Author: Linda Vasconi

I captured this moment last fall in Northern California while on vacation. I watched several surfers stand for long periods of time watching the water. Often in groups chatting and laughing but watchful of the water. Always watching. Since I grew up 30 miles from Youngstown, I had absolutely no idea why they were watching the water so intently and I was curious. So, I asked a very young surfer why everyone appeared to be watching the water. He responded with a very detailed answer about tides, rocks, current, and crowd. I got lost in his answer somewhere around his tide explanation. He must have noticed my confusion and simply stated, “Waiting for the wave”. AH! Waiting for the wave! I got it! Maybe.

As I waited for the sun to set, I dug my toes into the sand and my thoughts began to wonder. I thought about waiting for the wave. I thought about how many other elements made riding the wave a perfect ride. I thought about  waiting. Waiting for everything to be just right to take that chance. I thought about my own life and how many times I’ve waited for everything to be perfect before I took a chance. I thought about how many missed opportunities I’ve had because nothing is ever perfect.

The setting sun brought me back to reality. I started to photograph, well, I tried to start snapping photos of the setting sun but the surfers were in all my shots. Gathered in various groups all chatting, laughing, and having a great time together. I was witnessing community on the beach in Northern California during the most beautiful sunset. Wow! Talk about a wave! I missed home in that moment. I missed my community. I missed my friends. I missed St. John’s, where everyone is welcome and loved. We all may be waiting for our wave or waiting for the perfect conditions to take a chance or not  but we are all doing it together. I couldn’t ask to be in a better place than right here in Youngstown Ohio.

The room was empty, except for this prayer card taped to the wall. Somehow in the emptiness she beckoned me from the dark hallway. Come pray with me for a second. Come reflect on the gravity of finding me in this lonely space.

I walked across the now empty patient room, broken glass crunched under my feet, smashed light fixtures hung from the walls, paint peeled in long strips from the ceiling, an empty broken place and yet there she was, waiting.

Without thinking, I crossed myself and recited her prayer. A prayer I learned so long ago in grade school was instantly escaping from my lips.

Hail Mary full of Grace, the Lord is with thee.
Blessed are thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb Jesus.
Holy Mary Mother of God,
Pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death
Amen.

Never did this prayer have more weight than in those few moments, standing alone in an abandon Veterans Hospital. I prayed for whomever had taped her to the wall. I prayed that they were healed, recovered, or at peace. I prayed for our broken world and the things we leave undone or abandon.

I reached out and touched Mary’s face. I thought about liberating her from this space. Yet, I resisted the urge to peel her from the wall and take her home. It didn’t feel right to leave her to be destroyed when this building is demolished in a few short months. Yet it didn’t feel right to remove her. This was her home, her sacred space, where she provided comfort to a veteran.

I walked out of that room feeling the power that our faith tradition bring us through prayer. I felt the comfort that only God can bring to us when we are truly lost in an empty, lonely place. I felt a connection to the veteran that stayed in that room. All from a prayer card taped to the wall. A solid reminder that we, as Christians, are all one.

This adaptation of Psalm 46 is taped inside my locker at work. I usually need the reminder of Who is really in charge. It’s a physical reminder of my faith in God. It also helps to blend my spiritual life into my work life.

I usually read it but the other day I reached in and placed my hand over it.

I felt the cold metal of my locker and the rough texture of the tape. For a few seconds it felt real. This thing I call faith had a form, a shape, something I could touch. A prayer I could touch. I started to think about all of the other things that I touch through out the day and wondered if I could also think of them as a prayer or somehow show my faith in each touch.

A hug given to a friend fighting cancer. Holding my terrified terrier during a thunderstorm. A handshake meeting a new coworker. The food I prepare for our women’s ministry. The kiss I give my husband before he goes to work. The paper texture of the Host during communion.

What I came to realize was that faith and prayer take many forms. I just needed to be open to the possibilities of what that could bring.

My prayer today is that we find our faith in different places and stay open to the possibilities that will come.

Sometimes I find my deepest faith in the darkest corners of an abandon space. Neglect and decay consume most people’s view, a bleak rotting wasteland, a forgotten place that is an unsightly eyesore. I understand this opinion, most people don’t like to live with ruins. It’s hard to look into these spaces and find beauty of any kind. It’s a challenge that is often met with closed eyes. Yet if we look beyond the surface we may just be surprised at what we will see.

I’ve been fortunate to witness new life in these spaces. A mother opossum with her babies clinging to her side scurrying away from me as I carefully weave my way through her territory. A hive of honey bees working hard to create and maintain their nest. Numerous pigeons cooing from the rafters eyeing me cautiously as I climb a ruined stairway. Sometimes is it just a vine or a sapling that catches my eye. This raw creation in the depths of decay has become a constant and I find myself aware of it on every adventure.

In these moments, I am reminded that God is constantly at work in the world. Forever challenging us to view the world with new eyes, with hope, with love. To look beyond what is on the surface and see the possibilities among the ruins.

I recently had the opportunity to photograph this local abandoned factory. When I first shot this photo the colors and textures pulled me in. Today when I posted it on instagram I was drawn to the peeling paint.

Years ago, actually more years than I’d like to admit, I worked in a steel mill. I started as everyone else did in the dreaded labor gang. It was gruelingly hard work. When we had down time, our foremen would always make us paint and paint we did. We painted everything, the floor, the walls, the tools, the machinery, people’s shoes, you get the idea. We never prepared the surface just painted over the old paint, dirt, oil, grease, just painted over all of it. As I reflected on this photo I was drawn back into painting. All those layers of paint now peeling away revealing what lies beneath.

I’ve spent a lot of time discerning my call over the past two years. Peeling the layers of paint away, trying to reveal what God had created me to be.  Layer after layer, coat after coat, I peeled and peeled and peeled. What I discovered, is that I covered a lot of pain with a fresh coat of paint. God knew what was under those layers but I had lost touch with that part of myself. What I learned on my journey of self discovery is that God accepts and loves me as I am.

My prayer for you today…. Stop painting! Be you! You are loved as you are  a fresh coat of paint is not required!