Float

As the UVA semester winds down, we had three friends come for a lunch of Pad Thai. Isaiah had made a marvelous dessert of peanut butter cookies dipped in chocolate with vanilla ice cream on top. It was such a lovely time of fellowship and laughter. We exchanged stories of how God called each of us. What a blessing.

Then Jadon, Isaiah, Abraham, and I headed up with our friends to the UVA campus. Our church was hosting a gathering for artistic types, a chance to "Float," from a Chesterton quote.

Poetry is sane because it floats easily in an infinite sea; reason seeks to cross the infinite sea, and so make it finite. The result is mental exhaustion. To accept everything is an exercise, to understand everything a strain.

Although I would not describe myself as creative (I have no patience, and even less gifting, for creating visual arts), I am raising creative sons, and they were enthusiastic to go. Jadon occasionally works on a story about mutant hamsters, so he brought that. He answered questions about his work.

Isaiah happily tried out paints on one of the easels they had, mixing colors for the first time in his life.

I was impressed with how he started with the branches, but then had no trouble painting over them entirely, so that the branches all but vanished under the various colors of green.

The real genius of this painting, though, is in the deer. I love the deer.

Then, being Isaiah, he sat and talked to his (college-aged) friends for the rest of the time.

With the easel freed up, Abraham tried his hand at painting. His first attempt, an age-appropriate study of a house, had one flash of brilliance: when he painted the grass, he didn't paint where he planned the tree roots to go, which makes the tree surprisingly well grounded.

His second painting I really like, the lion stretching his back leg.

The daylight photo doesn't do justice to how richly he mixed the paint, in an almost Van Gogh-like build up.

To go from cliched house to inspired lion in one painting to the next ... how lovely.

And in honor of our friend and the time there, Abraham also drew an octopus.

I was gratified that our professional-quality pencils and markers were put to good use by other artists there.

Caleb slept in the arms of one of our college student friends.

The boys got to socialize with people fifteen years older than them. We heard two English majors read poetry. Two friends sang songs they had written. We looked at art and listened to music.

I wrote a poem.

On a day that it hit 91, we are blessed to be a space that is naturally cool, in a community that nurtures our sons, in a city that fits us so well.

I don't know if there is a lifetime quota of days that feel like a gift. I hope not, because I certainly feel like I might be hitting my limit soon.