Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3
As she continued to set her broken past into the fire, along with any new experiences that came along, she realized how much less she had been worrying about making people love her. The gaping need for warmth and companionship was already being filled by the flames, and the gentle advice that drifted from them helped so much in clearing the confusion of her heart.
When she looked outside, she could finally see others. So many hearts were cluttered and broken as hers had been. Some were dark, impossible to see clearly. Many shone with the same central blaze she had found, and as she watched them, she realized that they were sharing the flame. They would reach out to touched darkened hearts, and sometimes a new light would blaze up.
It would be nice to help others like that, she thought. But she still didn't know how to persuade anyone to come close enough to share. She glanced at the door, but it loomed like a threat. There was no way she was strong enough to open it. How had it grown so large?
She turned back to the flames. Perhaps she could trust them not to destroy her. After all, her heart was now furnished by so many precious promises. Tentatively, she reached into the fire. Just her hand, she thought.
With a roar, the fire surged up to her shoulder and she dropped to the floor with a cry of pain. Every nerve came alive, transmitting the sudden destruction of skin, bone, blood. She couldn't look, could scarcely breathe, knowing she hadn't survived intact. Her arm was gone. There had been nothing worth saving!
At last she gathered her courage and peeked at her shoulder to measure the extent of the damage. She brought her arm forward, gasping in amazement. It was hers, but it wasn't. She studied it for a moment as it pulsed with living fire. Inside, she realized, there was reconstruction going on. The arm was the fire, replacing her extremity and reaching toward her understanding and senses to make use of a capacity she couldn't imagine.
It seemed impossible. It felt impossible. She backed away from the blaze, grateful, but fearful as well. Someday she would put her whole self in the flames, she decided. But for now she would just keep on putting the pieces of her heart on the fire. Once it was clean, then maybe she would be able to find the courage.
A stone crashed through her heart as she turned away, and the pressure of external demands rose up over her like a flood. As always, it felt like the entire world must be broken. Shattered glass and broken structures fell into the spaces she had worked so hard to clear. She raised her hands over her head and ducked as a large fragment plummetted toward her, threatening to crush her as it slammed into her new arm, which promptly erupted in a blaze.
Incredulous, she stared at cloud of ash floating where the fragment had struck only moments before. She hadn't done anything! A small jeweled box lay at her feet. As she carried it toward the shelves it whispered the story of the fire replacing her entirely, taking her pain and brokenness for its own, and giving back goodness and beauty instead.
For a moment she thought she could see herself ablaze, and saw how whole her heart could become, radiating light outward to love anyone that was near. But the vision faded at the memory of her own brokenness. The fire might be powerful enough to do it, but she wasn't.
She knew now that she had never known how to love, that she would never really be capable of loving well. But perhaps, if she tried, she could manage to love a little with the help of the fire.
----
This is it for now. I'll eventually consider the series. But if you want to look in from outside and see some of what she is missing, you can read the first story I wrote in this setting.
Glass Heart - From Outside This link will take you to the first part. There are three, but they are all short.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Part 3 - Not Alone - Glass Heart
Part1 - Strong to Shattered
Part 2 - A Growing Blaze
As the mist lifted, she looked around for a companion. Her dream people seemed hollow, now that the flames had warmed her world. How could she understand others? How could they understand her? So many shards had burned. There was enough room for someone else to visit, now.
But what if people couldn't get in?
Surely, if she built a door someone would come looking for her. She sorted through the debris, looking for anything that might help. There were several planks of good advice, and a few pieces of self-improvement that seemed sturdy enough. She gathered them together and headed through the thinning stacks of turmoil to the walls of her heart. It had been a while since she'd seen them. In the new glow from the fire, she realized that many of the panes were cracked and dirty. She would have to clean, but first she would build the entrance.
It took a lot of effort to design and construct the door, and when she was done she stepped back, proud of her accomplishment. At last others would have a way to find her. They could get to know her. Maybe they'd stop expecting more of her than she could give if they would only walk into her heart and see her.
She watched, expectantly, but no one came.
At last she returned to the warmth of the fire, disconsolate. She would never be loved.
It was a hard thing, but perhaps if she could accept it the fact wouldn't hurt as much. So she pulled out a sheet of secrecy and flung it over the door. Nobody would see it, and she wouldn't have to feel rejected, knowing she had chosen to hide the entry. It would be her choice. She wouldn't ask others to like her. She would just let them stay safely away where she couldn't hurt them, and they wouldn't hurt her.
