Thanks for asking. I went back and added the artist name with link.
Let's see if can articulate the inner impact it has on me.
Many pictures of St Francis look like a holy card fantasy. And now that I think about it, when I was a friar in my younger days, I was living that fantasy, you know, sandals, habit, beard, etc. But I think the real Francis was more acquainted with hunger, barefoot in the snow. A life of inconvenience and what I now think of as an
existential cutting edge without so many of the comforts we rely on. The truth is that we all live on the existential edge but hide it from ourselves with other preoccupations, securities and illusions that things belong to us. As I have gotten older and witnessed or experienced deep human suffering I think I have better appreciation for what it is all about. See:
Salvifici Doloris (February 11, 1984) | John Paul II
Anyway. This picture reminds me that in recognizing and accepting our helplessness, our dependence, our frailty and vulnerability, every step of our journey can become a moment of divine intimacy. And it might hurt. This picture is for my a visual expression of the prayer of St Ignatius of Loyola:
"Take, Lord, receive all my liberty,
my memory, my understanding,
my whole will,
all that I have and all that I possess.
You gave it all to me, Lord;
I give it all back to you.
Do with it as you will,
according to your good pleasure.
Give me your love and your grace;
for with this I have all that I need."
Of course I am not there yet anymore than I am ready to walk barefoot in the snow. I especially want to hold on to my memory, understanding and will. I remember from my friar days the concept of
"poverty of will". Easy to say, but really? Doing things I would rather not do? That I dread doing. But bring love into it and the bitter becomes sweet. That is all that matters. Part of me is there with Francis, perhaps with the staff and bag of stuff. More likely also with boots, sock hat and overcoat.