A long time after I have taken pictures I like to look
through them to see if I can find a theme.
Inevitably one item or another will appear again and again. For example, several years ago when I was
going through a period of major changes, I found bridges in my pictures. The bridge pictures turned into a series of
blog posts and then a book. It seemed I
wasn’t the only one having to make changes and my experiences helped others.
It’s not a surprise to find a new series growing in my
pictures. Although I don’t understand
the full scope of the metaphor yet, I do see the small picture growing.
The stair photos
begin in Minneapolis, appropriately. In
fact, one staircase in particular is connected to a very pertinent bridge, but
that story has already been told.
Those
stairs are blue and reach to the sky, daunting, taunting, pulling my bravery
from the deeps in my heart until I conquered them. I found them to be freeing, actually, once I
looked from the top to the bottom. I
scanned a cityscape on one side and an art collection on the other.
Creativity overload almost shorted my circuits!
Another set of blue stairs
beckoned me to another art collection.
But this staircase had a blue glass runner down the middle. Funny, but I hardly noticed the height of the
stairs or what lay beneath them. My eyes
were set on the Kandinsky only attained by climbing.
For many years a Kandinsky
print has graced one wall or another in one home or another of mine. A gift given with a challenge to one day see
the original for myself. “You would love
The Hermitage! So many beautiful pieces
of art from so many amazing artists! I
know you’ll go one day. This is to
remind you.”
And, one day, I did go. A sense of accomplishment flowed in my veins
as I stood there and considered all that had transpired from the time of the
gift to that time. “Thanks, God,” I
whispered.
My current situation in
Moscow lends itself to constant stair climbing.
I live on the fourth floor and find it is often easier, and faster, to
take the stairs then to wait for the elevator.
Four floors of 8 steps plus two to cross a landing, every day up and
down I go. The first climb? I could hardly get to the second floor. Out of breath, legs shaking, I thought I
would never get to the top!
Now? I do have to hesitate at the last flight up,
but only because of asthma, not because it’s impossible. I like to walk the stairs now, actually. It feels good, healthy, productive.
I have met some of my
neighbors because of the stair climbing.
They smile, I smile. I say hello
in Russian. They respond in
English. Small connection reaching
across a globe of political uneasiness.
When given my druthers, the
Metro stairs I don’t climb. I don’t even
walk down them. I allow myself the
privilege of the escalator. There are
enough staircases to climb to get in and out and around the Metro to spoil
myself on the occasional ride.
Besides, it’s so much easier
to people watch when you’re not walking.
So many amazing, interesting,
curious stories to wonder at in the Metro.
Odd couples, strange juxtapositions, fashion and political statements
abound!
The stairs one must traverse
in the Metro are stories of their own.
Marble dipped by the steps of generations of travelers. I wonder, sometimes, who has been there before
me? What did they think of the Soviet
era? What was their life like? And Perestroika. Did it benefit them or only their
children? What did they day dream about
as they trudged home each day?
There is a castle wall remnant in Tallin, Estonia with
a staircase I managed, also. Tricky,
scary, steep and with one unmarked, uneven step. Not my cup of tea!
“Come on!
You can’t stay down there! This
is awesome! Come on up!” I drew courage enough from my young friend’s
bravado to climb and it was well worth the effort.
Looking over the red roofs of
Tallin, I could see forever! So
beautiful and interesting! I kept
watching for Errol Flyn sword in hand to come rushing down the walk or flying
in through the window. Again, I wondered
who had touched that stone wall before me.
Whose handprints were joined with mine?
Pushkin’s gallery, also, but
the carpet is hardly seen for the grandeur of the white marble. Picasso, Degas, Renoir and others await your
gaze, but only if you care to climb.
It seems to me the climbing
is the lesson. And climbing must be done
one step at a time. Not jumping, lest
you fall and have to begin again.
Rather, one step after the other.
Repeating the climb again and again makes you stronger, more
capable. What at first seemed unreasonable,
becomes common place.
Now after the writing, I
think I am beginning to see the metaphor unwrap. I am making progress, slow, but sure
progress. Thirty years ago my life was a
completely different story and then Jesus began a good work in me which He
continues to this day. Ten years ago He began
another chapter which is still being written.
I see the progress of this new chapter, but it’s so painstakingly
slow! I want to know what this is all
about already! Get to the top! Avoid the uneven places. I want to see the sights and revel in my
accomplishment!
But life doesn’t work that
way. Personal growth and spiritual growth cannot be rushed. Step, step, step… up, up, up. Miss a step and slide back a couple. Sigh.
Try again. Step, step, step. Reaching new heights. Going new places. Becoming the best possible version of myself
for His glory.
Yes, I think I see the
metaphor now.
