A few days ago I visited the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art in Kansas City. I really love the arts, and visiting the museum was a wonderful experience. From sculptures to photographs to paintings... I walked through the hallways and exhibit rooms with an open mind and an appreciative eye.
I always feel really comfortable in museums. I enjoy art history and find myself reading up on artists, styles and time periods, etc. from time to time; I especially like to read about my favorite artist, Henri Matisse [click here!], and fauvism. Another little-known fact about Natalie: the 'art' section of Barnes and Noble is more often than not the first section I make a beeline for when I step foot inside. When I look at works of art I feel at peace. Content. Relaxed. Of course, my mind works overtime; I am constantly asking myself questions, wondering about the artistic process and the thoughts of the artist as their hands fabricated the masterpieces that we come to see, know, and love.
So I was really excited to visit a new museum. I thoroughly enjoyed browsing the newest exhibitions, as well as collected works of the museum. Fantastic day. Thus, imagine my surprise when I walked into an extension of the Asian galleries and simply stopped. No breathing. No thinking. No moving. I just... froze. I had walked, head down, into a room painted entirely red. As I lifted my head and looked around, I saw multiple statues of Buddha surrounding me. I mean, there were literally hundreds of Buddha figures in this part of the museum. Large statues, small figurines. Heads, full bodies. And all within different styles. Paintings, too. It was... overwhelming. For a few moments, I felt... afraid. Anxious. Sad.
Aggrieved.
I felt an ache within that I am none too familiar with.
And I hated it.
I truly hated it.
That place.
That sight.
At first, I thought I couldn't handle it.
I wanted to cry.
I wanted to scream.
But instead I took a deep breath and continued onward through the sea of statues. Oh, how I longed to run from those red rooms.
So I did.
Well. Practically.
I didn't run so much as walk quickly.
Coward.
But it was okay. Because that ache turned into a rising passion, which evolved into a realization of the deep desire that I have. The desire for people to know the true God. The living God. Creator, Ruler, Master. King of Kings, Lord of Lords. The Lion, the Lamb, the Lover of all souls. That ache turned into a long-lasting fuel that I will be able to use indefinitely.
Besides, what will happen when I go to the Middle East?
Hijabs.
Mosques.
Minarets.
Calligraphy.
Constant reminders of a faith that I once claimed as my own. Downtowns of the Bible Belt have churches on every corner; I'm not going to lie - a mosque on every corner just sounds... weird. The names of Allah and Muhammad on walls and doors and windows and signs.... everywhere. Whether by muezzin or recording, heralds of the call to prayer are heard five times a day... every day.
What then?
Will I freeze up, gripped by fear and anxiety and sadness?
Will I want to run?
Or will I feel, all the more, that ache... that desire... to spread the Word of my Lord God and Savior?
Only He knows.
Regardless, I do know that I can only rely on Him, trusting Him for strength, courage, and boldness.
' "You shall have no other gods before me. You shall not make for yourself an idol in the form of anything in heaven above or on the earth beneath or in the waters below. You shall not bow down to them or worship them; for I, the Lord your God am a jealous God, punishing the children for the sin of the fathers to the third and fourth generation of those who hate me, but showing love to a thousand generations of those who love me and keep my commandments." '
[Exodus 20:3-6]
......
Click here to revisit Chapter 199.
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