Since I was painting en plein air in an area where there are numerous surveillance cameras, I’m sure I attracted some ‘official’ attention, which is fine with me since I am only there paint and seek the lost. I’m more concerned that God is cool with watching me do what I do. I’ve had the privilege to share Christ with both plain-clothes and uniformed officers who stop by to check me out. Who’s watching you?
God always has a way to make His presence known where there is a willingness and desire from His followers. But there came a man just as I was packing up my art supplies. With barely a greeting or introduction, he started preaching to me like Jesus would arrive any minute. He didn’t seem interested in what I had to say. I really wanted to get away from him. It made me think about how I communicate the love of Christ; do I do it with patience and compassion or am I overbearing. I hope not the latter.
Across the divide of Woodbury Road on Lincoln Ave. is where leather-faced old men pass down traditions to leather-donned bikers. I pitched my easel to paint en plein air on the southwest corner. I stood on a manicured lawn with my back to the factory where giddy meals are manufactured and served in cute but deadly styrofoam containers. Moms piloting SUV’s taxi up to the pervasive amber arches and fall into queue for their turn to speak to the disembodied clown.