Breathing

Travis Meadows has long been a beloved singer and songwriter in our family. If you’re not familiar with his music I would highly recommend it.

We were fortunate enough to get him to do a house concert a couple of years back.

He put on an incredible performance – but the most memorable part of the evening for me was talking with Travis in my parents’ kitchen later that night.

Travis has been through a lot of heartache. He’s open about mistakes he’s made and the consequences he’s experienced.

I don’t know if I’ve met a more humble or grateful person. He counts every single day as a grace.

"A good day for me is waking up breathing,” he told me. “There's a lot of people that didn't wake up today."

I don’t remember the last time I thanked God that I woke up breathing. I don’t remember the last time I thought about all of the people that didn’t wake up today.

I should, though. I should thank God for every breath I get to breathe.

I can’t keep my lungs pumping. I can’t keep my heart beating. I can’t number my own days.

I could give you a list of complaints and grievances. I could tell you all the ways that things are hard or unfair. I could offer up all of my problems.

But I woke up breathing today. I woke up with a heart that’s still beating.

So did you.

I don’t know what you’re going through.

You might be in a really sweet season. You might be going through the darkest time you’ve ever known.

But you woke up breathing.

It might be a hard day – but it’s a good day.

Brush Strokes

A couple years ago I spent an afternoon at the Art Institute of Chicago.

I’ll be honest. I know nothing about art – but I know enough to be impressed and rightly awed when I encounter a piece by Monet.

I don’t remember the piece, but I do remember standing for several minutes admiring the beauty of his craftsmanship.

I took a step closer and looked at the individual brush strokes.

It was incredible to think that each of those strokes was made by Monet himself.

But the longer I looked at the brush strokes, the more I lost the big picture.

It occurred to me that there was nothing particularly masterful about any one of the streaks of paint.

But when you put that stroke alongside hundreds – maybe thousands – of equally unremarkable strokes, you get a masterpiece.

I don’t know what brush stroke you’re on right now.

It may be the warm yellow stroke that tells of a sweet season bursting with possibility. Or the blue tones of a restful season inviting you to slow down. Or the anxious red that speaks to a tense situation still unresolved. It may be the dark grays of a storm that threatens to engulf you.

Whatever it may be, don’t mistake one stroke for the whole masterpiece. There’s more to you than the stroke you’re on now.