listening as my pointer finger slid across the face of my iphone flipping through emails.  “Elida…put that phone away, and look into your son’s eyes, he is waaayyyyyy more important then that Travelocity Deal, or instagram pic of a cute dog!”

That’s one cool kid!

I use to joke about my daughter when she was a pre-teen.  We’d be at a restaurant or in the car and it was absolute silence except for the fact we could hear the click, click, click of her and her friends texting away.  Sometimes they’d be texting each other literally sitting right next to each other!

In Italy, I love how “not connected but totally engaged” they are!  I’m certain they make use of all their six senses all of the time!  I see more teens hanging out, talking, laughing, and playing games.  There’s more couples kissing and less people texting!  It’s so refreshing!  I remember when my friend visited the states from Italy.  He was amazed that I could just drop my checks off at the bank through a drive through.  He said, “Elida…that’s crazy!  When I go to make a deposit, I have to plan a minimum hour visit.  I’ll stop in to talk with the bank manager, maybe we smoke a cigar, he’ll ask about business and if I’m taking good care of myself.”  Yes, it’s true, we have all of the modern day conveniences, the fastest technology, the most efficient services, and yet, in some ways, we have lost our soules.

Sunday after church tradition!

I tend to fall prey to N.E.T.C. the most with God.  I know that if I put things aside and just dive into his word, meditate, and spend some time in prayer that the rewards would be incredible.  But so often I want to stay connected with the world and everything in it while neglecting the very one who created it!   Why do I do this?  Paul states it best in the Bible.

Romans 7:15
“I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do.” New International Version (©1984)

Quite possibly, Paul was struggling with N.E.T.C. too!

How can you fight against N.E.T.C.?  Maybe, put your phone in “time out” when it’s “time in” with the kids or God?  Maybe turn off the computer, the game boys, the TV’s, or the cell phone whenever it’s dinner time?  Maybe, if  you “disconnect to connect” you might find a deeper sense of happiness and self-worth.  You might just remember why you chose your spouse, your friends, or your life?  You move from the bistro table chair to the dance floor… you feel the music pulse through your veins, your heart pounding and when you don’t feel like you can dance anymore, you hear Meringue, take a deep breath and “shake what your momma gave ya!”

Ping Pong Mormon Tuesdays at the Field House!

Shake What Your Momma Gave Ya!

If you have any great ideas on how to ward off N.E.T.C…..I’d love to hear them!

Ciao for now,

Elida

Recently in a exercise class, arms wrapped unnaturally around my ankles, legs twitching from exertion, I listened intently to the instructor speak softly into her Madonna-esque headset microphone,

“Know your limits on this stretch. Listen to your truth levels.”

Well, being a reverent one for metaphors, I started pondering this idea with passion as I untangled myself from my Cirque de Soleil stance. It’s easy to feel the physical limits of the body, especially in my case as a very nonflexible person. But it’s not nearly as simple to examine your life and apply this same principle. What a huge help that would be to step into a situation or opportunity and be able to say, “Oh…not so sure about this…feels like a bit of a stretch…yup…too far…I’ll stop here.”  Or it could be even more helpful in charging forward: “Wow…didn’t know I could extend that far…that actually feels pretty okay.”

This is especially true when God inserts the stirrings into our personal journeys. My own stirrings had come in the form of a transition in my entrepreneurial life of creativity. To be honest, I wasn’t really clear on where my truth levels were anymore.  I realized the first step was figuring out what my current truths were: i.e., my family comes first, financial reward was necessary (but not in huge amounts), seven hours of sleep and daily exercise were imperative for a sane home life, friendships with other creative women were crucial to my well-being and productivity, and prayer and solitude were the keys to harmony and execution of creative ideas. It was interesting to take inventory on these truths and compare them to my truths from ten years ago. I was in a different “season”, for sure, but God was quietly tapping me on my shoulder every time I took time to really listen to the desires of my heart coupled with His mission for my life.

