Twilight Hues: Escape to Southport via Adullam
The Creative Healing of Limitations
Deeply hidden within the Cave of Adullam, David sought refuge from the madness of King Saul. Others gathered with him (1 Samuel 22:1-5). David and his “mighty men” were created out of the loneliness of that Cave. Psalm 143 is “A Prayer of David when he was in the cave.” He wrote, “I pour out my complaint before Him; I declare before Him my trouble.” Fugitives from the inexplicable often find comfort and strength in the inaccessible. The Cave of Adullam became the sacred isolation of crisis that attracted others in anguish.
“David departed from there and escaped to the cave of Adullam. And when his brothers and all his father's house heard it, they went down there to him. 2 And everyone who was in distress, and everyone who was in debt, and everyone who was bitter in soul,[a] [The Geneva Bible of 1599 puts it, “vexed in mind”],gathered to him. And he became commander over them. And there were with him about four hundred men” (1 Samuel 22:1-2 ESV).
I have, in recent days, taken refuge in Adullam. No one is after me (as far as I know). On the contrary, I am surrounded by love. It is not a mad king but a criminal neurology that seeks my life. Adullam is not just isolation. Adullam is secluded creativity. Or it can be. Mostly, when I seek the Cave of Adullam, I can’t find it. I end up in Gaza, where the giant, Goliath, taunts and terrorizes the people of God. Sometimes, by God’s grace, I can locate the entrance to Adullam, the place of quiet serenity. It is not the Ritz. It is a cave, to be sure, but no happier place is known for those who are “in distress” or “vexed in mind.” To borrow John Prine's song title, Adullam is not a “caravan of fools” but a cave of the could-have-been who have, in their weakness in self, received strength in God.
I created this pastel yesterday as I prayed about the events of our time. Sometimes, when we feel overwhelmed by unanswered questions, we can self-medicate with the most wondrous (legal and healthy) potions. We can redirect our attention to soothe the pain of despair, lower the boiling point of incredulity, or pierce the infected angst from living in a fallen world. Creativity is not therapy by directive but healing by intuition. To follow our Father in heaven and decide to make something is to take a step toward joy. To read, draw, paint, garden, play the piano, carve a wooden duck, cook an heirloom-recipe casserole for an elderly neighbor, a child, a prisoner, or even for those you will never know is to pursue peace for others to locate serenity for self. “I want to do this for you” is a paradoxical pathway that leads to life.
I was not feeling well. What I used to do in thirty minutes can now take half the day. Then, when I complete my mission, I am too exhausted to do anything else. So, I must face limitations in areas that once defined my identity. I fell asleep thinking about these things. It is no wonder my sleep was restless. When I awoke, passed through the fog that attends my mind after any time in a prone position, I moved instinctively to my chair. I keep a few pastels and a charcoal stick nearby for just such times. I needed a fresh injection of creating. While mentally navigating the caverns and cobwebs, I remembered a moment. These days, I might forget what day it is, but I never forget impressions. So, I locked on to a passing mental sensation. A few years ago, my wife and I had the most beautiful visit to Southport, North Carolina. I remembered a serene transition from day to dusk. I could taste the brine mixed with the cool air before a storm. The sky took shape in my mind. I saw a piece of land jutting into the sea. I reached for the three or four pastels I had. I thought, “Lord, what if someone else feels like I do? Maybe the sadness and the sea, the storm, and the syncope are all converging for a purpose?” So, I began to paint. I walk myself through the basics: Sketch the lines and shade the values. Block out the shapes and embed the pigment into the fibers with a wash. “But all I have is gray and a muted blue and violet,” I think. In a few seconds, I responded audibly: “Then, go with it.” And that was how this painting came into existence.
To read, draw, paint, garden, play the piano, carve a wooden duck, cook an heirloom-recipe casserole for an elderly neighbor, a child, a prisoner, or even for those you will never know is to pursue peace for others to locate serenity for self. —M. A. Milton
I hope you can experience a moment of tranquility in your reflective quest for harmony. It isn't easy during days like these. So the greater the anguish, the longer the gaze. The painting has a constrained palette of steel-gray and blue-violet. The whole of it is shaped by the ominous if not mysterious, impending storm on the North Carolina coast. As God was in the Cave of Adullam, hope is in the still moments of seeking Him. He often walks on water in storms and abides with His people in caves. How comforting to know “Even the winds and the waves obey him” (Matt. 8:27)!
If such thoughts of peace attend this humble little picture for you or another, I will realize the sense of mission that drove me to create it. Then, I will know the joy I sought. Maybe I will meet you one day at the entrance to the Cave, the place of refuge where the weak become strong.