The Wooden House

Grandma Hands

2011-10-22T21:31:00.002-05:00

I have Grandma hands.

Used to be that my hands were beautiful. Not puffy or wrinkled. When I was young my nails were long and I would paint them chocolate brown. That was in the 70s when chocolate brown fingernails were radical and blue nail polish was never heard of. I was pretty once, too. On a good day. (sigh)

But years offer dreams that actually come true for some of us. The same dreams also require us to give away parts of ourselves. I could list for you all the names I find most beautiful in the world. The names that belong to the ones I've given parts of my life to. Two wonderful and very different husbands (at different times, of course), 7 children, one grandchild and one loaner whom I can't seem to not love dearly. That's makes 12 if you weren't counting.

One day, before I saw it coming, after all the diaper changes and sippy cup fills, dishes and dinners, craft projects and laundry, I looked through the soap suds and saw Grandma hands.

Do I miss the brown nail polish? Maybe a little. But my hands are ready for the next job in my life. If God wills that more dreams come true, I'll be changing more diapers and filling more

sippy cups. And hopefully keep giving myself away.

2009-10-22T01:53:00.005-05:00

Dear friends,

Have you seen the painting elephants?

The elephants who paint with brushes!

Not kidding!

Check it out!

www.youtube.com/watch?v=He7Ge7Sogrk

2009-10-20T12:36:00.008-05:00

Ernest Meissonier,

The Chess Players, 1856

Oil on panel, 10.5 x 8.5 in.

Check out this little bit of goodness!

Notice its size? Oil, colored oils, painted with a brush, onto a board, 11 inches tall!

Some look at mountains to see the greatness of God, for some, medicine holds fascination and proof of the existence of God. For me, things like this. Perfect likeness with incredible detail... of two guys playing chess. Incredible! The skill that God has put into man! What must God be like??

This genre, everyday life scenes in a small format, was very popular with the wealthy French Bourgeoisie. What an amazing little thing to have hanging on the wall?!

The men's coats are velvet. The tapestry on the wall is rich and realistic. Gilt on chairs, shiny buckles, and the expressions! The blue guy seems to think he's checkmated his opponent.

(How do you say "checkmate" in French??)

What do you think this room smelled like?? Musty, maybe? Cold for sure. What do you think is going on in the upper left corner. All those squiggly white lines. I could just about hear the 'shashing' of their shoes on the wood floor.. unlike women of the time with layers of fabric, these guys' jackets would probably not rustle... but I can hear the chairs definitely creeking!

You know... when you get right down to it, there are really only a few colors in the world. This painting has the best!

They say an artist views his works as never quite finished. Some paintings are done over several times. That thought makes this piece all the more fascinating. The artist had very little room to contain his concept... let alone to change it! One false move with the brush and someone's entire hand could disappear!

Do you enjoy this as much as I do?

2009-10-18T00:40:00.006-05:00

Gustave Courbet, A Burial at Ornans 1849-50

Oil on Canvas, 124 x 263 in.

Musee d'Orsay, Paris

Another painting of a lifetime! Double-click on A Burial at Ornans!

In real life it measures 10 feet, 4 in tall and 21 feet wide! This would mean the figures are lifesized!

I'll stop here and wait for you to look.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The dawn of realism in 19th century is before your eyes!

Courbet strayed from the beaten path of conventional historical painting (which was all painted from past tense, events that had long since happened) by painting from his lifetime and personal experiences. This scene is said to have been from his uncle's funeral. Some say he arranged the townspeople outside and others say he brought them to his studio sometime after the funeral to paint the scene. (Below is a study for the work. I'm sorry I couldn't get a larger image)

In the mid 1800s, art was seen as something to copy first. (An artist's own creativity was secondary. ) Students were even denied a spectrum of colors until they had mastered another's work.

Here Courbet used somber colors, and handled his paints with a palette knife. He also gave equal treatment to all his characters. These techniques were frowned upon. A self-proclaimed 'realist,' Courbet made his own way, radically, through major repercussions with the contemporary establishment. When jurors banned his fourteen works from the Universal Exhibition in 1855, the painter held his own exhibition. Amazing! (I would note that although some of Courbet's paintings are edifying, others, I have found, are less so.)

Let's only look at this magnificent story on canvas for now. A funeral in France, 1849.

Each face tells a story. All the elements of a small society, right here. I look all around the space and simply find what looks like truth. (You can see why Courbet's critics did not like his handling of the subjects. everyone's flaws left to see. Like a scene after a fire. No pretense. Not even in the peacocks! (See below)) The paul-bearers, eyes covered, knowingly, acknowledging their dark task. The blonde alter boy looks up for guidance. Most seem genuinely sad. The red peacocks at center left seem mocked, I think, by Courbet. Their bulbous noses, ridiculous headdresses, and flushed faces... juxtapose the grave-digger's face, handsome and purposeful. I do wonder what the man in blue socks is doing.

The colors used here are beautiful and calming. This, to be sure, is the one element perhaps not totally realistic. In a real sky there is cool light somewhere. Hints of blue somewhere. If we were to experience an afternoon with a sky this color, light cast in all amber tones and no direct sun, we would think the world was coming to an end! (or for me, that I'd finally gotten my dream after all and found myself inside a painting!)

This piece is one of the first of its kind. Realism is born. I love it!

Do you??

(Study for A Burial at Ornans, 1849 )

2009-10-14T01:16:00.003-05:00

This series of posts begins 6 pics below this.

(Sorry.)

Scroll down until you see the little boy.

Double click on each one and take some long looks.

Which is your favorite?

2009-10-14T01:12:00.000-05:00

How 'bout inside the house??

2009-10-14T01:10:00.001-05:00

And some are just plain creepy!

( I think I'd look the other way too!)

2009-10-14T01:07:00.000-05:00

Some, of course, are more convincing than others...

2009-10-14T01:02:00.002-05:00

And then there are the ones other people can't resist, like this one. So convincing, in fact, that apparently someone got out of their car to help the children before realizing what they were actually looking at!

2009-10-14T00:53:00.004-05:00

And then there are the ones I just can't resist!

2009-10-14T00:10:00.011-05:00

So here...

our next installment.

(The little boy is in Paris.)

(The painting on the building- Paris as well)

How do you react to this? Is it jarring? Or cool?

Would you like to see this kind of artwork on your streets?

2009-10-05T11:12:00.002-05:00

Dear Fellow Art Enthusiasts,

Thank you for being patient with me as I have struggled with some headaches of late and have woefully neglected our little fun. However, today I am back.

After all this time, I hope it won't bore you to finish this piece by Saurat which, by the way, I found fascinating in real life. About 8 ft. tall and 10 ft. wide, like a whole wall of eye candy, this pointillism piece presents unmixed colors that deceive the eye when up close where the figures are ellusive. Standing back, though, the figures emerge. (This one could keep a color freak spellbound for an hour or two because of its size!) Unfortunately we don't quite see the trick of it in a book or on the screen. It still offers quite a bit of perspective in the people and shadows.