It seemed strange to feel the welcome of the flames every time she approached, but she was grateful even for such small acceptance. She conversed with the fire as if it were her friend, and slowly all but her most favored dream-companions faded to nothing.
Every day the fire asked her to step into its flames. Every day she put the fragments of lost hope and past failures in instead, and sometimes a small gem would fall from the ashes as reward for her efforts. But she feared the fire. It just might destroy her.
Piling her jewels became a favorite activity, though they often tumbled down to roll beneath her feet. More than once she fell upon them, and felt the deep bruises and cuts sting beneath the sweat of carrying her experiences, piece by piece to the fire. It was a never-ending occupation, leaving no time for rest.
Every day something would break. She couldn't avoid jostling into people, and the results were rarely good. She wondered how much breakage she was causing in their hearts, and sorrowed that she couldn't know the answer or help them. She often sighed at the secret door, wishing someone would open it.
The voice of the fire was growing stronger every day.
She gathered her treasured stories and began to notice a common theme, echoing the promises of the flames. Healing. Restoration. Strength. Life. Joy.
It was a mystery, and she couldn't understand it. She had the fire. The jewels were proof of its reality. But why did none of these gifts seem real? Why hadn't the fire healed her? Why was she still alone?
She ignored the answer that came swiftly upon the question, refusing to believe she could safely step into the flames. Her fingertips glowed from the touch of the coals, and she closed her eyes to the sight, unwilling to be convinced.
How she could still have a heart, after all the damage she had encountered, confused her. She wondered whether others felt the same. How could something be broken, yet remain itself? Glass panels shattered, but there was never a vacancy in their borders. She remained enclosed in herself no matter how shaken, and the fire glowed within even if all else was darkness.
She realized how much larger the flames had grown, remembering the dull coals of her darkest moments. Life still hurt, but she had room to consider the pain now. And she realized that her heart had grown too. The light at the center poured over the remaining mounds of destruction and flaws, which cast long shadows upon the borders, but there was room to organize her gifts in some permanent way.
She turned to the fire once again. How could she set her treasures in the light of the flames? They shone at their most beautiful only within reach of the blaze. Finally, she gathered them together and poured them back into the fire, hoping it would arrange them somehow.
The furnishings that spilled from the fire seemed too many for the quantity of promises, belief and gratitude she had poured in, but there was no questioning the result. No longer would her heart be a wasteland of destruction.
The shelving, tables and chairs were indestructible, built by the fire and sustained by it. The new comforts shone as a constant reminder that the light and flames could sustain and heal her.
---
Part 4 -Catching Fire- is on its way.
Part 2 - A Growing Blaze
As the mist lifted, she looked around for a companion. Her dream people seemed hollow, now that the flames had warmed her world. How could she understand others? How could they understand her? So many shards had burned. There was enough room for someone else to visit, now.
But what if people couldn't get in?
Surely, if she built a door someone would come looking for her. She sorted through the debris, looking for anything that might help. There were several planks of good advice, and a few pieces of self-improvement that seemed sturdy enough. She gathered them together and headed through the thinning stacks of turmoil to the walls of her heart. It had been a while since she'd seen them. In the new glow from the fire, she realized that many of the panes were cracked and dirty. She would have to clean, but first she would build the entrance.
It took a lot of effort to design and construct the door, and when she was done she stepped back, proud of her accomplishment. At last others would have a way to find her. They could get to know her. Maybe they'd stop expecting more of her than she could give if they would only walk into her heart and see her.
She watched, expectantly, but no one came.
At last she returned to the warmth of the fire, disconsolate. She would never be loved.
It was a hard thing, but perhaps if she could accept it the fact wouldn't hurt as much. So she pulled out a sheet of secrecy and flung it over the door. Nobody would see it, and she wouldn't have to feel rejected, knowing she had chosen to hide the entry. It would be her choice. She wouldn't ask others to like her. She would just let them stay safely away where she couldn't hurt them, and they wouldn't hurt her.
It seemed strange to feel the welcome of the flames every time she approached, but she was grateful even for such small acceptance. She conversed with the fire as if it were her friend, and slowly all but her most favored dream-companions faded to nothing.
Every day the fire asked her to step into its flames. Every day she put the fragments of lost hope and past failures in instead, and sometimes a small gem would fall from the ashes as reward for her efforts. But she feared the fire. It just might destroy her.
Piling her jewels became a favorite activity, though they often tumbled down to roll beneath her feet. More than once she fell upon them, and felt the deep bruises and cuts sting beneath the sweat of carrying her experiences, piece by piece to the fire. It was a never-ending occupation, leaving no time for rest.
