Art Series: Corona Blessings

  • Good Friday

    “Good Friday” by Jason Kotecki. 12 x 12. Oil on canvas.
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    My wife took the beautiful photo that inspired this painting.

    There was something about this dandelion that captivated me. 

    He’s reaching the end of the line. He is weary, but remains proud and steadfast. Some called him a weed, disrupting the status quo and infecting the neighborhood. But he knows the truth. He has run his race and is now ready to give it all away, to multiply himself by scattering the seeds to bring forth new life. And in the midst of his sacrifice, with the sun setting on his last day, light shines through as a symbol of the grace within. 

    I call this piece “Good Friday” because it reminds me of that seemingly dark Friday, centuries ago, when all hope seemed lost and evil had won.

    As I write this, the United States is in turmoil over the results of the Presidential election, which went all 2020 on us. Because of course it did. Most of the polls were way wrong, but one thing is certain: it is a nation more divided than either side probably realized. 

    I think it’s fair to say that both sides hoped for a decisive result, and this is everyone’s worst-case scenario. And yet here we are. Regardless of the outcome, half the country will be elated and the other will be plunged into despair. What intrigues me is how thin a line it is between them.

    As I think back to that original Good Friday, I consider how preposterous it would have seemed for anyone who lived through its heartbreak to hear it labeled as “good.” Such a declaration would seem ridiculous, possibly even blasphemous. It sure didn’t seem good at the time. But for those who believed, it actually turned out better than good.

    During times of great uncertainty, I find it helpful to return my attention to things I know are true.

    Let’s start here: I know that the sun rose today. 

    I know that there’s a good chance it will rise again tomorrow.

    I know that I could make a list of 100 things to be grateful for, and it would remain incomplete.

    I know that, contrary to the media narrative, the things we have in common are infinitely greater than that which divides us. 

    I know that the quality of my life has almost nothing to do with who happens to be President.

    I know that I am not called to worry about things I can’t control.

    I know that I am called to focus on the things I can.

    I know that asking the question, “How can I help?” is the best place to start.

    And, if I’m honest, I also know that nothing about the political climate we find ourselves in seems good.

    And yet, I am confident that this moment – and indeed, this year – will prove to be Good, in the end. I grant that may seem ridiculous, perhaps even blasphemous. 

    A big part of what will make it so is how we choose to respond in this moment. We can have our say by seeking to heal divisions that so deeply divide us. Not by trying to win others to our way of thinking, but through what always works: kindness, humility, and love.  

    And by trusting that the same God who called light forth from the darkness is still in control and is working all things…for good.

  • Dawn Is Coming

    “Dawn Is Coming” by Jason Kotecki. 12 x 12. Oil on canvas.
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    It is always dawn somewhere in the world. That fascinates me. When someone is in the middle of the blackest night, someone half a world away is experiencing the joy of a new day. That’s how life is: seasons of light, seasons of dark.

    I can hardly believe that just a little over a year ago, my family was on Lanikai Beach, watching the sun rise over these two small islands called Na Mokulua, aka the Mokes. I was booked to speak in Honolulu, and this trip seems like an even greater blessing considering how this year has unfolded.

    Some days, Kim got up to watch the sunrise while I stayed back as the kids slept. Some days we traded places. And a few times, we went together as a family. Every morning’s show was unique, but always spectacular; a living watercolor painting, with a cavalcade of new colors seeping into the sky. The kids enjoyed scouring the beach for treasures that the sea brought forth during the night.

    I can’t help but wonder now, after this slog marathon of a year, if I’ll ever go back there with my family. And I don’t necessarily mean that specific beach, but any beach, far away from any fear wrought by a pandemic, or civil unrest, or a divided nation. I wonder if a time will ever come when the future looks bright, and hope isn’t constantly being trampled underfoot. Will this dark night ever lift?

    But then I remember something about that week. We didn’t have to tune in to the television meteorologist to tell us if the sun would rise each day. We didn’t have to wonder, or cross our fingers and hope for the best. It did, just like it always does.

    We were also on the beach at night a few times, when it was so dark the ocean could only be heard, not seen. I didn’t bother worrying that it might stay that way indefinitely. The sun would most certainly rise again, in time.
     
    And yet, when we find ourselves in the middle of a dark and lonely season of life, it can feel like the sun will never shine again. But alas, it is always darkest just before dawn. 