This photo, unfortunately, doesn't show the last 3 trees behind the head of the woman in black on the right. So sad because I see the trees as important. To me, this is a forest of people. Non-interactive, stiff, in their own respective worlds. I suppose the pointillism speaks a dreamy thing to me. No one really in touch with anyone else... sort of sleepy. For me, some paintings seem to say a lot, others seems to just 'look' a lot. This one looks, mostly.

Saurat's first finish of this was in March 1885, later he re-worked the picture. In my photo, which is 10 x 16 in., I see what could be the remains of an original ruffle at the front of the dress of said lady in black. The monkey seems a bit transparent, as does the man with cigar (behind said lady). I can't help but wonder why Saurat put them in. Maybe the lady once stood alone. One thing seems clear, the work is brilliant with color.

Next stop...

Something new.

2009-09-30T00:12:00.004-05:00

Hello again my friends!

It's been a few days since I last posted. While Dave and I were away, I bought a book on European art. After walking through the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, I had a long think.

These earlier works really require interpretation. Symbolism is embedded in posture, clothing, and placements of personal articles in domestic scenes. Then there are the battle scenes. Absolutely daunting!

So I have decided to stay within a genre and time that today's sensibilities can relate to. This is mostly seventeenth century and forward. I wonder if grouping the paintings by artist would be useful, or by style, or by school. That will come, I suppose.

For now, let's look at Seurat!

Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte

Oil on canvas

What do you notice here? About light and shadow? What do the figures remind you of?

Tell me what you see. What sense do you get from this socially? Do you find any significance in the animals?

I will wait for you this time.

2009-09-22T10:33:00.004-05:00

On Yesterday's image.

I put it there for fun. Maybe I should not comment on it... but I love it all so much... may I?

For me, I love the calmness of the water. The aloneness of the situation. Big sky. Big water. Big air. Little man. Little hammer. Little boards. And he is free. Free to lay his boards however he chooses. He does it alone. So impossible to measure the value of his work by the likelihood of his reaching land, we wonder.

The greys tell the story, uncharmed by color.

Building... one look at a time.

2009-09-21T09:58:00.006-05:00

There are people out there, capable of explaining art until the learner goes simply giddy. I, it must be said, though obvious, am a self-confessed ignoramus... a wanton aspirer. Still, I love image, am jealous to experience it for myself, and detest having my mind cluttered with someone else's ideas before I form my own. Last night I read a Professor's take on a Dutch painting from the 17th century. He evidently knew the genre. I loved his commentary. But now I will always think his thoughts about the little girl, in the painting, the maids, the doorways, and on and on. I love images so much.. they talk to me. I need to learn to hear them alone, and first. Then I can read others' thoughts. You may feel the same way. You may want to comment before you read my thoughts. I'd hate to clutter the art for you.

Onward, shall we?

2009-09-20T00:03:00.002-05:00

Edouard Manet, The Balcony, 1868,

Oil on Canvas

Birds.

Birds in a cage.

Contented and lulled into inactivity.

No real life.

Rich kids of 1868. Sort of like American kids of 2009 without electronics.

We stop. We look. We sigh. We breathe. We think. We take our gloves off. We blink.

The man standing reminds me of a bird with his bloated chest and strange stance. The sitting girl looks intently out at the world. Her eyes strikingly resemble parrot. The guy in the background croons his neck...with his pots of treats. Nothing but the best for our chickies. I find it interesting that the artist here paints things hanging from the ceiling. The 'V's at the necks look bird-ish, the parasol and fan lend image to tails. The balcony and shutters (cage), natural plant in corner, tails for girls, and stripe of adornment for man bird (tie), all and only have color. Oh yes...and standing girls' foot... Who out there agrees with me? Birds in a cage. Am I crazy?

(I do appreciate the treatment of fabric here. Lace, ruffles and stripes. It is beautiful!)

This work was done in studio. One model was a cellist named Fanny Claus.

No disrespect intended to the artist. What a gift to make anything so lovely look like something else altogether while not marring his first intention.

Floor is open. What do you think?

Do you like the use of color?

How about the figures? What do you see??

Hoe does this painting affect you?

Go for it!

2009-09-19T11:24:00.002-05:00

Edouard Manet, Luncheon in the Studio, 1868, Oil on canvas

Sunlight illumines the subjects face.

Dressed in a man's clothes, a baby's face gazes into the world beyond him. Behind him is a real man, bearded, smoking, looking in the other direction. Color rests in what brings thoughts of home and comfort. The table, food, the potted plant. Maid and mother meld into one as both are distant, grey.. lit with only the silver water pitcher. She looks with motherly perception at her distraction. Beside him on the chair, juxtaposed are the comforts of boyhood and the weight of manhood. Sword and helmet, contented, self-grooming house-cat. Boy with a man's heart.

The original painting is 46x60. Nearly lifesized. That's a lot of grey! I ask myself whyever would anyone paint so much grey into anything that big? To make a point? One reason could be that the boy in the foreground, Loen Koella Leenhoff, is believed to be Manet's son.

Leon's jacket is black velvet. Another artist, Henri Matisse is quoted as saying it was made of "pure black and light."

Ok. The floor is open.

2009-09-17T18:36:00.003-05:00

Pierre-Auguste Renoire, At The Inn of Mere Anthony, 1866
oil on canvas

So, feast your eyes!
What strikes you?
Blacks. Whites.
Notice the only color is in the faces and hands. The faces of the men are showing familiarity, connection. I can imagine being one foot from the dog...I can almost hear the dishes and voices. French spoken. Laughter in the background. The guy with the hat has a paper. He's obviously talking about something compelling. Maybe he's a traveller who knows a lot. Maybe he's a fake. The standing guy has a furrowed brow. He could be suspicious. He could just be thinking. He could have eaten too much brie. And the woman... figuring on balancing the dishes. She's got the 5 plates and the knife and the one cup that looks like it'll fall any minute. It's just like life anywhere, I suppose. It's the good part of being a society. It's the give and take. The familiarity. Tribal safety and all of that.
This was 1866. I wonder how it smelled in there. Maybe pipe tobacco, bread, body odor, cooked fish and wine.
The dog is adorable. Mmm. I'd love to order some bread and coffee!

The picture I'm looking at is in a book of about 11x14. The real painting is approx. 76 inches by 51 inches. I can hardly stop looking! 76 inches of this would be striking. Worth a lunchbreak worth of gazing! Sometimes paintings are so condensed in small books, then in real life you can actually see the spaces between the brushstrokes. There are sometimes little white holes and slashes.( I just brushed all the holes and slashes off my picture. They were evidently dust.) Impressionistic work is interesting to look at from the outfield as well as from 10 inches away. If you're not one to visit art museums, it's something to see. You should go just once. I used to tell my 'students' that paintings were bumpy. Not the fake gel variety you might find at Hobby Lobby.. but bumpy with real paint. Original paint! My favorite is when you can see cracks from age. I love to think of what it took for the artist or apprentice to make the paints themselves. And what a thrill that I'm looking at those actual concoctions!
(Not such a thrill that the yellow ochre is made with urine) The color is... subtle, brilliant, and warm. I would love to take a long drink of the original!

