imagine that
It's early one morning and I'm ordering a breakfast taco at Mr. Natural located on Cesar Chavez, along with my coffee. "Please don't put any vegetables in it," I say. I know this is asking the ironic, as this is probably the healthiest place to eat on the eastside of Austin; I mean, who doesn't want vegetables in their breakfast taco if they come here? And every single time, they put lettuce and tomato and sprouts in my taco anyway.
There is a policeman standing behind me at the counter, and I want to ask him if he's on the clock. But the last time I talked to a policeman I ended up in a hot check class, so I remain silent. But that's another story. I glance at his name badge (yes, I think I'm sneaky like that), and pray he has a great day.
It's raining mist and I have some time before I need to be at Imagine Art. I feel led to give away my breakfast to someone who is really hungry. I drive down E. 5th, and spy a man walking down the alley, poking through garbage cans with a stick. I go up a few blocks and make a close turn through the Any Baby Can parking lot, startling two elderly women walking to their cars. I'm not exactly looking for a place to park, as I'm swerving around with the breakfast taco in one hand. I wonder if they think I'm in crisis. I reach him in the alleyway, holding the taco out to him in the rain.
"Would you like this?" I say. He smiles and says, "No ingles."
"No - would you like something to eat? It's a breakfast taco."
I feel like I won't be able to take it if he refuses this taco with the sprouts. "Gracias," he says with a smile. And I feel joy, the rain on my face, happy and ready to face the day.
The LORD builds up Jerusalem.
He gathers the outcasts of Israel.
I pull up to the little house on 12th and Poquito that is Imagine Art, with it's newly painted fence, a creation of brick red and lime rectangles done by a man required to do community service. I think of him everytime I pull in the driveway, his smile when he finished as we all tell him how great it looks.
The house is mostly quiet but that will soon change. David, our Executive Director and resident comedian is there first, making coffee. We have to make it before Debbie arrives - the founder of Imagine Art - who will use tap water that I'm convinced is only adding to everyone's disabilities. Yes, soon this place will be full of people. And what one artist aptly summed it up to be: Never a dull place - never has been, never will be.
Disabled artists come here to build community in a Christian environment, some to use the studio, and some to work with Debbie on their goals as artists. I check the board to see who is coming in. Song**, an elderly Asian artist who is in what I call her "goldfish and waterlily" stage will be arriving soon. She suffers the effects from an old head injury and her speech is almost impossible to decipher. But it doesn't stop us from having some good conversations that are mostly laughter. I help her name some of her pieces, and I'm definitely sure I'm enjoying it much more than she is.
"Fruit of the Vine," I title a picture of mangoes she has done. "Mangoes," she says firmly. "Are you sure? I like fruit of the vine." Debbie chimes in. "Are you sure those are mangos?" "Mangoes," says Song. She wins. I just like to mess with her.
An autistic artist named Matthew is also coming in to paint. His paintings are precise, detailed, brightly colored. He only speaks to me when he wants something, but I am determined to build a friendship with him. A few days before, he waves to me as I leave and I feel hope rising up.
A few others are coming in and probably a few will show up unannounced. One artist shows up for our Bible study at the wrong time. He sits on the couch in our office and we talk about Jesus. I tell him there is a situation in my family I'm asking God to do the impossible in, but no matter what happens, I know He is a good and faithful God. I smile at this artist, who's hands can't stop trembling because of a medicine he is taking. I want the tremors to stop.
He has dried food around his mouth and he couldn't seem more lonely if he were wearing a giant sign saying "NOTICE ME!" He is at my desk now and suddenly hugs me and I realize he is crying. "Is it okay if I hug you?" he says, as if I have a choice at this point. "I am so sorry," he says, "it's going to be all right. Your family is going to be all right." I am always amazed by the compassion coming from those who need compassion the most. He is mentally ill and I want God to heal him. I won't counsel him, or even be his close friend, but I can pray for him.
He heals the brokenhearted
And binds up their wounds.
