We look small
standing next to the tall columns
at the St. Louis Art Museum.
She snaps a picture
with the angled rays of sun
shining on me and my brother’s son.
I momentarily linger in front of
the layered strokes
of oil paint,
a cadence of colors
draws my heart into a gentleness;
a quiet strength
the museum is spacious,
with a distinct place for each piece of art
framed and contained within
margins of white wall
displayed in connecting halls.
Everything clearly labeled.
Inside the rectangle frames
emotions smear together
in lines and color.
I like the paintings of clouds
or lily pads
the room of Degas ballerinas
My sister-in-law is ahead of me.
Her stroller glides across the cold floor
with her daughter Coco Mae inside it.
Her toddler is romping around them.
His red curls collecting smiles from people passing.
Oliver is strapped into an Ergo carrier.
With my own hands free, he rest close to my heart.
The feeling it all brings is art too.
“Sin has unraveled the world, but art is one of the ways we reweave.” Sally Lloyd Jones, author of the Jesus Story Book Bible
Sometimes God uses art to take our unraveled hope or the fabric of our heart worn thin and reweave it together again.