I find this work delicious with real life warmth and a touch of adventure (cuz we really don't know about this guy with the hat).

What do you think?

2009-09-17T01:14:00.004-05:00

Good Evening my Friends,

There is so much to tell you about. So much to confess! Namely that I have indulged an obsession and seen a movie 5 times at the theatre for the first time in my entire 48 years! Only a life-changing experience could've ever induced me to do that.

It all started when my cousin Dawn came to see me. I found myself eating treats in a movie with my daughters watching Amy Adams eat sausage and talk at the same time. "Fascinating!" I thought, "that they'd stoop to such an obvious trick. Sure they'll do that. It's a food movie!" Soon I stopped thinking about the making of the movie and began to live in the story. Meryl was Julia....wasn't she? Or was she? No that's Julia. And Amy...I mean Julie... haven't I met her before??

As we left movieland that day, I intended to come back on a date night with my dear Husband who would, I was sure, relate to some jokes and situations of Julie and Julia. As it goes, he did. This time I found myself tearing up. Somehow I was gripped.. I found myself in both characters. I saw it again, and again, and then again. (I'm not quite sure it's out of my system but I'll be Ok if it leaves the theatres at this point)

So who am I? I am Julia, the older woman who doesn't know "what to doo." I am she who began hat-making lessons and was smerked at by husband, and she who tried playing cards. I am she who loved something which was spoken of in the world in another language.(Cooking) (However I am not she who loved to eat!)

I am also Julie who is comfortable in her beloved and-not so- city. My loved and hated city in Joliet Illinois which I miss terribly. It's microscopic compared to Chicago. No Buckingham Fountain; no museums to speak of; no Navy Pier or Grant Park statues leftover from any Columbian Exposition. No, but my Joliet has plenty of hidden history. And people with beauty on the inside live there. I love it and I love them! Some great memories linger, too, of Chicago as little girl. Matina's Candy Store. Pink paint on the back porch of our upstairs apartment. I love painted woodwork and little nook and cranny apartment shelves. I love the lack of pressure to make an apartment anything but small. I love weather too. Chicago and Joliet have it. It rains and snows and sleets and fogs and ... well overcasts. In fact, sunshine is never to be taken for granted! Julie had weather. (Our area of California has two seasons -sun and fog)

Julie was Mia in a deeper way. She wanted to write.( I wrote half her script. Did you know that?) Watching Julie was like watching myself talk. A city girl at heart who wants to write about something that brings comfort to her world. For her it was food. For me it is beauty... Art. Color. Pictures. Good grief! Why didn't I think of it before??

OK. I won't try to put any serious time on this or anything. But here's my thing. I will take art... anything I feel is interesting...
(trying not to hang with the same artist for too long) and describe, highlight, mention the aspects of the piece that stand out to me. You will, I'm sure, notice different things.

My real dream (maybe just a daydream) would be to describe art to blind people. They wouldn't need to hear about color.
Only things, sizes, textures, placements, descriptions of faces.... to be their eyes, purely, without interpreting... which I most certainly will do here with you. Interpret. And you do the same! Please.

It isn't for sure how long I will can this. Maybe a week. Maybe a month. I tend to ... not stay with things too long. (I saw that!) So, if you're interested in joining me for some art looks... come back. Talk to me. Mention what you see. Tell me your reactions to the art. No book has the "righter" answer. They can only tell us culturally what the artist lived in and facts about his life... responses to art are left solely to the viewer.

Come to my great love.
Come look with me!
And let us feast!

2009-09-16T01:45:00.004-05:00

Ever wish you could step into a painting and walk around in it?

Feast your eyes on The Geographer! (1665 Vermeer) The colors have me rapt! The scientist suspended uncomfortably in a moment of realization, mouth open, gazing out the window...absorbing what he sees only in his mind. The globe, the map, the room is bathed in a wash of streaming light from the window. Every item in the room is adorned in it's place according to it's relation to the sun. As he, the studier, studies the earth. His face- half darkened. Who he is personally, is not important. His work is important. The table-rug askew, its beauty bundled, cast aside. And this moment is suspended for us, to take our long looks into.

What joy to see it! What delicious beauty! I told David that he'll know I've gone off the deep end if one day he finds me sitting alone, eating an art book- page by glorious page!

2009-09-15T00:34:00.004-05:00

Sometimes facing the things that blocks us in life means looking a lobster in the face before plunging him into the pot!

2009-09-13T00:30:00.002-05:00

Just when I thought there was no chance of finding another box!

2009-09-05T02:39:00.004-05:00

I suppose I should get serious here and write about something high-minded and theological. The kind of stuff that might edify and spur one on to think about the noble... the other-than-earth. But alas... I still have so much to do with earth! And more so since I seem to be on the fast-paced plan to relearning everything about decision-making with health as an actual factor (not merely a ideal).

So here’s earth for you.
Tonight I bought a cell phone.
Not just any cell phone. A “Boost” something or other. It apparently has free and unlimited everything for $50.00/mo. It’s a long story but I live in the desert (as you know) where one could fry and egg on the Wal-Mart parking lot any afternoon of any week from May to October.
I, in my older model car, leave home, alone. Drive 23 minutes to Bakersfield. If the air conditioning were to suddenly quit- I’d run out of oxygen! We've lived out here for one year. So much risk! So much senseless phoneless risk. One shudders!

Before I left the house this afternoon to buy said cell phone, my husband informed me that the state of California has messed up our car information even further and I am now driving with ‘expired’ tags.

“But Officer, here is the letter for the new tags, a duplicate of the check I wrote for payment, the meter receipt from the post office from the day I mailed the check... and hhhhere--- the bank statement that proves the state had cashed the check well in advance of sending this notice, which I received on this date, and informs me that I am no longer able to drive legally.” (California doesn’t seem to admit it has messed up, but just invents new exceptions. Like the dry cleaning guy on Seinfeld.)

Cops in Cali ride on very small motorcycles. They appear out of nowhere and scare the daylights out of people. When I see one, I start mentally rehearsing my speech. One of these times I’ll let my guard down and start actually talking... the window will just happen to be open (a cold front will have moved in)... and it’ll be all down the toilet from there! (Do you get more than one phone call from jail if you have your own cell phone?)

Because there was so much time and unplanned money spent on the lifesaving cell phone, I determined that we should spend around $60 in Albertson’s. Just some produce, breakfast things and plastic bags. 10 minutes. “Let’s race!” I tell the girls.

45 minutes later Liz can hardly push the cart through the parking lot. “This would be like a funny movie if we were dressed better!” she says. Curls falling our of their places all around her head.“

“I saved $25.60!” I tell myself.

It was in the paper plate isle that I realized how much stress we can buy off... like in a game.. where you reach ‘happy’ at the end. (I feel the tension begin to melt as I place the cheapest package of plates and cups into the cart. 8 family members coming tomorrow and the last thing I need is music practice, unorganized dinner for 8 extra people and early church responsibilities the next morning!) I remember how I used to buy stress away all the time. (A temporary fix at best) Now that money is tight... object of the game is to manage with less while making a simpler ‘happy.’

