August Impressions
“What kind of bird is that?!” Andrew asked.
I had been watching the same bird at the feeder. “I think it is a mama cardinal,” I answered. “She’s just a little roughed up.”
“Kind of like Mom,” added Landon.
Everyone looked from the disheveled, molting cardinal to me and back again. I could see it in their eyes: they all agreed.
Oh, dear.
Apparently, my days of COVID quarantine had me looking a little “roughed up” the first early days of August. Even though I am now fully recovered and once again taking regular showers, August has left me feeling a little “roughed up.” But, to be honest, it usually does.
Around here, August is a month marked by decisions. Because we dual enroll (part-time homeschool and part-time public school), there are always a zillion details to iron out as we formulate a plan and work to establish a routine for the year. This whole process is an adrenaline rush for the part of me that loves change, the part of me that gets excited about new adventures and fresh starts. But this is also super stressful for the part of me that does not love change, the part that finds transitions difficult and decisions overwhelming.
This particular August had all of that—the usual excitement/stress of the start of the school year—plus some dark days battling COVID and frustrating interior home repairs that just won’t end. (The work was supposed to be done July 16th, but who's counting? I mean, besides me. I am busy counting how many days it has been since I have slept in my bed. Current count? 51.) I have learned through it all that I don’t handle illness in a particularly graceful manner, nor do I flourish in a disorganized, dusty home.
No wonder August has left me feeling “roughed up.”
But this week, a book I read with my kids encouraged me to step back from all of the dark, dusty, and decision-filled details of this topsy-turvy month, in order to search out a bigger-picture beauty.
Linnea in Monet’s Garden tells of a young girl’s journey to visit Monet’s garden in Paris. Along with her, we learn about Monet and his style of painting. Her neighbor, Mr. Bloom, explained to her (and us) how the individual paint strokes of an Impressionist artist seem messed up and blotchy when viewed up close, but when you step back and take in the whole, they form a cohesive beauty.
After reading the book, we of course had to pull out the paints. As I watched my kids channel their inner Impressionist by dabbing and dashing their paint brushes here and there, I wondered if anything good was going to materialize. How could those purple dashes Haddie was making become part of a sunset painting? (See below.) And what was Bridger doing with those blue and white blobs? Where they really going to look like water? (See above.) But yes, as each dash of color, splash of light, or smear of dark fell into place, a beautiful image emerged. An image best understood and appreciated by stepping back and taking in the overall impression.
As I step back to take a last look at August, I still see dark, and dust, and difficult decisions but I also see light, laughter, and togetherness. I see God at work healing our bodies, growing patience in me, and faithfully leading us into another school year. Scattered throughout the month and woven in and around the challenges, I see many reasons for joy and gratitude.
I might not always be able to see what the Master Artist is doing in the moment or what the purpose of each paint stroke might be, but He knows. He knows how to combine the dark smears and the bright splashes, the shadows and the light, to create a masterpiece that is full of life, growth, and beauty. He makes everything—even my Impressions of August (and hopefully my bedroom?)—beautiful in its time.
Art Notes:
We found Impressionist inspired projects by searching “Monet art for kids” and browsing the images. Haddie and Bridger both modeled their acrylic paintings after images they found that appealed to them. Landon used both water color pencils and paints to create his watery background and then experimented with paper towels and tissue paper to construct the lilies.