Ever since I met artist Makoto Fujimura I’ve been longing for “rivers of gold" to fill the cracks in my life that formed when my six-year-old granddaughter Lydia died. She left us a year ago after a mysterious seizure, and I still ache as I recall her dimpled grin.
     Fujimura, a Japanese-American, showed me this Fifteenth Century bowl that was used during tea ceremonies. It was shattered, possibly from an earthquake, but family members held onto the fragments for centuries “to behold because they told the story of those who had used it,” the New York City artist explained.
     Then in the Nineteenth Century, a Kintsugi “master worker of mending,” pieced the shards together with veins of gold in what Fujimura calls “a redemptive restoration. It’s now worth more than it was before it was broken.” And more beautiful, I observed, because of its shimmering rivulets.     
     Fujimura likens this restoration to what happened in his family after 9/11 when they narrowly escaped death, were left homeless, and needed piecing together. Gradually, streams of gold flowed into their fractures, and they healed.     
     The artist says that no matter what earthquakes shatter us, we can mend. “Jesus is the Kintsugi master.” Through him, we “move into the future, and the wounds we can’t dismiss become priceless rivers of gold.”     
     Which encourages me that while Lydia skips along Heaven’s golden streets, my wounds can turn into priceless rivers of gold here as I move into the future. 

My granddaughter Lydia, and a closeup of the rivers of gold.

     I’m testing a theory here: the first chocolate chip cookie is delicious, the second is not as good, the third - I won’t even go there.     
     Ever notice that’s true about anything we take in with our senses? The first taste, touch smell, sight, or sound are great. Then those sensations either fade or gag us. Which is why Annie Dillard’s conviction makes sense, that relying on my senses to satisfy me “requires more and more” because “the life of sensation is the life of greed.”     
     Economists call this the law of diminishing marginal utility - a mouthful to say that at a certain point, the more we have of something, the less we enjoy it.     
I’ve noticed this, too, when acquiring stuff. I work hard to get something, then after a while it doesn’t thrill as I thought it would. So I’m disappointed and seek something else. Which reminds me of a “New Yorker” cartoon about two women. One admits to the other: “I got what I wanted, but it’s not what I wanted.”     
     So how do we get satisfied? In “The Writing Life,” Dillard says we must look to “the life of the spirit.”     
     For me, that means feeding my soul - my whole being - not simply my senses. It’s breathing deeply of God’s love.     
     Don’t get me wrong, I’ll still indulge in a chocolate chip cookie. But to be truly satisfied, I need “soul” food.

     It didn’t take a cop in my side mirror to stop me in my tracks recently. It was a broken foot from a silly fall. Now as I lug around a cumbersome boot for six weeks, I can get pretty whiney. But I’ve discovered something that lifts me out of the dumps. And it’s all the more appropriate I practice it because the Spaniard Ignatius developed this technique nearly five hundred years ago after recovering from a leg wound.    
     Here’s my adaptation of his Daily Examen. Several times a day, usually when rising and retiring, I consciously:     
     ~REST in God’s PRESENCE - “You’re always with me. I’m never alone.”     
     ~REJOICE in God’s PROVISION - “Thank you for a good night’s rest, for breaths of air.…”     
     ~REFLECT on any emotional PAIN - “What’s bugging me here?”     
     ~REACH for God’s PERSPECTIVE  - “God, why am I bent out of shape about this? What can I do about it?”     
     ~REVIEW my PLANS - “You always go ahead of me. Today, I intend to .… Is this aligned with your purposes?”        
     This is a great way to travel through my day, and helps me remember that true spirituality occurs not when I find a cop in my side mirror telling me what I’m doing wrong. It’s when I’m traveling along life’s highway with a personal guide at my side, the God-Man Jesus.     
     Here's a song with lyrics that describes this journey.

     I wish I could report that I broke my foot in a skiing accident. But no, I was making my bed, tripped on covers on the floor, and went splat! So humiliating.     
     Now for six weeks I’m modeling the Big Foot Fashion Look, wearing this cumbersome boot 24/7, and moving as slow as a slug.     
     Sometimes as I lie in bed, I yell out “BORING!” because I’m not fond of inactivity. Then I get over my whining and remember others have it much worse than I do - and sometimes for a lifetime. So I’m taking this opportunity to retreat in order to be recharged. To listen more to God and others, and less to the voices in my head. To gain new perspective.     
     Honestly, I’ve longed for a break like this, but just couldn’t force myself off my daily treadmill.      
     So I’m on a forty-day intermission from regular life. Others have been transformed during forty-day hiatuses more severe than this: Noah floating in an ark during forty days of rain; Moses camping out for forty days on Mount Sinai; Jesus wrestling for forty days in the wilderness.      
     I’m not comparing myself to those giants. I live a simple life in one of the world's backyards. But I’m still raising my antennae heavenward to receive whatever there is for me to learn during this time.     
​     Because none of us are Energizer Bunnies. We all need recharging.

     That’s me standing next to all 6’11” of Ervin Johnson at a volunteer gig where he kept us hustling as we sacked food for kids. Some people claim you’re loony if you listen to “voices," but not Ervin. He didn’t play basketball in high school. Then while working at a Baton Rouge supermarket for nearly three years after graduating, something strange happened - he grew eight inches. One day at work he heard a voice: “Go. Back. To. School.”     
     Ervin says, “I looked around, and no one was there.”     
     He learned that the University of New Orleans basketball team needed some height, so he approached the coach. That meeting “was a divine appointment because it was the last day he could sign players.” The coach awarded him a scholarship, but warned that Ervin had a lot of catching up to do.     
     Ervin hit the gym at 6 a.m. to learn the game. Hard work paid off, and eventually he led the Privateers to three conference championships and two NCAA tournament appearances. After that, he played center for NBA teams in Seattle, Denver, Milwaukee, and Minnesota.     
     He sensed that after he retired professionally he’d have another calling. “God showed me this in a dream; I was standing in front of kids and talking.” And that’s what has happened. He’s a Denver Nuggets Community Ambassador and coaches the EJ Hoops Basketball Club. “It’s more than just basketball,” Ervin says. “It’s about life lessons.”     
     So perhaps we’d better pay attention when we get "nudges." The Master Coach may be handing out directions.