So I bought extra chocolate chips to mix my own 6 recipe batch. Sausages for Monday morning and ...oh yes! The sale on Oreos. That’s for tonight!

Life is more complicated with less resources. You have to think harder, ask what your family would smile with the most... and be thankful you can get chocolate chips and cell phone minutes at all. I am!

Someday I may get back to the lofty stuff. Right now, it’s enough for me to know that God is. And that He is good. And that he is good everyday. He is good when I am seemingly condemned by a faceless system... and he is good when our loved ones come from far away to see us. My stress can’t really be bought off. Where one thing settles, another will come up...without fail!
It’s the fact that He is good that buys my stress away. I am one small person... who drives an old car to a desert town and is honestly sometimes afraid. But God is with me. That is fact.

2009-09-04T01:03:00.002-05:00

This is Jack.

2009-09-03T00:48:00.004-05:00

Today I have a very nice thing to tell you all. As you know, I have been feeling much better over these past several weeks. The IBS had calmed down considerably and the constant and debilitating pain I lived with for so long has greatly subsided. I attribute this only to the mercy and healing power of God.

As you well have known, in years past, not much laundry, de-cluttering or deep-cleaning got done on a regular basis in my house. Yes.. we did laundry. Yes, we cleaned. And yes, we threw things away. But every job I did was punctuated with pain and almost always cut too short to produce the desired effect.

Well, (forgive this boring sentence) this life without pain thing is a blast! I am doing more than I can ever remember doing, because the last time I felt this well I had small children and my time was spent singing the alphabet and filling sippy cups. Now I’m 48. (Oh my!)

Fast forward to this morning. David went off to an all day meeting. I stayed home. So began the day that will live on in history as my most productive day ever! I cleaned, and straightened, sorted, labeled, and laundered for 11 hours. It seemed that everything I laid my eyes on was dirty. I couldn’t stop! Harvest season here in the valley will make ceiling fan blades fuzzy in 3 weeks! I used almost an entire bottle of ammonia today! (unfathomable!)

Now its late in the evening and I can’t turn off. I should be so happy and satisfied... and yet.. no. Now I’m thinking about the laundry room shelves that could use cleaning and the grocery list that didn’t get written for tomorrow. “We’ll be having family over for Labor Day... what should I serve??? And my desk... it still has all these bills. ”

Know when I’ll really be happy? Tomorrow morning when I look around and see the shiny cabinets, and floors. And then on Saturday I’ll think about the jobs I usually fight to get done just before communion Sunday...and I’ll smile. Maybe I won’t smile. Maybe I won't appreciate the moment and foolishly rush on to something else that needs doing.. (must be the ‘catching-up’ stage)

Elizabeth Elliot once said that some days, you smile and the world smiles back. Orderly.
Contented. Pain, unfortunately, produces chaos. On every level. It alienates us from the things in life that seem so normal to everyone else. It alienates us from who we want to be...I wonder if my discontent has more to do with having been so discouraged by my inability to keep on top things. The deep shame that comes from having your friends come over and see your laundry stacked as high as a short person. I really love clean. I love smelling clean.(not so much in my car of course...) Maybe I secretly worry that I’ll wake up and go back to the way I used to be. I want this freedom to last...until I fall over from exhaustion! And sleep only until my brain wakes up with more ideas! But life here on earth is about living one small day at a time. We do small things. We set small goals. And we get tired. It’s all about God and what he has to show about Himself. (not about me and the kind of life I want)

Maybe someday my house will smile back at me. Right now It’s sort of smirking. But I’ll take it!

2009-08-27T16:13:00.006-05:00

With joy I enter this next blog! It is, after all, about the messiness of life, which is best reflected (as far as I’m concerned) within the analogy of painting, color and the like. (No surprise there!)

As I ventured to the Google images browser, I found it strange how very few truly messy paint photos there were for the taking. Amazing, actually. (People must find messy paint distasteful!) I do admit that messy paint in the wrong places does not work... but one must make a place for mess, don’t you think??

Take household bills and mail for one example. Honestly, who can stand it? There must be a messy place to store all those un-faced decisions. And what about salad dressings. Most of us just keep them until the dates run out. (Not thinking of you Bonnie- you are the exception to everything I’m saying here!) One would have to actually eat salad on a regular basis to justify the good dressings... so we only buy those for company. And the place for the salad dressings is the right door of the fridge, 2nd shelf. They go there until you buy the real thing you want which is the Hershey’s syrup! Then it’s “by-by cheap Italian”!

So we must admit, mustn’t we, that life requires a bit of controlled mess? Some of us are more OK with that than others. But, there comes a point in everyone’s life- perhaps every 6 months, perhaps only after Christmas, when the messes must be made to go away.
When it is no longer acceptable to keep that dead hamburger and fries in the back seat. When we must face the fray and boldly pitch, organize, clean and make payments on the things that clutter our lives so easily.

Is this not just like a painting?? Tell me? To find mess is to find ideas where they don’t belong, where they say too much or don’t speak at all.

To pitch is to remove from the canvas that which takes away from the message of the picture. The cow in the distance.. is only distracting. Nothing should be able to walk away there. It should be still.. it should give the feeling of non- movement... the feeling of fixation. The cow is clutter. The cow must go.

To organize is to rebuild structure. To recreate in your mind first.
A tree is only able to move by it’s branches and leaves. Make a tree.
Water is confined to is boundaries. A castle is stone, hard, and fixed. And now the one thing that is able to transcend all of these .. a man on a horse. Make him stand, but pensively... controlled. Make the horse appear frustrated. Pull back his head... Make the man be asking something. Make him be controlled only by his own desire to know. Because to know is to be truly free.

To clean- to remove color. since all color surrounds us.. in the light we see by.. in order to see this picture we must remove color. We remove red and yellow and leave blue for water. Remove blue and leave red and yellow for the sunset. Off in the distance there is a blur, a melding of light which happens in real life. No intensity. The farther away a thing is the less we see it. Mountains appear purple, grey. Our experience and our light are now. We see them clearest when they are closest. Time and Distance clean color away for us.

And what about fixing our clutter? Making payments? Making our lives say something good? We add light! We make the trees sway in the breeze by adding light to the leaves. Light on the left and off this way means the sun is catching the backs of the leaves.. your mind will tell you there is wind. The water will move so will the horses’ tail. Light adds movement, direction, texture and shape. The painter simply adds white to the colors he has already on his palette. Light, life, force, wind, movement, doing, being... it’s all the same stuff.

So next time you find yourself with too much mail or some kind of nasty onion rings under the back seat... I say grab yourself a paintbrush!

Dark greens and blacks

2009-08-11T02:54:00.003-05:00

Sometimes these colors can make a beautiful painting. With a little white... you can make a mist or a fog which softens and veils the dark places.

Not so - my painting today. Our house in Michigan has been on the market for a year. We have lost untold thousands on it in renovations. The bottom has dropped out of the market. And today I saw a very hopeful contract fall through. These were my dark colors. My greens and blacks. The worries of life.