Every day something would break. She couldn't avoid jostling into people, and the results were rarely good. She wondered how much breakage she was causing in their hearts, and sorrowed that she couldn't know the answer or help them. She often sighed at the secret door, wishing someone would open it.
The voice of the fire was growing stronger every day.
She gathered her treasured stories and began to notice a common theme, echoing the promises of the flames. Healing. Restoration. Strength. Life. Joy.
It was a mystery, and she couldn't understand it. She had the fire. The jewels were proof of its reality. But why did none of these gifts seem real? Why hadn't the fire healed her? Why was she still alone?
She ignored the answer that came swiftly upon the question, refusing to believe she could safely step into the flames. Her fingertips glowed from the touch of the coals, and she closed her eyes to the sight, unwilling to be convinced.
How she could still have a heart, after all the damage she had encountered, confused her. She wondered whether others felt the same. How could something be broken, yet remain itself? Glass panels shattered, but there was never a vacancy in their borders. She remained enclosed in herself no matter how shaken, and the fire glowed within even if all else was darkness.
She realized how much larger the flames had grown, remembering the dull coals of her darkest moments. Life still hurt, but she had room to consider the pain now. And she realized that her heart had grown too. The light at the center poured over the remaining mounds of destruction and flaws, which cast long shadows upon the borders, but there was room to organize her gifts in some permanent way.
She turned to the fire once again. How could she set her treasures in the light of the flames? They shone at their most beautiful only within reach of the blaze. Finally, she gathered them together and poured them back into the fire, hoping it would arrange them somehow.
The furnishings that spilled from the fire seemed too many for the quantity of promises, belief and gratitude she had poured in, but there was no questioning the result. No longer would her heart be a wasteland of destruction.
The shelving, tables and chairs were indestructible, built by the fire and sustained by it. The new comforts shone as a constant reminder that the light and flames could sustain and heal her.
---
Part 4 -Catching Fire- is on its way.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Part 2- A Growing Blaze - Glass Hearts
Read part 1 - From Strong to Shattered - first.
In all the universe, nothing but the light will ever understand what shapes a heart.
Lost in the midst of shattered expectations, buried in grief, broken, ground up and destroyed--even then, her heart remained a heart. One day, for a brief moment, she looked up and saw someone reaching through the mess with a handful of understanding.
She couldn't see the person clearly, but the offered gift glowed with a light matched only by the flames she both feared and loved. Inside the gift was a story. It was only part of the story, and there were sharp edges where the missing pieces should have been, but there was enough there for her to understand. This person, too, had suffered, and she had found hope in pouring her pain into the fire at the center of her heart.
It was the best gift she had been given for a very long time, and she held it up next to the coals and admired how they glowed together. Suddenly, flames flared to surround her fingers and the story caught fire!
Gasping, she tried to put them out, but every effort only burned her. Dropping the gift, she scrambled back from the flames. They soon calmed and when she looked closely she could see something new in the fire, a glistening jewel where none had been before. Tentatively she took one of the shards piled around her and tried to scrape it from the coals, but the shard burned, too, falling to ash in her hands the moment it touched the flames.
Again and again, she tried, wanting only to touch this treasure and keep it for her own. But nothing could pull that jewel from the flames. All crumbled to dust.
Finally she remembered that the fire would not always burn, that sometimes it would simply warm and heal her. Slowly, tentatively, she reached out with trembling fingers. It seemed too easy. The flames slipped over her skin but did no damage, and the burns from her attempts to put out the fire began to heal. When she lifted the gem from the fire, she realized it was still the story, but the sharp edges had been smoothed, and some of the missing pieces had been filled in.
A soft whisper rose from the flames, asking for her trust, telling her that many more such gems would be given her, if she would only surrender her heart to the fire.
She thought of the shards that had burned in the flames in her pursuit of the gem. Her safe space had grown larger as they burned. What if she put more of them on the fire? Would it consume them all? Could she make enough space to live without pain?
Day by day she began to set the shards in the fire. At first, it didn't seem to make much difference. Her intangible friends protested the activity, claiming it took time from their play. She began to feel the jostling of external expectations again, and the shards seemed to take pleasure in cutting her.
She began to glimpse people walking nearby, and sometimes even managed to interact with them by signs and gestures from behind the barricade. A few tossed gifts to her, most of which landed directly in the fire and changed immediately to new gems for her collection. She tried to share too, but could never be sure whether her gifts made it through the clutter.
