Mountain of Trial

I’ve been thinking a lot about how imperfect the world is.  Maybe it’s because my husband has gotten me to read a lot of news articles every day so I can stay informed.  I used to be blissfully ignorant because I would ignore what was going on for the most part.  Now, I see reports of shootings, corrupt politicians, and failing economies on a daily basis.  I know I shouldn’t let myself become fearful.  The world has always been like this, and none of us is immune from hard things, whether it comes in the form of an illness, a tragic accident, or someone else’s terrible choices.

I began this piece with a mind full of anxiety.  The colors are bold and haunting, as is the violent nature of how everything is shaped and spread on the canvas.  As it started to come together, I couldn’t help but think of a mountain, a mountain of sorrow and hardship.  Many of us will have to scale such a mountain, perhaps many times in our lives.  Often it doesn’t seem fair that while we are struggling with the blood and the blackness, we can see others in the distance who seem to be fine and cozy in green fields and lush gardens.

One thing I remembered about mountains such as this, though, in reality and figuratively- they are the source of life in many ways.  Fire and destruction, while devastating, provides the fertile ground for vibrant growth for centuries into the future.  I believe our trials can be the same for us.  They burn us and bring us low, but if we let them, these hardships provide a foundation for us that can be unshakable.