Paint a Picture with Words
Emma, now nine months old, had colic as a newborn and the only way we could get her to calm down during the late-night screams was to walk outside. With Emma, the outdoors is our saving grace. Lately I’ve been pondering the significance behind a move from the desert to rainforest. The stark contrast demands contemplation. And any time I find myself with time to talk with the God of our universe about this season, all I can sense is a profound invitation to rest. To enjoy. To accept the season as it is.
I recently had a fellow writer critique a draft chapter for a book proposal. Her feedback was to include more sensory details. “Show don’t tell.” And she is right. As a realist, I tend to jump to the facts of the matter, how did it happen, what was I thinking, or what is the deeper bits beneath it all anyway? Yet – there is so much beauty in the details. What color was the room where that decision was made, how did your body feel? What did the wind feel like on your skin?
So, one day, I sat across from our large bedroom window and tried my best to paint a picture with words in my little journal. Truthfully, it felt silly. Yet, as time wore on, I nearly felt the memory sear itself into the recesses of my brain, as if to say, “there is a reason in the season, a time for everything under heaven, and this view from your bedroom, it’s not to be taken for granted. Notice me.”
Without further to do - Here is that journal entry.
Out my window. Clouds slowly moving. Translucent yet fixed. Fluffy shades of white and grey with a deep finite line beneath. The foggy bottom bits are my favorite. They unveil a hint of the beauty beneath. A jagged mountainside with church steeples on the top of a hill. Tiny windows just visible. The green on the bottom half of this scene. Bright, luscious, green shades of everything in between.
Somehow the houses interspersed add – they don’t detract – to this beautiful Costa Rican landscape. Trees of variety, textured leaves, tall and skinny stemmed trees and fat, flat, brown and green plants.
A black bird soaring – ever so slightly. Rocking from side to side; no flap of the wing necessary, just the invisible miracle of wind and air. His blackbody a beautiful contrast to the white and grey above and deep sea of green below.
A fresh rain falls each afternoon. Tin roofs make it more pronounced and welcome the rain rather than stifle it. Phoebe loves the rain.
I wish I could draw the scenes – But I only have words to remember it by, so if I must capture it with words I will try.
There is something romantic about the rainforest. Of all the life it represents. Of constant rebirth and cycles. A new leaf next to the dying. The flowers that voraciously bloom. My temptation to snip them, encouraged. “It’ll bear more fruit if you do,” they say. How incredible. What a gift.
The taste of the rainforest – so sweet. Bursting with savory hints of color. A green outside with bright pink inside. Messy. Wet. Pouring over, it is ever abundant. It is entirely different from the arid air of the Middle East. Of the desert air and blue, cloudless sky. Where the scorching sun is relentless.
Instead. Here, there is constant refreshment. Welcome breezes. Unwelcome creatures, not minding you at all. No minding you at all.
You can’t say to the ant or the beetle, “move out of the way, do you know who I am?” for they don’t care. They continue on their merry way, doing as God designed them. It’s fascinating. Never ending wonder. I hope we get to see tree frogs.
I love frogs. The joys of this season await. These quite moments staring out my window allow the reality to sink in. Did we really move here? Lord. Help us take care to be grateful and hear you guiding each day.
I’d encourage you to try and do the same, take a moment to sit with a pen and paper in hand and paint a picture with words of your everyday scenes. There is beauty in it all.
February brings two visits from family, more travels within this beautiful country, and a trip to Thailand for Michael. Let the joyful whirlwind begin.