Psalm 147:2,3
There is activity in the kitchen; the Vistas have arrived for the day. They are four college students who work for Imagine Art through an Americorp program. They bring fresh energy into the house; and are creative, fun to be around. As they brainstorm about various projects, they cook up breakfast in our little kitchen that also serves as community central. The fridge has several hundred original art magnets on it - really there is no wall space left empty of art here.
Song is making tea on the gas stove, Matthew is asking for tea. Sandra, another artist, who helps in the studio is overseeing the tea activity. The house is filling up. What used to be a staff of three is now nine. There isn't room to spare and we are actively looking, praying for a new space. We are funded by the city, a few donors and a very profitable bingo hall. I'm praying for big money from bingo this quarter. Nothing God cannot do and really, how like Him to use bingo money to fund a ministry.
Later, the house is filled with the sounds of Bluetree, an Irish band from Belfast, as we gather for our weekly bible study. Bluetree's River is a favorite of the artists and we listen to it a couple times as we start our time of prayer.
There's a River of life that's here
There's a River of joy that's here
You're invited to come and swim with it
Fresh winds are blowing...
Fresh winds are coming here...
The tide is rising
The Spirit is moving
He's moving
Death to the past it's gone
And here's to a new beginning
For our God not finished yet with us...
"Few will associate with the depressed, but Jehovah chooses their company and stays until He has healed them by His comfort," writes Charles Spurgeon in his commentary on Psalm 147. "The Lord is always healing and binding. This is not new work for Him. He has done it from old. It is not a thing of the past, of which He is now weary."*
A few hours later I leave to pick up my sons from school, and I see the weary faces around the bus stop at 12th and Chicon. But I also see laughter, I see a community I am now a part of in a small way. I won't stop praying for this neighborhood, for Austin. I love this city so much. I want others to see the wonder of it all through the eyes of Jesus. The only One who can.
"And He is constantly performing this deed of love and power, so let the song begin at Jerusalem, our home, and then let every living stone in the spiritual city echo the strain, for it is the Lord who has brought back His banished ones and built them together in Zion."*
Sing His praises, army of Zion! God alone wins the battle! Don't ever stop praising His Holy Name!
There is a policeman standing behind me at the counter, and I want to ask him if he's on the clock. But the last time I talked to a policeman I ended up in a hot check class, so I remain silent. But that's another story. I glance at his name badge (yes, I think I'm sneaky like that), and pray he has a great day.
It's raining mist and I have some time before I need to be at Imagine Art. I feel led to give away my breakfast to someone who is really hungry. I drive down E. 5th, and spy a man walking down the alley, poking through garbage cans with a stick. I go up a few blocks and make a close turn through the Any Baby Can parking lot, startling two elderly women walking to their cars. I'm not exactly looking for a place to park, as I'm swerving around with the breakfast taco in one hand. I wonder if they think I'm in crisis. I reach him in the alleyway, holding the taco out to him in the rain.
"Would you like this?" I say. He smiles and says, "No ingles."
"No - would you like something to eat? It's a breakfast taco."
I feel like I won't be able to take it if he refuses this taco with the sprouts. "Gracias," he says with a smile. And I feel joy, the rain on my face, happy and ready to face the day.
The LORD builds up Jerusalem.
He gathers the outcasts of Israel.
I pull up to the little house on 12th and Poquito that is Imagine Art, with it's newly painted fence, a creation of brick red and lime rectangles done by a man required to do community service. I think of him everytime I pull in the driveway, his smile when he finished as we all tell him how great it looks.
The house is mostly quiet but that will soon change. David, our Executive Director and resident comedian is there first, making coffee. We have to make it before Debbie arrives - the founder of Imagine Art - who will use tap water that I'm convinced is only adding to everyone's disabilities. Yes, soon this place will be full of people. And what one artist aptly summed it up to be: Never a dull place - never has been, never will be.