    Maybe you find yourself there, right now.

    There is no reason to lose hope. You just need to hold on. Dawn is coming.

    It always does.

    Another thing to consider. Even though we had gotten up early and made it to the beach, had we been looking west, we would have missed the sunrise entirely. It still would have happened, but we wouldn’t have seen it. 

    Perhaps you’ve been missing some of the magic currently happening in your life because you’re not looking in the right place. In some ways, this has been a dreadful year. But in others, it has exploded with new opportunities and unveiled some hidden blessings.

    And so yes, I am confident that although things seem bleak at the moment, this pandemic too shall pass. Darkness will dissipate, and we will see that we weren’t as divided as we thought we were. And we will be back on the beach to soak in the sun and bask in the blessings that arrived during the night.

    This painting is a reminder that in these dark nights of the soul, sometimes we need patience and sometimes we need a new perspective.

    Either way, dawn is coming.

  • Home Fries

    “Home Fries” by Jason Kotecki. 12 x 12. Oil on canvas.
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    One good thing about the COVID-19 pandemic keeping us closer to home is that it brought back family dinner for many people. If this is one of the things that remains as part of what people refer to as a “new normal,” then I am all for it.

    This painting, titled “Home Fries,” is a reminder that home is where the heart is. And the place our heart gets nourished most is around the dinner table.

    In the last hundred years or so, we’ve seen technology bring about more advancements than the rest of human history combined. We’ve come a long way, baby.

    For the most part, these advancements have served us well. We’re able to produce more food, travel longer distances in less time, eradicate once-deadly diseases, and improve the length and quality of our lives. 

    Unfortunately, we are so eager to reach for the new and improved that we often throw the wisdom of the ages right out the window. It’s dangerous to be too quick to discard the traditions of the past as old-fashioned and out of touch.

    One such tradition that seems to be going the way of the dodo bird is the family dinner. Our busy, packed schedules have pushed this old-timey tradition to the brink of extinction. After all, with so many things going on these days, who has time to gather together all at once? With such full plates, family dinner is the first to go. The rise of fast food joints and microwave ovens makes it seem an easy sacrifice.

    Unfortunately, the very thing we’re sacrificing is the health, intimacy, and future of our family.

    As Miriam Weinstein wrote in her book, The Surprising Power of Family Meals, “We’ve perfected the segmentation of the family. Nobody has to eat the same food, watch the same show, listen to the same song, let alone sing it. We love to imagine the French with their lush tables, or the Italians with their big families, but we prefer to gobble our take-out, our home delivery, our single-serve microwave, on the run, in front of the TV, in the food court, or in the car, while we dream of quality time, of family vacations, of someplace far away.”

    If you care about your family at all, you may want to reconsider the importance of family dinners in your life. The National Center on Addiction and Substance Abuse at Columbia University did a study that divided teenagers into two groups. The first group had dinner with their family five times a week or more. The second group had dinner together with their family two times a week or less. The results were astounding.

    They discovered that the kids who ate dinner more often with their families were up to 45% less likely to smoke, drink, use drugs, be suspended from school, or have sex at a young age. They are twice as likely to receive A’s in school. Kids who frequently eat dinner with their families are more likely to confide in their parents and are at a lower risk for thoughts of suicide. Other studies from a wide variety of divergent fields have found equally surprising results. Regular family dinners discourage obesity and eating disorders and make kindergartners better equipped to read (even more so than getting read to!)

    Isn’t it amazing to think how much depends on dinner?

    Please note, we’re not talking gourmet dinners here. The study didn’t mention anything about preparing meals that would make Bobby Flay jealous. And the conversation? That doesn’t have to be all that engaging, either.

    Heck, in my house growing up, a typical dinner conversation often included my Dad farting and blaming it on a duck under the table. Which resulted in giggles from me and my two brothers and an icy glare from my Mom (which usually was concealing a nearly undetectable smirk.)

    Oh, and my Dad also had a penchant for asking the same, stupid, boring question every single night: “How was school today?”

    Naturally, we’d respond with the same stupid answer: “Fine.”

    But the thing is, if by some freak occurrence, something actually DID happen at school that I wanted to talk about, I knew my Dad (and Mom) would be there to ask the question. That shared time together, that calm amidst the storm that we call life, is so vitally important. In a world that often seems like it has gone crazy, the best thing you can do for the health and sanity of your family is to step off the hamster wheel once a day and share a simple meal together. The conversations that do occur help parents to learn more about their children’s lives and help them to better understand the day-to-day challenges their kids face.

