The Way Life is Not Supposed to Be

As I stand and look at a sunset, I am challenged to hear the echo that reverberates back to the one who made the sun.

So, what happens when I stand and look at something created by human hands? What is the purpose of art? What stories do my eyes see?

When babies are born, their eyesight is not that of a normal adult. Babies lack depth perception. In fact, their world is "low-definition, two-dimensional and only thirteen inches in diameter." They live in a thirteen-inch world!

Which explains a baby's fascination with faces. It's about all they can perceive. Gradually, their world grows in size, so that by their first birthday, they have traded a black and white world for a rainbow of color and they see almost as well as an adult. (Mark Batterson in Primal, page 63)

Sometimes we live in a thirteen-inch world, where we can't see much beyond the noses on our own faces.

As I wrote in my last post, spending time in creation is one way to expand our view, but another place is by spending time surrounded by art made by people.

In the book, Eyes Wide Open by Steve DeWitt, he contends that all art - every sculpture, every song, every novel, every poem - falls into one of three categories:

1. The Way Life Is

2. The Way Life is Supposed to Be

3. The Way Life is Not Supposed to Be

Art that depicts The Way Life Is, is not a statement of good or bad, but simply reality. A still life painting of a bowl of fruit. A photograph of a blooming cactus. A child's crayon drawing of his family. 

Art that expresses The Way Life Is can point us to the creation God has made.

Art that depicts The Way Life Is Supposed To Be writes a story (with or without words) that recognizes the broken world in which we live, but ends with restoration and peace. The hero saves the day. Cinderella gets the prince. Luke and Hans Solo save the empire. Aragorn gets the girl and the kingdom in The Lord of the Rings. Art in this category, The Way Life Is Supposed To Be, stirs memory and hope that life will not always be difficult. A time of reconciliation is coming.

Art that depicts The Way Life is Not Supposed Be expresses the brokenness of the world in which we live without trying to bring it to a happy conclusion. This art can be very powerful because it "revolves the pain before us and helps us see it from angles and perspectives to which we can relate or from which we can learn." (page 153 Eyes Wide Open)

Our oldest daughter is an artist. This past weekend we heard her give a presentation for her master's degree on Disability and Art.

The professor stepped outside where we were waiting to let us know it was Aleah's turn to present.

We carried in a forest of easels, secured so the legs wouldn't crumble without warning. Fellow classmates pushed tables into the center so we had room to place easels with twenty-three art pieces around the room.

We worked quickly, without talking, aware of the forty-minute time limit. Each minute preparing the room erased a minute of the presentation.

When all was ready, we took our seats. Our daughter began. "Hello, my name is Aleah. I am a disabled artist."

Aleah shared of her three-year journey with pain that started soon after her marriage, when she had begun what she believed to be The Way Life Was Supposed to Be. The guy gets the girl. Happily Ever After.

Instead ... The Way Life is Not Supposed to Be.

Unexplained pain. Countless doctor appointments. Doubts. Questions. Medications. Isolation. A collection of five chronic illnesses.

Her twenty-three pieces encompassed me in surround-sound eyes.

Eyes in pain. Eyes with pill bottles. Eyes in anger. Eyes alone. Eyes of a person using a walker and a wheelchair.

Eyes that said, "You will not treat me like a them."

Definition of THEM:

A person who is not a part of "us" or "we." Someone who is seen as different, not belonging to the group.

"People treat me like an other," my daughter said. A person on the outside. Not included. In public she doesn't challenge the othering.

"I ignore it. I plaster a polite smile and a lot of 'excuse me's' on my face. But in my art, at least, I can challenge the viewer. I am not a passive victim to be gazed at."

In her presentation she talked about being othered by "a tangle of eyes: eyes raise, eyes meet, eyes slide away, eyes widen, eyes lock, and eyes are cast down." (quoting Lehrer).

Eyes without perception past a thirteen-inch world.

Yet, in her art, she looks directly at her audience. Her eyes say:

I am not an other. I am not a them.

I am an us.

Every day I live out The Way Life is Not Supposed to Be.

Is there room for me and others like me in your world if there are no happy conclusions? 

Her art challenges me as a mother who wants The Way Life is Supposed to Be for her daughter. Her art challenges me as a woman of faith who believes in The Way Life is Supposed to Be, yet has also experienced The Way Life is Not Supposed to Be.

Her art raises the question - can people in chronic pain and illness and suffering find a place in our lives and in our churches when their life experience is The Way Life is Not Supposed to Be? Do we treat people in pain as a prayer project where the only acceptable outcome is to be restored to The Way Life Is Supposed To Be? If that doesn't happen and they no longer fit into our paradigm, do our own eyes raise, meet, slide away, widen and then cast down?

What message can be found in our eyes?

Do we treat those living The Way Life is Not Supposed to Be as an other? A them? What do we do with people who don't fit into our box of happy endings? What do we do with eyes that challenge us to leave our thirteen-inch world?