Disabled artists come here to build community in a Christian environment, some to use the studio, and some to work with Debbie on their goals as artists. I check the board to see who is coming in. Song**, an elderly Asian artist who is in what I call her "goldfish and waterlily" stage will be arriving soon. She suffers the effects from an old head injury and her speech is almost impossible to decipher. But it doesn't stop us from having some good conversations that are mostly laughter. I help her name some of her pieces, and I'm definitely sure I'm enjoying it much more than she is.
"Fruit of the Vine," I title a picture of mangoes she has done. "Mangoes," she says firmly. "Are you sure? I like fruit of the vine." Debbie chimes in. "Are you sure those are mangos?" "Mangoes," says Song. She wins. I just like to mess with her.
An autistic artist named Matthew is also coming in to paint. His paintings are precise, detailed, brightly colored. He only speaks to me when he wants something, but I am determined to build a friendship with him. A few days before, he waves to me as I leave and I feel hope rising up.
A few others are coming in and probably a few will show up unannounced. One artist shows up for our Bible study at the wrong time. He sits on the couch in our office and we talk about Jesus. I tell him there is a situation in my family I'm asking God to do the impossible in, but no matter what happens, I know He is a good and faithful God. I smile at this artist, who's hands can't stop trembling because of a medicine he is taking. I want the tremors to stop.
He has dried food around his mouth and he couldn't seem more lonely if he were wearing a giant sign saying "NOTICE ME!" He is at my desk now and suddenly hugs me and I realize he is crying. "Is it okay if I hug you?" he says, as if I have a choice at this point. "I am so sorry," he says, "it's going to be all right. Your family is going to be all right." I am always amazed by the compassion coming from those who need compassion the most. He is mentally ill and I want God to heal him. I won't counsel him, or even be his close friend, but I can pray for him.
He heals the brokenhearted
And binds up their wounds.
Psalm 147:2,3
There is activity in the kitchen; the Vistas have arrived for the day. They are four college students who work for Imagine Art through an Americorp program. They bring fresh energy into the house; and are creative, fun to be around. As they brainstorm about various projects, they cook up breakfast in our little kitchen that also serves as community central. The fridge has several hundred original art magnets on it - really there is no wall space left empty of art here.
Song is making tea on the gas stove, Matthew is asking for tea. Sandra, another artist, who helps in the studio is overseeing the tea activity. The house is filling up. What used to be a staff of three is now nine. There isn't room to spare and we are actively looking, praying for a new space. We are funded by the city, a few donors and a very profitable bingo hall. I'm praying for big money from bingo this quarter. Nothing God cannot do and really, how like Him to use bingo money to fund a ministry.
Later, the house is filled with the sounds of Bluetree, an Irish band from Belfast, as we gather for our weekly bible study. Bluetree's River is a favorite of the artists and we listen to it a couple times as we start our time of prayer.
There's a River of life that's here
There's a River of joy that's here
You're invited to come and swim with it
Fresh winds are blowing...
Fresh winds are coming here...
The tide is rising
The Spirit is moving
He's moving
Death to the past it's gone
And here's to a new beginning
For our God not finished yet with us...
"Few will associate with the depressed, but Jehovah chooses their company and stays until He has healed them by His comfort," writes Charles Spurgeon in his commentary on Psalm 147. "The Lord is always healing and binding. This is not new work for Him. He has done it from old. It is not a thing of the past, of which He is now weary."*
A few hours later I leave to pick up my sons from school, and I see the weary faces around the bus stop at 12th and Chicon. But I also see laughter, I see a community I am now a part of in a small way. I won't stop praying for this neighborhood, for Austin. I love this city so much. I want others to see the wonder of it all through the eyes of Jesus. The only One who can.
"And He is constantly performing this deed of love and power, so let the song begin at Jerusalem, our home, and then let every living stone in the spiritual city echo the strain, for it is the Lord who has brought back His banished ones and built them together in Zion."*
Sing His praises, army of Zion! God alone wins the battle! Don't ever stop praising His Holy Name!
* from The Treasury of David, Charles Spurgeon
**artists names have been changed to protect their privacy