    Maybe a regular family dinnertime really is tough to swing. Well, who says you can’t make breakfast your regular meal time? If all parents knew how important eating dinner together as a family was to their children — something that used to be an unquestioned element of family life in this country — I think we’d see a lot more people doing it. If you struggle finding time to corral the troops for mealtime on a regular basis, I encourage you — no, I beg you — to try harder. Not only is it a pretty good way to escape the hustle and bustle of the outside world for a few moments each day, but the benefits it provides your children are priceless. 

    And if family dinners are already part of your routine, why not give it even more attention, intention, and fun?

    Life is fast, and technology is making it even faster. Don’t get so sucked into the promise of the future that you abandon a time-tested ritual that our ancestors knew to be vital.

    Bring the tradition of eating dinner together back into the fabric of your life. 

    The health and happiness of your family depend on it.

  • Proof of Life

    “Proof of Life” by Jason Kotecki. 12 x 12. Oil on canvas.
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    Every so often in my life, things are going along swimmingly. I know where I’m going, the path is clear, progress is being made. Everything makes sense, and the future is bright. I like it when life is like that.

    But then, seemingly overnight, everything goes dry. Sand has obscured my path, and I feel like I’m in a barren wasteland, uncertain of which direction to head. I wonder if all the progress and clarity I’d experienced was merely a mirage, because suddenly all signs of life are absent.

    I am stranded in the desert, and all hope is drying up.

    Perhaps you’ve felt this way recently. Maybe you feel this way now.

    Growing up in the Midwest, I didn’t have a lot of experience with deserts. Acres and acres of cornfields, yes; barren expanses of desert, no. To me, deserts were hot, sandy stretches of nothing, save for an occasional cactus and those ominous cattle skulls. Of course, they can be those things. Officially, a desert is a dry, desolate, and barren area of land. It often looks dead, void of life and hope.

    But that’s only if you’re not looking closely enough.

    Deserts are harsh, but not lifeless. I took the picture that inspired this painting whilst exploring the Saguaro National Park a few years ago. It was spectacular and unlike anything I ever experienced growing up in Illinois. The signs of life aren’t as obvious as in a jungle or forest, but they are there, just hidden.

    I can’t help but draw some parallels to my roots in the agricultural heartland. Consider planting: After you cover a seed with soil, it is the moment you see its first green shoot emerge from the earth, the first time growth happens since you buried it? Of course not. It was always in the process of transforming; it just wasn’t immediately visible. When you see rows and rows of tall sweet corn or endless fields of amber waves of grain, it’s easy to forget that in the springtime, those acres of soil seemed barren and lifeless even though they’d already been planted.

    Similarly, it can take several months to visually notice the effect of pregnancy. But cells began multiplying and growing rapidly from the first moment of conception.

    In deserts, life is always on the move. We just aren’t always able to see its progress.

    When we feel stranded in the desert, we need to remind ourselves that all is not lost. It’s hard to be patient and stay hopeful when all evidence seems to suggest otherwise. Please know that when you find yourself in the desert, you are not deserted. God is always working, even when He seems silent or absent. 

    It’s hard to believe a plant so hostile and forbidding could produce a bloom so magnificent.

    Hang in there. Good things are happening, right this moment, and will spring forth in time.

    Keep a sharp eye out for proof of life.

  • Make a Joyful Noise

    “Make a Joyful Noise” by Jason Kotecki. 12 x 12. Oil on canvas.
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    An Easter lily reminds me of a trumpet, jubilantly announcing the good news of Easter morning. It can’t be timid, or it would never be heard over the din of our noisy world: traffic and sirens and ads and 24-hour news cycles that trumpet the latest tragedy or occasion for outrage. 

    What’s easy to forget is that we are part of that noise. It’s important to consider what we are putting out into the world. Are we spreading good news and positive vibes, or are we sharing bad news and negative energy? 

    I am not suggesting we bury our heads in the sand and go all Pollyanna. It’s just that bad news has no trouble finding us and bullies out the good news. I know I am often guilty of focusing too much on the 3% of my life that’s off the rails, while the other 97% is pretty darn good. 

