This painting is about running. It’s about running to the beginning, where God shines.
Several times a year, we make our way back to the beginning, because God shines bright at the beginning. So, we leave central Minnesota’s green grasslands and drive northeast to rediscover the red soil and boundless blues of the north shores on Lake Superior.
Just prior to departure, my 4-year-old daughter Olivia usually says something like, “Um… Daddy? (no pauses) When we go to Lake Skuperior, I mostly like the tunnels with the lights. Will we go to the tunnels with the lights?” Olivia loves the megalopolis that is Duluth, Minnesota. And we love Olivia. We think she shines. She shines even brighter than those tunnel lights.
Most of our time in the car is spent watching fields, trees, and other cars. But at mile 140, something changes. The land buckles exposing portions of rock otherwise hidden beneath its surface, and we begin an ascent which endures for 10 miles. Cresting the hill at the west end of Duluth, this red rock and relief suddenly give way to a bold vastness of gray and cerulean. Superior shines, taking center stage and keeping it.
The last leg of our drive is always a blur. Whatever the weather, the shine is big. We arrive at the Lake in a daze and engage our “entry” routine: stop the vehicle; sit in stale silence; close eyes and stretch; wait patiently while the hum and drone of traffic make way for subtler sounds—wind, leaves, rock, waves. Then, when ready, we open a car door to the flood. Sound. Scent. Shine. All at once, we begin again.
“Let the light of your face shine upon us, O LORD. You have filled my heart with greater joy than when their grain and new wine abound” (Psalm 4:6).