You know the sinking feeling you get when the thing you feel so desperate for- falls...slowly... out of reach? Until you drop your hand and watch it vanish?

That was my day.

Now I’m looking for my half a tube of titanium white.

Life......

2009-06-09T03:39:00.015-05:00

It is lived on one of two paths.
The ‘endure and wait’ path.
Or the ‘breathe and look’ path.

The endure and wait path is straight and flat. The goal here is to avoid pain, and personal challenge. It is for cowards. And we are all somewhat cowardly, let's be honest. (If we weren't cowards, there wouldn't be a path here. There would be lots of big trees instead.)

The breathe and look path is laden with obstacles. pain and heartache. But it is the way of inspiration. We know this. It is why we watch tear-jerkers, plant flowers that are doomed to die with the first winter frost and eat bad smelling cheese.

Our family friend is a ‘breathe and look’ guy. Arriving by train with a long wily beard, a backpack and a brown paper sack, Gregory chooses a humble life. (Yet, in his backpack,... a block of imported Parmigiana Reginae ‘for traveling.’) When Gregory enters the kitchen at our house there is an excitement of celebrity proportions... all 6 of us gather to watch as he transforms once common foods into experiences. Our 20 year old son, who, by the way, will eat half a cake for breakfast, received a piece of fuji apple, double-handed, from said friend, as though he’d just been given water from the fountain of life. Positively sappy! How? I ask myself, could I have lived with this child all his life... made a home for him... cooked the chickens.. made the cream of wheat... (and have long since given up on enticing him to eat anything remotely green)? Then here comes Gregory... with a container of “Fromage blanc” and suddenly the kid is transformed?!

The answer, I project, is not in the food but in the foodie. Gregory can elevate the smallest chunk of crust to art. He cuts a tomato only after he’s stopped to consider it.
And tea is an event. He smells. He thinks. He sips. He sets down the cup. Why can’t I do that? Why can’t I stop and smell the rose hips? Here I could comfort myself, take the flat road for cowards and go on and on silently about food allergies, and my days long ago, coming home from a tiring day of work only to face 5 empty paper plates...(violins, please.) forced to scoop copious amounts of kid-friendly BHT laden, artificially flavored products to fill my poor childrens' stomachs....(self-pity, regret, false dilemma)
(This path would require me to add that I never intended harm with the plastic wrapped individual cheese-food slices. Really.)

“Gregory? How did you get this way?” I blurted. compelled...having just emerged from my daydream bubble and dripping with mild confusion as to how they got that plastic on the cheese in the first place.

“When I was about 12, my family went out and I stayed home and made a cake.
I wanted to make a cake to go with my coffee” Gregory answered.

Odd. Someone who could get a perfectly intelligent person to willingly taste cheese mold... with hardly even a story! Barely even two sentences! And about a cake no less! (I have so much to ask The Lord when I see Him.)

I offer this. Gregory honors who he is made to be. He’s a smeller and a taster and a looker and a breather (as he is also a home builder, an artisan, a gourmet, and a thinker.). Gregory gets young adults to thank him for getting to taste a tomato because Gregory honors his tomatoes. He doesn’t need a story.

Certain people inspire us to live better. To get off our high horse of spirituality and work out our human condition. To live our lives through the gifts we have been given. God is honored when we recognize the order of things. I used to think it my job to fight God's battles for Him. (How ridiculous!) I would wake up everyday... and strive to do and be all I thought I could and should be. Unfortunately, my vision of myself and my little life was way too big. I took myself too seriously. And I missed a lot.

Gregory has got something right: humility. And because of that, I believe, he has the best of human things.

Thank you so much Gregory, for showing us how to stop moving and stand still.
And breathe.
And look.
And consider the tomatoes!

We all agree. You've been quite a refreshment!
(And thanks for fixing the swamp cooler!)

2009-02-23T13:51:00.002-05:00

"Blessed are the peacemakers
For they shall be called sons of God"

Peacemakers deliberately love the unlovely.
They love first.
They love only.
They let love have the last word.

Eloquence is not love.
Prophecy is not love.
Discernment is not love.
Knowledge is not love.
Giving is not love.
sacrifice is not love.

God, Himself is love.
He is all of what we are not.

God is patience.
God is kindness.
God is both bearance ond forebearance.
God is fact.
God is hope.
God is endurance.
God never fails.
God never fails us.

He never fails me.
He will never fail me.
He will never fail you.
Because He never changes.

What shall saparate us from the love of Christ?
Trouble?
Stress?
Poverty?
Hatred?
Abuse?
Blindness?
Repeated failures?
Chronic pain?
Aloneness?

God is.
God will always be.
God will never not be.

God is love.
To you!
He never will stop being love to you.
Because He will never stop being.

God is love.

(Matthew 5:9, Romans 8:35-39, 1 John 4:16)

2009-02-14T02:37:00.003-05:00

This is my tree.
It tells me that God holds all things together.
Every second.
This second.
(Isn't it awesome??!!)

2009-02-13T02:55:00.003-05:00

"Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer...with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known unto God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, shall guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus."

(For those of you who have not heard, our family has recently moved to a land far away and the posted photo was taken on our long journey here.)

One night last week I went to bed early to awaken at 3am. I met my new friend at 4 and drove to Mexico in yet another attempt to find relief from my thorn in the flesh. We were met by a nice lady and took a long walk. I found myself in a Doctor's office. The Spanish language, not a strength for me, I found myself explaining through a translator years of baffling medical issues. I was, in 3 words: Out Of Control. Within minutes the nice lady Doctor brought me to a nice poster of a cross-section of someone's guts and told me something about weak valves and acid reflux in babies, and milk allergies and (through the translator who is, at this point, my only link to life as I knew it 8 hours ago, something about how they didn't inderstand all this when I was a baby... (all those years ago. Big smile from nice Doctor lady) Then a red plastic typewriter bunked-out
many scripts. A trip to a pharmacy, the back to the Doc whose nurse injected me twice with pain and allergy meds.
After another 8 hours, my now very best friend and I were on our way down the big Highway and almost home. (sigh)

Never in my life had I felt a sting so unwelcome in the words "trust me." I've had pain in my life and been quite out of control. But never like this.

It's been just over a week and I believe these nice people helped me. I think the Doc may be right. My thorn in the flesh may never leave... but I know I'll be OK. And maybe I'll eventually feel better. But I know that God is the only one I can trust- really.
"Be anxious for nothing" is simply raw choice to live in the truth that God is in control. (Especially difficult while looking through the windshield of a runaway truck!)

Peace be with you! Real peace!
Anne

I could've painted!

2007-03-22T22:53:00.000-05:00

Never could I hold their attention with words

Couldn’t tell a story to save my life

I felt like a prisoner

Then finally, one day, I broke the code

And learned to speak in their language

That meant I had to listen to mine

To be with Ok with who I was

To look…and even gaze

At the colors I saw in life

Some have mouths

Some have ears

Some have feet

I was born with eyes

Let me show you a little girl’s face

Full cheeks flushed in the outdoor chill

squinting

A knitted hat over both ears

Blonde hair pulled out into a thin loop on one side

Oops! Here’s a Kleenex!