    Of course, no one ever thinks they are part of the problem. Not you. Not me. But sometimes, in our haste to proclaim “our truth,” we can inadvertently contribute to a screeching symphony of disharmony. Diversity of thought is useful, but it can’t exist if we drown out those who think differently with shame, sarcasm, and judgment.

    Let’s say you are a violin, I am a clarinet, and that dude over there is a tuba. If we all just blare out our own thing, it’ll sound worse than a shopping cart falling down a flight of stairs. But those three sounds, although very different, can work together to create something quite beautiful. And if you’ve written off the tuba as an ignorant blowhard, you’re missing the full expression of that beauty.

    Or consider the rainbow. Lose just one color and the rainbow isn’t quite as beautiful. Each hue is unique, with its own distinct characteristics. But have you ever tried mixing them all together? You end up with an ugly, homogenous, muddy mix of grayish brown. 

    In this attempt to force unity, the individuals are silenced.

    The thing is, the rainbow was already unified. Placed side-by-side, together but distinct, each color shines proudly, and beauty is the by-product. A beauty that’s impossible to achieve if a few colors crowd out the others.

    Maybe I’ve jumped too deeply into the Sea of Metaphors. Maybe I’ve let too much of my artsy-fartsy show with all this talk of tubas and rainbows.

    The prescription is simple: In a noisy world, make a joyful noise.

    If we want a better world, we have to acknowledge the fact that our own actions are a contributing factor.

    We all have something important to share, and the world is worse off when we don’t.

    But as we share our gifts and unique point of view, may we always do it with positivity, kindness, and joy.

    And remember: We don’t all have to be the same to work together. 

  • All Creation Rejoices

    “All Creation Rejoices” by Jason Kotecki. 12 x 12. Oil on canvas.
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    Have you ever had one of those days when you’re angry at everything and nothing in particular? I had one recently. I went for a walk in an attempt to burn off my anxiety. Two laps around a spacious field of wildflowers near my home released some endorphins, but didn’t make a dent in my foul mood.

    I pulled out my earbuds and fired up a playlist on my phone populated with praise music. My soul began to lift.

    Then I came upon an older man driving a golf cart along the path, with a woman of a similar age as his passenger. She appeared to have some cognitive challenges as she seemed pretty unresponsive. I guessed that they were husband and wife. Perhaps he had been visiting her in the nearby mental health center and decided to take her for a ride on what was a beautiful day.

    They were together, but not really. At least not in the same way my wife and I are when we go for a ride together, talking all the way. In that couple, silently traversing fields of wildflowers under the late-summer sun, not only did I see true love, deep loyalty, and the kind of frail but breathtaking beauty that only arises from brokenness, I also saw a million reasons to be thankful.

    I turned off the path and headed back home, returning a happier, more hopeful person than the one who left.

    Anxiety is the dominant emotion of our time. It’s a constant companion as we slog through our days, scan the headlines, and scroll through our social media feeds.

    Fortunately, there is a cure and it doesn’t cost a dime.

    The antidote to anxiety is gratitude.

    If you are feeling anxious, make a list of ten things you are grateful for. It’s impossible to do this and not feel better. I double dog dare you to make a list of 100 and tell me your mood is not completely transformed.

    Anxiety is anticipating the bad in what may never happen. 

    Gratitude is acknowledging the good in what already has.

    Why does gratitude make us feel better? This painting explores this phenomenon while addressing another. The photo I used as reference was taken during my family’s whale watching tour while in Mexico. I’m still amazed that we had the opportunity to see a humpback whale breach. I’m also amazed that mankind still doesn’t know exactly why whales exhibit this behavior. Scientists have theories about why they breach: to communicate, attract other whales, or warn off other males. But no one knows exactly why – yet.

    Well, how about this as a theory: what if they’re literally jumping for joy?

    Maybe all of creation has its own unique way of practicing gratitude and praising God. Maybe that’s why whales breach, fireflies glow, and swallows whoosh and whirl playfully in the air.

    Maybe we were made for it.

    And maybe that’s why we feel out of balance when we aren’t doing it and feel better when we do. 

    It is just a theory, but a bestselling book proclaims, “Let the sea resound, and all that is in it…Let all creation rejoice before the Lord.”

    It appears highly ironic to suggest turning to gratitude in times of anxiety, grief, or pain. After all, we usually think of “jumping for joy” when we feel good over something remarkable that’s happened.

    The truth is, something remarkable is always happening. 

    Praise aligns us with our Creator, giving us the new eyes we need to see it.

