Soul

I was raised in a Christian family by very devout parents. My father was a minister while my mother, a classically trained musician, was an organist. For a number of reasons, we all drifted away, but no matter what other pleasures and distractions I eagerly pursued, nothing could fill the giant God-shaped hole in my soul.

Some years ago, I was in a very dark place. Having moved with my husband and children to Pakistan, I was homesick for Australia, constantly fighting with my parents and my siblings, and quite lost in terms of vocation. One afternoon, on a holiday to Sri Lanka, drunk, cold and wet, I happened to step by chance onto the porch of an abandoned cottage. Opening the door, I came face to face with a picture of Jesus. It was an encounter that transformed everything. Externally, nothing dramatic changed, but bit by bit I found the strength to say no to things that were not good for my soul and my body. My children chose to be baptized, and we go to church together every week. Daily, I make space for prayers and for reading the Bible. I also paint holy pictures, which bring great joy to me and to the people who seek them out.

Now that I am fifty years old, it occurs to me that sometimes, when we are very young, we understand the most important realities of human existence, which later in life we lose sight of. Jesus, church, angels, bells, Christmas, hymns and carols, being true, being generous, being kind, saying grace before meals, kneeling to pray before bed and drifting to sleep accompanied by thoughts of a heavenly host were mainstays of my childhood joy. When I paint holy pictures I once again partake of this very simple happiness, as well as something deeper and more difficult. The eyes of Jesus, of Mary and the saints pierce into my soul, challenging me to draw onward and upward, nearer and nearer to the source of truth, understanding and enlightenment.