My daughter asked me to sit and paint with her yesterday afternoon. Her eyes light up every time she asks to paint. She has such a creative spirit, and even her teachers have taken notice of how much Bean loves to paint. I'm quick to think only of the mess that will be created, rather than the outcome of the creative process. Pretty pitiful for a woman who lives to create and thrives in and on art (music) and culture, no?

So, we brought out the paints, the brushes, Bean's easel, and some clean water. I forgot all about protecting our clothes, and we just sat down together and started making brush strokes. I'm quick to admit that I'm not a great painter, but for my sweet girl, I'll paint as many flowers and swirls as there are smiles on her lips, which can't be numbered.

I had no direction, no thought process as my brush began to dance across a piece of paper... a blank canvas. Copy paper to be exact. I had a heap of abused bristles attached to a yellow plastic brush, and a pallet of muddied watercolors to work with, along with a feeling of emptiness, while Bean was hard at work, painting away, smiling all the while.

As she held up her painting, so clearly proud of her accomplishment, Bean knocked over the water cup. We watched as green streaked across the table and dripped onto the floor. With painted blue and green hands, Bean laughed, sweetly uttered, 'Oopsie, mom,' and covered her mouth with those colorful little fingers.

For two seconds, I felt annoyed by the mess but quickly chose to squelch my building reaction, and replace it with the laughter of my own. 'Oops,' I laughed. This prompted Bean to laugh harder, which made me laugh harder. Next, we hugged, and Bean asked if she could help me clean up the spilled water.

I pushed my painted paper aside, not giving it another thought, as we cleaned up the spilled colored water, and salvaged Beanie's paintings.

After our family dinner last night, I noticed my painted paper still on the table. I tried to look away from it, thinking, 'how silly,' but for some reason, that piece of paper continued to stare at me, as if to say, 'Hey, you! I'm still here, ya know!' I noticed the 'leaves,' some green and lively, others starting to turn, offering a golden hue. The more I thought about why on earth this was what I wound up doodling with a paintbrush, I found it fitting, considering we're about to welcome a new season.

Life often feels like one big transition period- one to the next, over and over again, each period in between transitions a season. Each season is slowly built, including times of silence and moments of boldness, in solitude, and in community, with the strong hope that each tree which springs forth flourish and bear much fruit in some point in time... a time of God's choosing.

I love the many ways in which God talks to me when I actually allow myself to be still long enough to listen. Maybe I'll start painting with my girl more often.

What is God trying to reveal to you this day? My hope and prayer is that in this and every season of life, you will make time to listen for His still small voice.

I leave you will these words from John 15:5: "I am the vine, you are the branches. If you remain in me, and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me, you can do nothing."

Be blessed this day & always!