    What are you grateful for today?

  • Refuge

    “Refuge” by Jason Kotecki. 12 x 12. Oil on canvas.
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    The first house I ever lived in was across the street from a fire station.

    Living in a small town meant it was quiet most nights, but you only need to hear those loud sirens wail one time when you’re three years old to experience real terror. And that is why, every single night, my bedtime routine included this statement: “Dad, I’m afraid of the thunder and lightning and the fire trucks.”

    Clearly, loud noise was my weak spot. (Had we lived next to a college football stadium, I suspect marching bands and touchdown celebrations may have made this list.)

    And every single night, my father would simply reply, “That’s ok, Jason. They’re all in bed now.”

    That’s all I needed to hear. It was the perfect recipe for a good night’s sleep.
    For a child, the world is noisy and overwhelming. It feels too big for us. Fortunately, our parents have our backs. They reassure us and help us feel safe. It is comforting to let them take care of the scary stuff. After all, they’ve been around the block. They are big and strong and know everything.

    As we get older, our courage grows. We bravely venture out on our own, exploring the world, and trying new things. We gain confidence and slowly become more self-sufficient. But when life gets too scary or we skin our knee, we scurry back to them, to a place we know is safe.

    Eventually, you reach the point where your parents are no longer around. Or maybe you catch up with them and are surprised to find they really don’t know everything. What then?

    I don’t know about you, but there are still times when the world feels too big for me. The noise, the pain, the problems…it’s all too much. 

    I’m looking at you, 2020, the flaming dumpster fire only its mother could love. We’ve experienced a pandemic, lockdowns, economic downturns, unrest in our cities, and natural disasters, all in a contentious election year. It’s been overwhelming, constantly trying to make sense of it all and figure out what to do next for my family and business. The moments I feel most overmatched are those when I forget I’m not alone.

    What has saved me this year is my morning routine. Each day, I sit in the pre-dawn light on my rocking chair with a fresh cup of coffee and a pine-scented candle nearby. I read the Bible. I journal. I pray. Sometimes I listen to music or read from a devotional. Sometimes I just sit there, in the quiet, before the kids are up and the world turns on for the day. It is bliss. I never thought I’d ever actually enjoy getting up this early, but now I wouldn’t miss it. It’s like I’m a baby polar bear seeking warm refuge in the shadow of his protective parent.

    Many times, I have confided in my Heavenly Father, “Lord, I am afraid of the virus and the violence and the division.”

    And He responds, over and over again in His Word and in the still small voice in my heart, “It’s ok, Jason. I’ve got this.”

    Our bodies may grow old, but our souls remain young. We are always God’s kids, and we are always yearning for love and safety. Our smallness is a gift because it leads us back to Him, and when we are weak, He is strong.

    My morning quiet times give me just enough to get through the day. I don’t often experience any big revelations. Mostly just reminders.

    When I think, “How am I supposed to navigate all this turmoil?” I am reminded, I don’t have to.

    I am reminded that we were not meant to do this life alone. 

    I am reminded that I can be brave because I have backup.

    Maybe you could use a reminder.

    Maybe you need an invitation.

    If you are navigating 2020 like a boss, by all means, keep on keeping on. But if you feel overwhelmed and out of your league, might I suggest seeking refuge in the shelter of your Heavenly Father, who loves you very much and has got your back.

    When the alarms sound and the sirens wail and the world feels too big for you, remember that you have a mighty champion on your side.

  • Spring Break

    “Spring Break” by Jason Kotecki. 12 x 12. Oil on canvas.
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    “All the King’s horses and all the King’s men couldn’t put Humpty Dumpty back together again.”

    iPhone screens. Windows. Windshields. Bones. Baseball bats. Helmets. Even Humpty Dumpty.

    When something is cracked, we often think of it as ruined, useless, irredeemably broken.

    But when a bird’s egg cracks while in the confines of its nest, it is a sign of new life, a fresh beginning. Only moments before the first crack, the egg is pure, smooth, unbroken. Then the crack happens, disrupting the calm surface of the egg. 

    But what emerges next is something new and beautiful.

    Our business had its best year ever in 2019. Speaking in person, on live stages, was the biggest driver of revenue. Who would have predicted that such a business model could vanish so quickly? But of course, it did, thanks to the arrival of a tiny, unwelcome virus.