I know I would’ve loved to have painted!

Snowday.

2007-02-06T06:38:00.000-05:00

Ever wonder why you’re here? And how do you know if you’re doing what you’re supposed to be doing?

The one human thing that makes my life even remotely exceptional is the seemingly endless stream of unusual experiences. Take today for instance.
We all know this weekend was very cold in many areas. Here at my house…well let’s just say I figured out by obvious deduction where the drafts had been coming in: through my kitchen floor!
Apparently the “add-on” off the back is not insulated. Taking those baseboards off when we had the (unbelievably wonderful surprise-we-didn’t-know-they-were-there) maple kitchen floors refinished really did us a harm because the power company sends us unbelievable-surprise-we-didn’t-know-they-were-coming bills! Not to mention the icy ‘kitchen-feet!’ So this evening, I rustled up all the kids and had them move furniture, run up and down the stairs to find things and generally made them miserable. After about 2 hours, the kitchen looked like something out of Green Acres! The back door is now walled off with curtains.
I found some unopened rug liners that were meant for the living room. They are now carpeting the kitchen floor. An old sheet over that, about 10 throw rugs later, and I now have what looks like a Russian apartment in a very dark time Now tell me- why did God put me on this earth? Is doing stuff like this really a calling? Do you know my whole life is like this? I do unorthodox things as a lifestyle! If a woman spends hours retrieving small rugs to keep her kitchen warm in the forest and no one notices- does it count??

Today was a snow day. For the 4 hours prior to the kitchen fiasco I worked with the twins in their room. Too many clothes. Too many treasures. Bummer! They threw things away until it hurt. But now their room looks charming! Baby-pink crushed velvet curtains over white-on-white polka-dot panels. Lots of flowers. A place for the geckos. And I finally got that china cabinet out of there! (They were thrilled!) (And tired!)

Did I mention that I watched my son go back to College with his back tire spinning freely while he steered the car (from outside the car) through the open driver’s door. He looked like a human tugboat. The street was so thick with ice that he literally pushed the car with one hand and steered it with the other! I’m still waiting to hear that he made it back ok.

I feel small and cold.

Now the house is dark and quiet. All my fun teen-agers are in their places with their large dogs and space heaters, respectively. I sit at my computer, wrapped in a red blanket, thinking. The screen-saver is our family stock of digital pictures. A close-up of a gecko on a bright pink bath puff appears, then, it’s cage-mate poses on the stained-glass living room lamp. I watch the pictures…and remember the hysterical jokes my son was making, and the comfort my daughters were giving as I went ballistic on the kitchen. It hits me. Life is happening. And I get to be here. I get to teach my daughters again what it means to be unhindered by stuff. I get to do something weird and show my kids how to break the box and do what’s necessary in life. I get to hear my quiet son be funny when most people don’t get that from him. I get to feel loved by my daughters as they try to help me the best they can without understanding what in the world I’m doing!

If a woman spends hours retrieving small rugs to keep her kitchen warm in the forest and no one notices- does it count? Probably to no one but the woman …and her 5 kids …and God. My calling: Maybe today it’s to clean out trinket boxes and yarn bits from junk drawers; to hang curtains over doors when necessary (ok- weather-stripping is better!). In this dark room behind me there are still loads of curtains to put away. My kitchen is now warmer but it is still filled with the dishes that didn’t get done because of all the projects. And yes, I don’t question being called to my kids: to loving them, and listening to them and making them important. But the part I forget is the part for me. The bending and stretching, the embracing of the changes…that makes me alive! And I’ve got a hunch that it’s the seed of life that lives in the changes that I’ll recognize when I get to heaven. My calling in life isn’t just for everyone else. Yes I serve…but I get to watch small but amazing changes happen everyday. Finding humor is blessing from God- but finding my 17 year old son extremely funny is impossibly funny! Making a room beautiful is fun- but aching through the struggles with my daughters before the beauty comes- that means I got the chance to teach them something difficult but valuable. That’s being used by God. Whether anyone else in the forest notices or not- I should notice. Because many of the blessings I’m called to are meant exclusively for me.

And with all of that comes the distinct impression that I’m doing exactly what I’m supposed to be doing. Curtains and all!

2007-01-22T04:20:00.000-05:00

He was in a phone booth, standing in a large puddle of freezing rainwater. “The graduation went well. I got an ‘Expert Marksman’ ribbon, two other ribbons and a stripe.”
“That’s so excellent John. So where is Tech School?”
“ Mississippi. I leave at 001 (chuckle). That’s one minute after midnight, tonight.”
“Are you flying?”
“Bus. I ride a bus for 13 hours.”
“How likely is it that you’ll go to Iraq?”
“Uh…it could happen…… I ran into a pilot in town and asked him about my job title. He said I’ll be working mostly with computers on a base, in a tower. So even if I am in Iraq, my job is not as dangerous as some because…they protect the bases pretty well, ya know?”
“So John, are you glad you did this?”
“Oh yah! It’s good.”
“I’m so glad to hear that. Now you’re through the bootcamp. That was what I worried about. Maybe that’ll be the worst.”
“Uh. No. Probably not the worst.”

“I have to go now to call grandma…… I think I’ll get myself a cell phone. Calling cards aren’t such a deal and I don’t like phone booths! I’ll call you as soon as I can. I love you Mom.”
“I so love you too, John.”

We Bought An Old House

2007-01-13T23:05:00.000-05:00

Three months ago we moved from a hotel-like manse in a new subdivision to a little Bungalow in the village with undatable trees, a dubious porch swing, a 100 year old coal burning firebox, drop-dead gorgeous woodwork, and very drafty windows. The building in the back which is passed off as a garage was probably built for a Model-T. Our cars sit in the snow. I gave up a dishwasher and unfillable storage for hardly any counter space and ugly dark brown kitchen cabinets. There was no place for food so I went to an antique store and bought an 18th Century pine cupboard complete with square nails and a bad refinish job. This replaces half the pantry space. I find bats in the house (alive and dead) and the faucets occasionally refuse to give up their water.

It’s difficult to describe these changes without sounding like I’m whining. After all, who wants to give up the 7 ft wide Christmas tree because it doesn’t fit in the new 3ft space? Our lives change. And the things we consider beautiful and even necessary are no more. And we live a different way. With limits.

Something you might not guess about me is that I absolutely love old houses! It’s not the loss of a big and new house I struggle with. You can have that! It’s all about the limits!Not enough food space means shopping differently and even eating differently.

Six months ago I loathed the big mortgage payment that enabled us to have all that pantry space and convenience. And I pined for the big oaks down Johnson Street! An old house was all I could think of. In fact, for 2 years I prayed that God would take us out of that nasty new subdivision with no trees. In the summer months I would take little drives all by myself just to meander through the village to look at the houses. It was the Spring of 2006 when I finally poured my heart out to The Lord. “Why?! Lord? Why have you given me such a love for old houses and forced me to live in a new one?!” He heard me and our house was on the market in 4 months!

