Susan Lafferty“Hmm,” my college art teacher says. Then again, “Hmmmm.”
She’s looking over my shoulder. At the simple drawing. Graphite lines. Bare bones to plan and guide the assigned painting.
“Bigger. Go big!” She says. With increasing volume. Her arms flying out for emphasis. “Stretch it out. Go biiiig.”
The startling command contrasts with my small, neat pencil sketch. So confined and contained.
“Lord, you are my portion and my cup of blessing; You hold my future. The lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; indeed, I have a beautiful inheritance” (Psalm 16:5-6).
Beauty? Our first year of living in Karachi, my eyes saw the sand and dirt. Trash along the roads. The walls and buildings that matched the browns of a desert landscape.
Nothing seemed pleasant. Or beautiful.
I decided “pleasant places” must refer to the believer’s spiritual condition. Certainly not physical surroundings. Not this desert megacity, anyway.
On beach vacations in my childhood, I made little sand bowls. Piled up a mountain of sand, scooped out the top, then slowly poured a cup of water in.
It baked in the tropical heat. And I baked in the tropical heat. Then, brushing away the loose sand, I lifted out a fragile oddly-shaped sand bowl.
The momentary art of a child at play.
The surf moved in and out. I sat in the vast ocean holding my little creation. A large wave drenched me. The bowl dissolved. Wet sand ran through my fingers in the waves. Delightful.
Then I made another one.