Missions are scary. They frequently come at very inconvenient times in our family and professional lives.  For me, it’s familiar territory of leaning over Jesus’ lap as we cruising down the road, aggressively grabbing the steering wheel and wondering why we’re veering off into the trees. This is totally avoidable, but I find this habit hard to break, even though it’s dangerous and ridiculous. I probably spilled my coffee on Him in the process. It’s clear that I must try my best to be comfortable in the passenger seat…changing the radio station and opening and closing the window like a toddler. He is in control. I know this. I trust this most of the time, except for in the moments when I’m steering wheel grabbing. In this journey of trust, I have found one simple step to take for finding our truth levels.

Just show up. 

Be where He asks you to be.

If He is whispering in your ear that you might be just the addition the church high school ministry needs, go to a meeting. You don’t even have to speak or make eye contact!  If a career change idea seems to pop up at every turn, pay attention and find a person to talk to who does this job. If God is hinting to you that a certain friend is not a good influence on your life, have a “truth and love” conversation and be willing to let it go. Sometimes just showing up can reveal what the actual truths are for us and more importantly, for what God wants for us.

Psalm 32:8 “I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go; I will counsel you and watch over you.”

He makes this promise and he makes it boldly. He is God, after all, and sees the big picture from a much higher standpoint. In fact He makes the big picture, drawing us inside it with a big fat rainbow colored crayon. Although the circumstances may seem truly insane or ill-fitting for us, sometimes just showing up for the unexpected can yield a reward so great, we can’t imagine our life without it. All from taking baby steps toward something God has planted in our hearts.

I have done this more and more in my life (stepping out in faith, I mean). There have been times I literally held my hands in the air to Him as if to say, “Huh? This? You want me to do this?” One example involved teaching photography to women in my area. All of my studio-owning colleagues told me I was crazy to teach my competition in an industry where there was a photography studio born every other minute. It did seem like professional suicide in theory, but the requests were coming at me quickly and there were many times I felt God pushing me towards women who wanted to connect with me through learning the workings of their camera. Once I finally opened up a series of classes, I found a wonderful experience in helping women with a tool that helped them tell the story of their lives. The eyes of some of these moms of young children expressed a starvation for adult interaction surrounding a shared interest, as well as a sense of triumph over a skill that seemed so difficult when beginning. Squeals and hand-clapping—those are wonderful tell-tale signs of the “aha” experience and I was so privileged to assist in the revelation.  Sure, there were women who went on to create businesses of their own, but I ironically found that the teaching/writing path was I was supposed to be anyway. Not only was I able to assist in helping women find a truth, however small, for themselves, He revealed something life-changing for me.

Two for one!

I really adore looking back on acts of showing up and seeing the big picture He has beautifully drawn with that fabulous crayon of His…sketching me into a sea of joy that I was meant for, but was too afraid to wade in. I’m swimming in it now, and the gratitude I feel just makes me want to help others show up in their own lives and see what unexpected goodness is in store for them.

Stretching for truth level connection…it might be uncomfortable, or even painful at times, but unexpected grace and blessing can seep into sore spiritual muscles and develop the character and story you’ve been longing for.

**Lara’s exhibit “Horse Girl” is coming up…more about it here.**

She is in every way a rockstar!

My Grandma and Grandpa Bjur!

My Dad wrote his letter,  ”My Missionary Mom” from his perspective as a child, growing up in another country and watching her fulfill God’s call as a missionary.  Singing, praying, teaching, and spreading God’s love to hundreds of lives in Chile, South America.  Pre-Elida she had successfully done 10 years of missionary work in Chile, raised four children in a foreign country, dealt with different cultures, languages and people.  After her return to the states,  she spent several years as a high school secretary in Southern California and then landed a job at USC.  She helped develop and implement marine studies curriculum for children around the globe.  All of this while still working on her college degree.  As if that weren’t enough, she went on to raise millions of dollars to design and develop a children’s wing for a non-profit hospital earning her a special award from the mayor of Los Angelos.

My Dad…who loves a photo opportunity and to dance!

One Christmas, when I was about 9yrs. old,  we drove down to their house in L.A.  We stayed in their spanish home which was nestled in a southern California hillside and had all the charm and charisma that my Grandma possessed.  This Christmas was special because we got to go with her to the hospital where she worked.  I remember watching her stand under a giant Christmas tree handing out gifts to each child who’d been admitted to the hospital.  There must have been hundreds in line.  She was so stately and poised.  She had this amazing head of white hair (she turned white early, in her forties, and just “went with it!”), which was such a beautiful contrast to her perfectly bronzed skin.  Her dark eyes were always sparkling…like she knew something fantastic about you that you hadn’t yet discovered.  They were eyes of a woman so full of Christ and goodness that the sparkle and shine could not be contained within her spirit.  So each person who came into her presence walked away with more than a gift…they had a little extra sparkle and shine of their own!

