Parking Lot Angel

Written Jan. 13, 2011

Lettered with simple scribe's tools found in purse, a Uniball pen and 2HB pencil. 

There are angels among us.

Today I was walking to my car in the Lowe's parking lot, juggling two gallons of paint, rollers and stir sticks, a purse that was much bigger than it needed to be, and a styrofoam cup of coffee that was much smaller than it needed to be.  A kind, older gentleman saw me struggling and offered his assistance.  As he walked away I wished him a wonderful day.  He simply said, "It's one of a kind, isn't it?"  I turned around and stared at him.  Could it be?  An angel sent to me -- placed in my path to wake me up to this day?  His words were so simple, so profound, so necessary they could have only come from one place.  I have been running too fast, allowing fear to control my priorities and uncertainty to order my day. I have forgotten to make room for joy.  It's easy to do that, isn't it?  To get sucked into a certain type of day, week, month that if it was your last you would weep at all the loss.  My parking lot angel spoke so loud to me today he could have been screaming.

We are moving to New York.  I haven't had time to blog, to create, to sing, to read to my children.  Soon I will be driving away from everything that is safe and familiar.  I have to admit that as we prepare our house for sale and pack up memories that came from this special place, I am not making room for joy.  I am only making room for fear.  My days are all about holding on to any shred of peace I can find.  And because of all that holding on, I'm not finding any.  I have completely forgotten how to live and love this day in my frantic pursuit of creating a perfect "tomorrow" for my family.  But this day is one-of-a-kind, my parking lot angel reminded me.  One-of-a-kind.  Unique.  Pertaining to a singular example.  Never to be repeated.  And certainly not to be wished away.

I hesitated to get in my car in case he had more words for me.  My angel had stopped and was looking in amazement at a souped-up truck parked next to my minivan.  Chuckling, he pointed to the truck and repeated, "It's one of kind, isn't it?"

Though my parking lot angel ended up being just a man who appreciates a nice truck, my God remains a God who speaks to me in unexpected ways when I need it most.

Play for Me Kokopelli

©2009 Shannon M. Wilson, "Play for Me."
Acrylic and gouache on pasted paper, 12" x 18"

Though I created this a long time ago, I remember lettering it like it was yesterday.  It was the first time I had attempted layered and circular text on one of my first paste paper backgrounds.  I remember studying pictures of sweet Kokopelli and his feather-laden hair and trying to reflect the spirit of the southwest in the colors and textures.  It was a gift for my mother on the occasion of her 65th birthday.  (To say her  home decor has a southwestern flare is an understatement.)  

It wasn't the art that made her cry, it was the words that accompanied it -- a beautifully presented little speech by my oldest son comparing her to Kokopelli, the mythical flute-playing character that can be found all over her house.  As the kids and I studied the history of this figure that is sacred to many Native Americans, we had to laugh at the similarities between the two of them -- mischievous, whimsical, joyful, charitable, musical, bringer of joy.


We learned that according to some legends Kokopelli was a wanderer who carried songs on his back.  Representing everything pure and spiritual about music, he brought good luck and fortune to anyone who listened.  His flute was said to symbolize happiness and joy.  When he played the sun came out, the snow melted, grass began to grow, birds began to sing, and all the animals gathered round to hear his songs.

You can see the same reaction in the children, grandchildren and students that sit at my mother's feet as she "sings" her love for them through her teaching, her stories, and her infectious energy.  She believes in the potential of each child and student so fiercely that they end up believing it too, and that's when the magic happens.  Their special gifts (that were always there) start pouring out and lives are changed.   Whatever the true meaning of Kokopelli, our family knows him as an endless source of joy -- just like my mother.


I'm sharing this piece here, now, because our recent move to New York took her daughter and grandchildren away from her. I wanted her to know, again, how much she's loved and missed and thought of.  I know she is asking herself, "What now?," with her grandchildren far from home.  I want her to remember that it is all children she influences and there are hundreds near her wherever she is and wherever we are.  She has only scratched the surface on what she has left to give.  I love you, Mom.  Hang in there.

Change is Here

Lake Michigan one last time before the move.
We can do this.  Together.

Hello, my dear friends.  I have missed you and this blog more than you know. Before I jump right back in, though, I feel like I owe you an explanation.  Change hasn't just crept in since my last post, it has knocked me over.  That beauty I was longing for in my October post?  I'm sitting in the middle it of it, but it was preceded by a whole lot o' ugly.  (Sounds a little like my faith journey, now that I think about it.)  I couldn't fill you in as it was unfolding, because many of the steps called for and still call for discretion, but here is what I can say.

Incredible tension and pain has been a big part of our family's life because of impossible professional relationships with family members.  Things finally came to a head, our choices got fewer, and we had to make a difficult decision. That decision took us far away from the people we love.  In the last 6 months my husband and I and our three young children have survived the termination of a partnership, a heart-wrenching resignation, a season of unemployment, a job search, a home sale, and a cross-country move away from family and dear friends.   In retrospect, I wish I would have blogged throughout, but I was too overwhelmed and probably a little afraid to admit what I was feeling.  My faith can be so weak when I'm being called to trust in an outcome I can't see. I will post something from January, though, that I wrote in the thick of it because it's a message I want to remember, and is one that might resonate with some of you.

I have very few of my art supplies here with me, because we are in a rental house and all my belongings are in a storage shed states away.  My medium may have to be photography and words until we are settled in a house of our own, so this blog will be taking a slight detour for the next few months.  Thank you for sticking with me, though, and for your emails of support during my absence.  I have truly missed you all and can't wait to work creatively alongside and amongst you again.