Wednesday, December 26, 2012

Orphan Girl at the Graveyard

"Orphan Girl at the Graveyard"-Eugene Delacroix
"Delacroix is an extremely active artist. When he paint Orphan Girl in the Graveyard, she is not a tearful or passive orphan, but a vibrant young beauty, avid for life, alarmed and alerted by the nearness of death, but slack-mouthed and bare-shouldered as she looks away from the graves toward rescue. HEr eyeballs have the gleam of a frightened horse, but the tenseness of her neck muscles is completely healthy. She is not a victim, despite her label."

I wrote this in my journal this week and wanted to share it:

      Buddy Odom shared this painting and it’s description with me in the earlier days of Advent but she has follow me through the season faithfully. The girl is in a graveyard; a place of death and darkness, of hard memories and a lot of pain. She is alone, not only in the painting but in life. The girl is an orphan; no family, no place to call home. I imagine she is there, crouching down over her parents graves like she has done for days..months..maybe even years feeling the same ache in the depths of her heart that reminds her of a world that is not the way it is meant to be. Her eyes fill with tears for longing...groaning to be made whole again. To be called “daughter” and “loved.” Oh, how I long to meet her. We would have so much to talk about, so much in common. I know how she feels. I know her pain and her hurt and her brokenness. I know the longing for home that goes so deep in your bones that it makes you feel like you weigh a hundred extra pounds. When I first heard the name of this painting, I immediately started weeping because that is exactly how the past few months have left me feeling... Like an “Orphan at the Graveyard.” My heart longs for healing. My soul longs for comfort. I have felt the desperation for Christmas this year more than ever. 
But as the Orphan’s eyes fill with tears, something grabs her attention. Her eyes are full of fear and awe.  She looks up. She lifts her eyes from the hopelessness of the graves towards the “rescue.” It looks, to me, as if she is about to spring up from the ground and sprint towards whatever her gaze is lock on! Whatever it is that lights up her face, she wants, she needs. Oh, sweet Jesus I need you! I need your rescue. You have not left me in a cemetery to weep alone, you have not abandoned me. But you COME, O SAVIOR, you COME! You have come for me! I want to run to you, my Lord. I want to run as fast as I can out of this graveyard and into your embrace that is HOME. I want to hear your tender voice whisper “I love you and I am HERE.” Even as I write this, my heart leaps in excitement! I am not a victim, but a DAUGHTER. 


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