The one thing I hate to admit is that now that I’m living with so much less, I’m ashamed about what I thought I needed. You see, with the exception of a few inescapable problems, (like no functioning toilet for 3 days) it really is working out quite well here. We don’t absolutely need a garage. (David works at home) And I can paint cabinets (soon!). Washing every dish by hand has been a catalyst to seeing need in my parenting. And I’ve actually found that having 8 boxes of cereal is not a necessity! In fact, I’ve given up buying cold cereal altogether (for now). The kids are eating hot cream of wheat and oatmeal in the mornings. It’s not only cheaper but way better for them! You see what I mean about limits…they force us to live differently. But who says different is bad? Honestly, the less I have, the less I seem to need! There’s freedom in not having things!

This summer we’ll empty our two storage lockers and have a couple of garage sales. We’ll find a good home for the big Christmas tree and sell the furniture that doesn’t fit. I suppose it will be a while before the bat population is reduced (One flew into David’s head a few weeks ago). And I’ll paint my old pine cabinet white to match the others. I’ll take more walks in the village and turn into my very own village driveway. We’ll keep having fires in the fireplace (like the one that’s burning now). Maybe that porch swing will work after all! And the best thing of all, the unexpected thing, is that life is actually getting better! Who would have thought?!
.
Yes, we bought an old house. And we have less! What a privilege!

2007-01-07T02:41:00.000-05:00

Well, You all haven’t heard from me in quite a while. This could cause one a fair amount of shame, especially since my only and dear sweetheart of a sister has apparently left a comment for me. I think today’s BLOG will be on the subject of guilt.

My life resembles something akin to…a jungle monkey. I try to be organized. What I do is run from place to place, sometimes screaming, carrying my young, searching for food, and mailing jungle packages. I usually have one thing on my mind- now. I have now on my mind.

Being of the more civilized monkey variety, I pride myself on non-smelly bathrooms and soup. Occasionally I change curtains and paint a room but mostly it’s the soup.

Being a confused female with chaos looming around every tree, I can sometimes give the impression to others that I am perhaps inattentive, detached and somewhat…distracted. (Those of you who know me are nodding) yes, I am distracted…but not detached. No.

Take my sister Robin, for instance. She is possibly the very best sister any monkey-woman could have. I lie awake at night, holding my guilt like a baby for all the neglect!

Then there is the insurance lady (although nowhere as important as the sister!). Along with the ungroomed, rather matted standard poodles. Have I mentioned the power company ? They have been so concerned about not having heard from me that they called me! Oh the guilt!

At this very moment I have managed to avoid remembering the church pot-luck tomorrow. Yes, I am the wife of the Pastor and, again, I bear the guilt! I should know these things! I guess it slipped my mind somewhere between last night’s tween slumber party and this morning’s 3-bedroom-furniture exchange!

I will tell you this though…in most cases, I will get around to it! And if it doesn’t get done…it isn’t necessary to survival. (That one usually works until the electricity is shut off!)

So to all my critics- I humbly bow. I am guilty. And to all my other critics-I humbly bow. I am guilty.
And let me thank you for sticking with me…through all the screaming and souping. I really do love you!

Especially you Robin!

2006-12-07T18:52:00.000-05:00

There comes a time in the life of the average woman when she is forced to accept the fact that she will never again hold a newborn of her own. It’s all part of the process of living and dying. And some come through this quicker than others. I, personally, have been going baby withdrawal for several years. I actually have dreams! One main recurring dream, really. I call it my ‘find-a-baby’ dream. Used to be I’d find my own baby (whom I had somehow misplaced apparently. Those of you who know me will not find this unimaginable!). I’d spend the rest of the dream how-could-you-ing myself and wake up on a total guilt trip! The next dream-phase, I’d find someone else’s baby (under a bed, under water, one appeared on a large red and white picnic blanket one time) and take care of him as my own. I’d spend the rest of the dream running around to find infant formula and nest-ie things! Those dreams always had happy endings but I never got to name the baby. (Those of you who have the proper psychological term for this, please don’t share it!) My latest dream-phase has been animals.(Be kind!) I found a litter of Golden Labs puppies once, and Caspian (our older male dog) somehow produced many little Caspians (please don’t ask!).

So you will rejoice with me when I tell you I have finally found my real life rebound-Mom infant! A tiny baby finch! He fell out of his nest yesterday.
Dave and I did some quick research and decided to attempt the impossible and hand-raise him. We spent the rest of the evening running around to find infant bird formula and nest-ie things.
He is beautiful! 0 lbs.2 oz., 3 “long. He has black feather-ettes, white bushy down eyebrows, and red bone-drawn skin! He’s doing fine and eats every 3 hours.

I think I’ll call him Harry.

Wild Cows and Candy Lipsticks

2006-12-06T00:44:00.000-05:00

I was born in Chicago. When I was little I thought farms were a dying lot and that cows lived in zoos, ‘cept the wild ones of course. Those are the ones out in the fields that were so poetical looking that they got put into paintings. I thought the whole country was as densely populated as my city. (And I will admit this only to you…at an age frighteningly close to the one I am now, I realized that most of the country is actually …ahem…more rural in nature.) All my real friends know this- that as a kid, I used to complain about the lack of field trip options in Chicago. (yawn) Ok Field Museum again.(sigh) Brookfield Zoo? Again? OK If we have to- Science & Industry. Honestly! Concerts at the Bandshell in Grant Park! Ho-Hum! Isn’t there something more to do in this town??!!

Then I took my first road trip to a place my Grandpa called: ‘the sticks.’ Our little family ventured 35 actual miles out of the city! We all learned about eating fast food and throwing up, chewing Doublemint gum (because Dad thought it would prevent throwing up) and throwing up. We also learned ( my sister and I ) that moving to a different place, however nice, does not necessarily make one happier! In fact , sometimes the old place is way better even with all it’s problems. We hated (HATED) the suburbs! Rude awakening there! The term ‘nothing to do’ was reborn! We wanted our city back! Where all the Christmas lights were colored; Where the trees sent little bean pods flying and covered the sidewalks! The trees, by the way, in the city had actual trunks! Where the rubberband factory left little disks in their garbage and the kids would go fish them out and fly them from one side of the street to the other on the way to school; The city where the phone men left little snips of colored wires in the alleys,(we’d twist them together and make rings out of them) and the bullies would drown kittens in plastic bags and fling them (that was NOT a good memory!)There was Matina’s candy store where we’d buy candy lipsticks and cigarettes (candy ones Peter!) for very small change before school and then run like mad to get there on time; The city... where gym was on the 3rd floor and we actually spent long minutes twirling our fingers! And Grandma! Grandma lived there! Her apartment had mingled the glorious smells of moth balls and Pine-Sol always wafting like a Scent-Stories! We’d walk 7 blocks on Saturdays to Woolworth’s to get a grilled cheese and chocolate milk! Now that was livin’! I mean- what could be better than all that?!