Grandma, Me and Em!

My grandma decided to take up painting in her 70′s, by age 81yrs…she had her first solo show!  She’s the reason I met Father Bruno.  When I flew down to see her show, she advised me I came on the right weekend because we got two for one that weekend as her friend,  Father Bruno, was showing his work the next day to raise money for orphanages in Uganda.  That introduction ended up changing my career and gave me the opportunities to travel to Italy.  I always say that all roads lead to Father Bruno, but maybe I should say,  all roads lead to Grandma!  The following year…she did a joint show with me for the grand opening of my art studio in Camas.  It was one of the best nights of my life!

Elida Art Studio & Gallery Grand Opening featuring Dottie Bjur and Elida Field!

A heartfelt speech and dream realized!

Over the past few years, I’ve had the fortunate opportunity to visit her more often in California.  I call it my “Swedish Retreat”, but the reality is I fly down for one reason…to paint with Grandma!  My Aunt Deb, who lives right next door, jokes that she doesn’t even know I’m there because Grandma has me shut up with her in the studio all day only to emerge for food, water, and the occasional glass of wine.  I didn’t realize that it was rare to paint with someone else on the same canvas as we started doing that with each from the beginning.

Our latest joint effort!

Our Van-Gogh Inspiration and special wedding gift for my cousin!

We are like twins separated by time.  Physically, we are the same height, weight, and shoe size.   I love raiding her closet as she has phenomonal taste and a timeless collection.  On one of my “Swedish Retreat” visits, she went through her closet, telling me the story behind each piece.  There was the jacket from Paris that Grandpa had bought her, the perfect suit that she never tired of, and the silver ballroom dress and shoes that she only wore once.  I tried on all kinds of things that day, twirling through the living room to get Grandpa’s approval and going home with many of them.

Beyond our physical likenesses we also share a deeper bond.  I feel her blood pump through my veins, her thoughts, ideas and creativity carrying on through the generations and coming out of me.  When we paint together, it’s like a linking in our spirits and everything flows out as if we are one person.  She’ll start on one side and me on the other and without words we dance effortlessly around the canvas working our way to the other side.  We signed our last piece together with a new name..”Eliottie” as a combo of Elida and Dottie together.  A few years ago, I was on vacation and I found a photography book of Native American portraits.  Grandma loves to paint portraits, and is especially drawn to the Native Americans and Santa Fe style.  I bought the book and began marking the pages of my favorite portraits for her to paint immediately.  When I got home I called her excitedly and started chatting away about my special find.  Midway through my description,  she stopped me as she realized that she was already painting the exact portrait I was explaining and had bought that same book at the same time as me!   I couldn’t believe it!

Eliottie…two artists & one name!

My Grandma The Rockstar is fighting cancer for a third time.  This past January she called me and said, “Well, I flunked chemotherapy; so I’m going to Portugal!”  And she did!  At 85years young, her and my Grandpa headed to Europe with friends for almost two weeks.  I don’t think that this doctor truly understands who he’s dealing with…You see, my Grandma the Rockstar has something so deep, so real, so wonderful that no report can touch it!  She exudes God’s light!   He doesn’t get that even in death…she lives!   That her spirit will live through each of us who’ve experienced her shine!  I can tell you one thing for sure, when she gets to heaven it’s going to be one huge party, and she’ll be leading up the band and the dance team!

Dancing with great granddaughter, Greta!

And after she’s gone, and I’m feeling a bit down or insecure, I’ll just look in the mirror and see her reflection,  I’ll see her eyes sparkling back at me!  I’ll feel her smile and hear her belly laugh and cackle.  I’ll remember how she’d always introduce me with such enthusiasm and pride, “this is my granddaughter, Elida…she’s an artist and she makes a living at it!” Then I’ll straighten up, I’ll hold my head high,  and I’ll sparkle and shine just like she did!

My hero, my friend, my mentor, my Grandma the Rockstar!