Starry, Starry Night

I spent the day with two carloads of femininity. My Mama, my sister, her four girls and three of her daughter-in-laws. My sister has eleven children, so that was just a small fraction of that part of the family. We made our way to Atlanta town, for the Van Gogh exhibit going on there. When we arrived, we rushed the door and got hollered at, both for rushing the door and not having masks on. The cranky lady who did the hollering didn't have a mask on either and I asked her where hers was. My Mama probably didn't spank me enough. When we realized our mistake, we sheepishly backed away from the entrance and gave the others hanging around a better chance at rushing the doors. We got some miffed looks and I hope they found it in their hearts to forgive us. We were just a tad excited. We're not city folk and don't get to do these fancy things very often. 

I looked at our passel of gals, all of them beautiful, of all shapes and sizes...each one interesting in her own way. Thinkers, not just people who sashay through life. They all have agendas, noble ones. It was the nicest group of people to spend a day with, even if I didn't feel a hundred percent. The exhibition was truly wonderful. We went through the first section, which was more of a museum. I thought we were done, but then we turned a corner into a giant room where the "immersive" experience happened. It defies explanation...but it was a beautiful, moving display of Van Gogh's works on 20-foot walls, with more beauty spilling onto the floor. I simply will have to go back. Then we went into the next room, where they had paper and crayons where we could do our own little Van Gogh imitation. 

I think about that poor, mad man. Beautifully gifted by God, with so many emotions tearing him limb from limb. Seems to me, many of us artistic types are plumb crazy. Artists, musicians, poets, writers, actors, all the lot, are people who sense the world deeply, who feel and wrestle with every nuance of life. It can make you crazy or it can drive you to God, that One who makes a way in the wilderness.  Standing on the precipices of life, where the highs are so giddily awe-inspiring, to the lows where rich, dark earth can spread its depths through the soul, even if it hurts. 

I hear the rain thudding on the roof. The world is heading to sleep now, the gray mist rolling in. It's quiet here, no chatter of little ones; the husband will be very late coming in from work. I know that in my basest nature, I would be a twisted and morose spirit...that the darkness would overwhelm me with all the twinings of an art-filled soul. But no, I found out a long time ago, when He pursued me with His relentless love, that I am safe no matter where I go or what happens. I sleep sweet, in the arms of Jesus.