But there were things that we coudn't see...like the little red pills being passed around in our elementary school, and growing gang-crime in our own neighborhood. We heard some guy smashed Grandpa's windshield with a baseball bat. Who told us that? um...Yes! It was Grandpa. He watched the guy do it-...from INSIDE THE CAR!! (And this is the rest of the story!) My parents worked very hard to get us out of there to protect us from the stuff we couldn’t see. My Mom was pregnant and worked midnights to save up the downpayment money to buy that house in the sticks. And as I recall my Dad had
2 jobs! So actually, if I had to choose, I think I'd rather be bored in the suburbs and safe- then, say, dead and formerly comfortable in my ignorance! Besides, I learned so much in the suburbs- like how sweet the smell of new lumber can be, and how to seriously decorate a house; how to make a bricked foyer and what it means to be there and watch (as My dad worked tirelessly and perfectly to produce several beautiful houses!). I learned how to build a gigantic flowerbox out of railroad ties and that I LOVE Russian Olive trees. You know, when I think about it- living in the suburbs, in all its monotony and boredom, probably helped me to be a more contented stay-at-home Mom too; But more than anything else, I think I learned to trust my creative instincts, and to not give up on finding the perfect shade of green! (We'll just be staying away from the avacado!)

Thanks Mom & Dad!
For all the experiences!
(My favorite was seeing wild cows for the first time!)
I love you!
Linda

2006-12-04T00:00:00.000-05:00

Today I was a blubbering idiot! Couldn’t stop sobbing. I sounded so sad I made myself cry more! It all started when I was replaced with another singer without being told. Stuff happens. I know that! Normally not a big deal, but today-

The band was practicing so no one could hear my quiet sobs as I tried to gain my composure on the stage steps. The music started and the music ended and I was still hiding. We need to pray for John! Great! Now I have to walk out into the group with my nose swollen and black make-up specs all over my face. Emerging from behind the curtain I got that sinking feeling that a kid gets after he’s been punished and everybody knows it. Sniffing and hiccing I sat in my place (in the front row)and whispered to my Pastor-husband that it would be good to get the church in on praying for John. He nodded knowingly, turned his microphone on and got up. The next thing I knew all the men in the church who had ever been in the military were standing over my child, praying with their hands on his shoulders.(Towering over him actually)
And John, bell-bottom pants and black Converse shoes! Hope, like a warming salve, soothed my aching heart. (mostly cause these men obviously all made it out of the service alive and intact!) And John Robert standing with his head bowed. I saw the six year old who chased his best friend with a stick and accidentally split his eyebrow open (the other kids’ eyebrow!)
I saw the 7 year old all bundled up in his blue coat and mittens holding a 12 inch icicle up to me. I saw the eleven year old in a white t-shirt and grey sweatpants blow out candles on a black and white piano keys birthday cake while his father lay dying in an upstairs bedroom. I saw the boy who became the man of the house when I was left a widow with 5 small children.

Moments before, while sitting behind the curtain, I was reminded of Hannah, who walked her little boy up the steps of the temple to Eli…(probably a guy with a long beard and very bad breath) to lead Samuel into his life calling. Duh! Mia! Did you not commit him to Me?? Do you not remember praying for a son like Hannah did? Is John not the very miracle child I gave to you? He came from Me. He is mine. Like with Hannah, I merely lent him to you. Have you so quickly forgotten? I lifted my eyes and very on-purpose-ly gave my John back to the One who sent him. (Had to pray it twice to wrap my heart around it all)

Back in my seat this image of the-John-that-used-to-be got an update: Now, the image of a young man pursuing his calling in life.

Yes. Today I was a blubbering idiot!

2006-12-01T08:16:00.000-05:00

My son leaves for the air force in 3 days. Words I’ve always wondered what it would be like to say. As he joins the ranks of all the soldiers over all the years .I join the mothers who have had their hearts taken away to unpronounceable places to face unsayable risks. Death is not new to our family. We are called to meet God face to face when He chooses.. I do not fear my child dying. I fear his fears. I fear his sadness. I fear the cold. I fear confusion and loneliness. I fear what could go wrong.

Before the soldier- is the son; before the son- the child; before the child- the infant; and before the infant- the mother. Look into the face of any young soldier, you will see a bit of the life-seed of his mother. She is the mother of the infant-soldier. He is the soldier for the mother of an infant.

My son leaves in 3 days. His protection now depends on things quite apart from me. He will grow to learn new skill and strength. I need to grow too. Grow or be taken up by the very fears I have for him. Just as he learned to trust me as an infant, I, now, must learn to trust him as a man…to face his fears, to find his own comfort in sadness, to keep himself warm, to not be overcome by confusion, to make God his constant companion, and to be prepared for the unexpected...to let the man take care of the child.

So John, I honor you today, for what you will do in protecting my boy as you go off to unpronounceable places. You will join the ranks of all the soldiers of all the ages…and I join the ranks of all the mothers who have honored the soldiers who protect their infants and children.

I cannot express how much I love you.
Mom

On Dreams and Finches

2006-11-29T23:28:00.000-05:00

My Dear Reader,

This is my first BLOG entry. Actually I am feeling quite mindless at the moment Yes, I do love to write but I wonder why anyone would want to read anything I’d have to say.

Maybe I’m blogging for me. I need to be writing and I do love to observe life! I have also found quite a bit of fulfillment in describing what I observe. So this is what I hope to do for you…to live a little bit and describe it to you. I hope offer some respect and encouragement to you along the way as well.

I am 45, a mother of many, the wife of a Pastor, a lover of children. I am also a right-brained introvert who loves to decorate things and sing very sad songs. But my very first love (humanly) is thinking.

In my Husband’s study there is a very large cage of finches. We started with 12 in September and now there are 16! The 4 new babies are already as big as the adults. Only their tell-tale black beaks and adorable clueless behavior give them away. Lately I’ve been feeling so much like a confined little finch. (I won’t bore you with the details!) I realize the very things we are best at in life, the things we are most gifted at, are the things that are taken away from us – to test us... Like the caged creatures who love most to fly. Like the Physician who suddenly finds himself in a hospital bed with amnesia. God puts us, on purpose, in situations that seem to handcuff us….and there we become small...and smaller. And there we begin to see the bigness of God.

My absolute favorite movie of all time is It’s A Wonderful Life. I love the part where George – full of his own dreams- welcomes his brother (and to his surprise- his brother’s new wife!). He learns that his brother has had a job offer that is unbelievable! This means George will have to give up his dreams and stay home and take care of the two-bit Savings and Loan! George finds himself completely frustrated and confused… that’s what limitations feel like. The ‘if –I-could-only’s…Like the innocent little bird who smacks his head on the top of the cage! The confusion and frustration alone can cause us to doubt our whole world! But really the limits we feel are only human- earth stuff. The real world exists beyond what we can see! And for us who know God – He is doing something way bigger than we can imagine! The key to contentment is the bigness of God. I often wonder how much we’ll complain in heaven when we’re standing before His throne- engulfed in color and exquisite sounds…perfect light…and limitless soul-gripping joy. Will any of this matter there?

I rather think being small in heaven will be way enough!

In grace alone!
Anne of the House