Looking for Strength

“Without art, the crudeness of reality would make the world unbearable.” George Bernard Shaw

I drew this church years ago, sitting on the edge of the North Saskatchewan River overlooking the water and the valley. It’s dwarfed now by the city that has grown up around it. Many of the buildings tower over the small structure. But I imagine when people first saw it, they looked to it as one of the largest buildings in the area. I’m sure they were as enchanted as I was the first time I saw it. It’s a marvel really. Every line and angle perfect. Eight sided domes. How does a person even make eight sided domes?

I imagine what it was like when it was built alone on the grass a hundred years ago. I imagine the pride they had fitting the fragments together, each like a puzzle piece nestled next to the other perfectly, colored windows arriving from the east by train. Shy women gathering, bellies big with children, small hands clutching their skirts, colored cotton washed and ironed for the day. They gathered together to be with other women like them and feel less alone.

The prairie was a lovely place. And it still is. But it was dreary in the early days of our country, especially for the women who stayed at home with no distraction. Imagine the darkness of the dugout home made with patches of prairie sod, no windows, staying inside for months at a time under two feet of snow with only the wind to whisper its insanity to your ears.

Then the church was built and brought with it a weekly reprieve. They woke up early on Sunday, pulling on their clothes and running a brush through their hair. They climbed out of the small hollow of their home and set out on the cold, bright prairie towards the congregation. Hearing the church bells must have been like hearing the voices of angels.

Every building whispers the hints of its past, people who have touched its walls, men and women who have felt both pain and pleasure, their short lives peppered with dead babies, hunger, diphtheria, measles, cooking for 20, pregnancies after 40. All of these women came together to be with others, looking for the strength to work hard for something better.

A hundred years before that, women might have met on the same land. Brown women wearing leather, cooking deer meat, tanning hides. They stood on the same spot breathing the fresh air, listening to the rustling leaves and singing birds and moving water. People who never recovered from their swift and brutal disenfranchisement.

I like to think that the people who built this church could hear the whispers of others who are long gone, their voices saying “this is a good place,” “this is where people belong.” And they breathed the air warm from the ground smelling of leaves and mud and sage and love and bitterness all mixed up into the fragrance that fills our lungs. They gathered every Sunday at this church to feel a part of something larger than themselves. All the people, in all times past, most recently, brightly colored immigrants with broken English, and earlier, darker women, quiet as whispers, standing still as death. Each of them held their children as women have done from every time until now. They found strength in one another, sustenance in community. This church is on the bluff above the water calling people to it, sitting on earth as stable as any stone.

This drawing can be downloaded at dalegreenearts.bigcartel.com

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96 thoughts on “Looking for Strength

  1. Oh how I loved this post! Is that St. Barbras on Jasper Ave? My daughter was baptized there. Back in the day it was hard to get your child baptized if you were Greek Orthodox and weren’t married. When I called their to ask if he would do it the priest said “Well its not her fault now is it?” lol He was such a loving old man – I’ve forgotten his name but never his loving, welcoming kindness.

    Liked by 1 person

      1. It’s Ukrainian. Orthodox gets shared between the word Russian, Ukrainian and Greek but I’m not sure what if any distinction there are. The services all pretty much follow the same program, same robes, same incense and singing and kneeling and standing and kneeling again and then again. The ladies to the left, the men to the right and the choir up in the back balcony so when the men with deep voices sing (chant?) it resonates in the dome and sounds like a speaker system. The art work is spectacular, it’s everywhere, it’s like you become a part of a painting when you are sitting in the middle of breath-taking beauty. I never learned Ukrainian well so I sat through a heck of a lot of services and never learned much (clearly missed the get married first sermon) but I loved looking at the art.

        Liked by 1 person

  2. Your drawings are somehow realistic and whimsical at the same time. I love your reflections about how the church may have impacted the lives of the women in the community. ❤

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Love the way you listened to the whispers and watched the shadows in that charming church, then described for us what you heard and saw. No matter the era, church IS a place for strength, sustenance and community. Well done, Dale! (P.S. Thank you for becoming a follower of my blog, From the Inside Out. I pray you’ll find the posts meaningful whenever you’re able to visit!)

    Liked by 1 person

  4. What a lovely little essay and your visual artistry is a delight. Your attitude and way of writing reminds me a bit of E.M. Forster, who though a male, wrote strong and interesting women characters who were connected spiritually to places. Lovely.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Hi: Sorry I wasn’t sure how to get into your contact section; so forgive my leaving it here. I have nominated you for the Liebster Award. I apologize if you have already done this Liebster thing and don’t worry if you have but I like your blog / site a lot and wanted to let you know that. You can —if you want to go along with it all, see your nomination and my questions on my last post of 4/8 https://wordpress.com/view/janetawel.com
    Thanks for doing what you do so well,
    janetawel.com

    Liked by 1 person

  6. Dale, I so loved this post so much! Loved the message, the nostalgia, your drawing and the time lapse!!! Awesome! Especially, loved these lines – “Imagine the darkness of the dugout home made with patches of prairie sod, no windows, staying inside for months at a time under two feet of snow with only the wind to whisper its insanity to your ears.” Don’t know if you can hear the whispers of your own words, but they whispered to me that “we wish she would turn us into a poem!” Ha! I think this is a seed of inspiration you need to plant and see what blooms!!

    Thank you so much, My Dear for being such a great follower!!! I really appreciate your support and rummaging through my archives too!!
    Chuck
    xoxo

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Don’t thank me for your wonderful posts. I think of myself as a painter but I’m beginning to think I might be a writer of poetic prose. Each post seems to get better. I’m thinking of going back and reworking some of the earlier ones. They look short to me.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. I so agree with you! I think if you go back and read them slowly, out loud with pauses the lines, phrases and seeds of inspiration will jump out and grab you!! You don’t even have to rewrite them. Just go reformat them. Keep me posted. I’d love to see an attempt???
        xoxoxo

        Liked by 1 person

  7. Here’s my take on the lines I put in the comment above:

    “Imagine
    the darkness of the dugout
    home made with patches
    of prairie sod,
    no windows,
    staying inside
    for months at a time
    under two feet of snow
    with only the wind
    to whisper
    its insanity
    to your ears.”

    I love this!!!
    xoxoxo

    Liked by 1 person

      1. Yes, My Dear – I do believe you are! You might want to go back and read some of your posts/pieces – slowly and out loud? I think you will find a number of passage that are calling out to you to make them into poems??? Just me?? Have a wonderful Easter, Dale!!
        xoxoxo

        Liked by 1 person

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