    Almost overnight, as speaking engagements went up in smoke, our business model cracked. Our future looked bleak. But we clung more fervently to our faith and were bolstered by the support of past clients and the merry band of Adultitis Fighters who had assembled behind us over the previous twenty years.

    We pivoted to a virtual world, developed a super secret membership community, and developed new skills that ushered in new opportunities. Not only did we survive, but we thrived, and ended up buying our dream home on the edge of Lake Michigan amidst the turmoil.

    It was an imaginable outcome twelve months earlier, but made possible thanks to an unwelcome disruption.

    A year and a half after we moved in, we countered another bad “break.” A 112-mph straight-line wind tore through our neighborhood and decimated our backyard, leaving a mess of uprooted trees and an enormous pile of debt in its wake.

    It was rough. We were safe, and it could have been worse, but we were broken. Fast forward another year and a half, and I am only now fully realizing the full scope of blessings that came forth from that challenging chapter.

    Sometimes our life cracks.

    Plans go south. Failures mount. Tragedy strikes.

    We lose the game, our health, or someone we love.

    We feel irredeemably broken.

    But that doesn’t have to be the end of the story. In fact, it might just be the start of a new and better one.

    This painting is a reminder of that first Easter morning, when something that undoubtedly felt like the end of the line miraculously turned into a glorious new beginning.

    Maybe something in your life has cracked recently.

    Is it broken, or the start of a new opportunity?

  • Own This Moment

    “Own This Moment” by Jason Kotecki. 12 x 12. Oil on canvas.
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    The great philosopher Marshall Mathers, also known as Eminem, once said,

    Look…if you had one shot
    Or one opportunity
    To seize everything you ever wanted
    In one moment
    Would you capture it
    Or just let it slip?

    You better lose yourself in the music, the moment
    You own it, you better never let it go
    You only get one shot, do not miss your chance to blow
    This opportunity comes once in a lifetime

    – “Lose Yourself” by Eminem


    It may seem weird to think of this moment in which we find ourselves as the opportunity of a lifetime. After all, none of us asked for it, and all of us wish we could get back to some semblance of normal sooner rather than later.

    Yet here we are, amidst the moment we’ve been waiting for, which has arrived dressed in unremarkable clothing.

    This is a one-of-a-kind opportunity to pivot our organizations to serve people in new and better ways. To improve ourselves by taking a class or learning a valuable skill. To lay the groundwork for a brand new business that will prevent us from having to go back to the old job that wasn’t lighting us up. To strengthen the relationships we have neglected. 

    Perhaps more than anything, this is an occasion to take a long, hard look at our lives and determine if the direction we were heading is really the direction we want to be going. 

    Don’t be fooled by the dire straits trumpeted by the media all day long. Things are not always what they appear to be. Unprecedented times are rich with unprecedented opportunities.

    If you’ve ever felt like a lowly fish, always struggling upstream, never making much progress, this is your chance to be the bear.

    This crisis is an audition for the next generation of leaders.

    You may already be in a leadership position.

    How is your audition going?

    You might believe you don’t have it in you to be a leader. If so, think again. Being elected to a public office or running a big company is not a prerequisite. You might be called to be the leader in your family right now, bringing a sense of calm or comfort, hope or joy. Perhaps you are called to be a leader in your neighborhood or apartment complex, or of the pared-down staff at work.

    We all experience fear, but cowering to it? That’s a choice. Owning the moment with courage and confidence is also a choice. Leaders are people who make hard choices and do the right thing.

    This is not about being somehow superhuman. It’s not about never feeling afraid, or exhausted, or overwhelmed. Feeling any of those feels right now doesn’t disqualify you from leadership. When I experience those emotions, I remember I am human and try to be kind to myself. My shortcomings are not proof that I suck; they are signs that I need to go back to my source of strength. For me, that comes from my morning time spent with a cup of coffee, my Bible, and my Heavenly Father. When my spiritual battery runs low, I know I need time away to recharge, in quiet, with Him. There, He reminds me of his great promises, and that I am not called to do His job, merely mine. Each new day, I am reminded, yet again, that dependency on Him is not a weakness; it is the goal.

    This painting is a call to own THIS moment. Not the next hundred. Leave tomorrow for tomorrow and don’t worry incessantly about the future.

    This crisis, this opportunity – this life – is astoundingly temporary.

    You are only guaranteed this moment.

    Will you own it…or just let it slip?