Color Play

The road climbed up the steep hill from the Ohio River valley below. Years ago, a crew blasted through the hills, or knobs as they’re known locally, to tame the unruly dark gray shale rock into the standard dimensions of an interstate highway. These hills are the debris left from the last ice age and they stretch out across southern Indiana and lightly extend into southern Illinois.

It was Sunday afternoon, and in a light mist, I loaded my car with luggage and a box of my books to take to a conference located four hours away. I was going to do a presentation on “Reflect, Reconnect, Restore: Healing from Secondary Grief,” at a conference for chaplains and faith-based nurses. The plan was simple. I would drive to St Louis, do my presentation, and return home two days later.

As happens so often in April, the thermometer was on its usual roller coaster ride. Two days earlier it was hot, and I thought it was time to unpack spring looking clothes. Now, a thick sweater and a scarf held my body warm. The day was gray, cold, and damp, and I was grateful for the heater as it took the edge off the dampness.

It was an easy drive. The gas tank was full, and relaxing tunes from the CD player spilled off the disc and filled my old car.  The road rolled out before me and before I realized it, Hoosier National Forest embraced me. Suddenly, I found myself swimming in a sea of green as spring seemed to burst into life, with colors ranging from the palest grass green to the deep, rich black green of cedar trees.

The white dogwood blossoms stood stark against the dark gray shale outcroppings, and the redbud trees offered a staccato of cranberry red, as if an artist had splattered just a touch of color to balance the gray of the rock and the myriad greens of the trees.

The overcast light from the sky helped each color sing its song. The spring green of the barely budding trees ranged from medium to an almost translucent green. All seemed well with the world as I soaked in this beautiful display of spring.

I fought against a stiff headwind. At first, it seemed an irritation, now, I understood its intent as it whispered to me, “Slow down. Savor this gift of beautiful colors.”

Too soon the moment was over. As I crossed into Illinois, traffic picked up as the sun finally found its way from behind the clouds. The closer to St Louis I drove, the more the pace of traffic picked up. Soon, urban signs clogged the view. My attention shifted from the scenery to the GPS that plotted the way to the convention hotel.

A Difference of Light

The conference went well, and I was ready to go home. I would be retracing my route. It was the same road, but it showed itself to me in a different way. Those brisk headwinds were now at my back. As I crossed the Mississippi River, I reached for my sunglasses as I headed east into the bright sun.

It was early and, already, the sun was bright and hot. I searched for the soft play of the green colors against each other. I was disappointed. The colors were different now. The sun flattened the colors into a monochrome curtain of green.

Two days earlier, the muted sun brought out nuanced colors. Now, in the glaring sun, the once hazy and uneventful fields clamored for attention. On my first trip, I barely noticed them in the gray light, but in this sun, they called to me. Their colors brashly sang of the deep brown of fresh tilled soil or lighter beige of fallow ground as if to say, “It all begins here.” Our food will come from these wide fields, and they were claiming their place as the anchor of the food chain.

In my heart I quietly thanked them.

A couple of days later, I saw my favorite retired friend, a former French teacher, and I excitedly told her about my incredible experience with colors on my recent trip.

She said, “It’s all about the light. That’s what the Impressionist artists explored.” And she reminded me of Monet’s extended series of paintings of a single haystack. Over the course of a year, he painted the same object over and over, each shaped by the play of the light on it. On subtle days the shape was misty. On bright days the haystack edges were sharp and clear.

As we talked, I remembered how years ago I was called to address a customer complaint at a furniture store I managed. The upset customer bought three white desks for his new office, and he was convinced that they did not match. He was not happy.

The desks were in three different rooms. I agreed that they appeared to be different colors. Then, I took the drawer from one and held it against the other. The apparently miscolored drawer matched the second desk.

I said, “The overhead fluorescent lights are different colors. In one room, they are cool white, so they make the white desk appear to have a bluish tint. In the next room, the color bulbs are warm white, so it makes the desk look creamy.” Thankfully, the customer was satisfied with my explanation.

In a New Light

For my trip, I drove the same road on two different days. Each was a separate experience with color, based on the light of the sun. Like the desks, the route was the same, but the way the light shone determined how the color would appear.

Could we say the same thing about life? Is it possible that with a shift of perspective, we might see things in a different light?

One of the biggest reliefs that comes from life experience is the realization that I don’t always have to have all the answers, and I don’t have to be right. Sometimes, an idea that seems true in one moment looks totally different in another. For example, I have a picture of myself in my mind that is usually challenged in a dressing room, when I’m trying on clothes before a full-length mirror. That situation requires me to see myself in a new light.

I can see the world in a new light too, especially if I believe that it is possible.

So often something happens, and we are triggered and want to immediately respond. We react rather than act thoughtfully. In those times we are at the mercy of our first impression. If we can take a breath and wait just a moment before we take an action, we might just see things in a different light.

Looking at things in a new way can be as big as a freshly plowed field or as little as a redbud blossom. Perspectives of all sizes inspire change.

It’s just a matter of the way you see it.