We Paint Pottery Together

She is the artistic one.

We paint pottery together. It is her birthday choice. 

It is a special outing for us.  We celebrate the middle one – tenderhearted, merciful, insightful, almost ethereal.  She is lovely.

They choose different pieces.  We are different.  The athlete. The artist. The musician.  Their mother.  We come together to celebrate life, live life, love each other. 

One a bowl, one a container, and two of us pick plates. Squirting paint on round palates, we envision our design.  We dip brushes and begin. We aim to create. 

I watch the birthday girl and her sisters.  They look in to their project, past the plain outside in to what it will be. I wonder what they are thinking about, how God is is moving in them as they create; how He is moving in them as He creates their lives.

I wonder at their abilities – His abilities. It is peaceful.  We talk occasionally, about memories, questions they have, silly things, some serious things, too.

With eyes squinted and licking lips, one stands over her piece of work, intent.  The other perches on the end of her chair -- closer, closer -- drawing herself in to her masterpiece.  The third sits quietly, in her teen years. 

Where did the time go? 

I want to reach out and catch time in my hands and not let it go. I linger in this moment.

We finish and walk out together, comfortable with each other, comfortable with ourselves. We talk about our dishes, what they will look like once they are fired, how the colors will emerge, deep and yet bright.

I marvel again at how God created them – the athlete, the artist and the musician – the sisters – deep and yet bright -- and I sigh.