But even the gems weren't enough for her. She wanted to be loved, and gifts couldn't replace love. She huddled beside the fire, sighing for love, and her tears hissed into steam as they fell, rising around her like a mist until the world faded away to nothing once again.
Even so, she felt the comforting warmth of the blaze. It had grown larger, and the light reflected off the mist of tears, surrounding her with a gentle glow.
It wasn't as lonely as before, she realized, and wondered if the fire would last.
---
Read Part 3
In all the universe, nothing but the light will ever understand what shapes a heart.
Lost in the midst of shattered expectations, buried in grief, broken, ground up and destroyed--even then, her heart remained a heart. One day, for a brief moment, she looked up and saw someone reaching through the mess with a handful of understanding.
She couldn't see the person clearly, but the offered gift glowed with a light matched only by the flames she both feared and loved. Inside the gift was a story. It was only part of the story, and there were sharp edges where the missing pieces should have been, but there was enough there for her to understand. This person, too, had suffered, and she had found hope in pouring her pain into the fire at the center of her heart.
It was the best gift she had been given for a very long time, and she held it up next to the coals and admired how they glowed together. Suddenly, flames flared to surround her fingers and the story caught fire!
Gasping, she tried to put them out, but every effort only burned her. Dropping the gift, she scrambled back from the flames. They soon calmed and when she looked closely she could see something new in the fire, a glistening jewel where none had been before. Tentatively she took one of the shards piled around her and tried to scrape it from the coals, but the shard burned, too, falling to ash in her hands the moment it touched the flames.
Again and again, she tried, wanting only to touch this treasure and keep it for her own. But nothing could pull that jewel from the flames. All crumbled to dust.
Finally she remembered that the fire would not always burn, that sometimes it would simply warm and heal her. Slowly, tentatively, she reached out with trembling fingers. It seemed too easy. The flames slipped over her skin but did no damage, and the burns from her attempts to put out the fire began to heal. When she lifted the gem from the fire, she realized it was still the story, but the sharp edges had been smoothed, and some of the missing pieces had been filled in.
A soft whisper rose from the flames, asking for her trust, telling her that many more such gems would be given her, if she would only surrender her heart to the fire.
She thought of the shards that had burned in the flames in her pursuit of the gem. Her safe space had grown larger as they burned. What if she put more of them on the fire? Would it consume them all? Could she make enough space to live without pain?
Day by day she began to set the shards in the fire. At first, it didn't seem to make much difference. Her intangible friends protested the activity, claiming it took time from their play. She began to feel the jostling of external expectations again, and the shards seemed to take pleasure in cutting her.
She began to glimpse people walking nearby, and sometimes even managed to interact with them by signs and gestures from behind the barricade. A few tossed gifts to her, most of which landed directly in the fire and changed immediately to new gems for her collection. She tried to share too, but could never be sure whether her gifts made it through the clutter.
But even the gems weren't enough for her. She wanted to be loved, and gifts couldn't replace love. She huddled beside the fire, sighing for love, and her tears hissed into steam as they fell, rising around her like a mist until the world faded away to nothing once again.
Even so, she felt the comforting warmth of the blaze. It had grown larger, and the light reflected off the mist of tears, surrounding her with a gentle glow.
It wasn't as lonely as before, she realized, and wondered if the fire would last.
---
Read Part 3
Part 1 -From Strong to Shattered - Glass Hearts
Telling stories is a risky business. For me, they must come from experience and observation. Today I'm sharing part 1 of a new dimension to an allegory I wrote a while back; setting the words on the altar before God; trusting him to share the comfort with which I'm constantly comforted.
It is something of a prequel... *grin* (Prequels sound pretentious, don't they?) This collection has its own tag now, and I'm planning more stories based on the theme.
---
It took a long time for her to figure out her heart was glass. At first she thought it was stone or metal, enduring and strong. She counted on the fire at the center to warm the natural chill, but had decided a strong heart must be the best, since it couldn't be broken.
Love seemed a simple thing, though the actuality didn't always fit her vision of how these things ought to work. She didn't think about loving people much, expecting she would always be able to love, so she focused on persuading them to love her in return.
It was this attitude that began the problem.
How could she persuade others to love her? The concern grew as time went on; and through the years she tried various tactics. Generosity seemed to work most of the time. Kindness. Compassion. Gentleness. Sweetness.
Helpfulness was difficult. She broke a lot of promises trying to be helpful beyond her capability. She soon learned that breaking promises meant people would be disappointed with her, and sometimes they would be so disappointed that they wouldn't like her anymore. It was then that she realized there was a wall between her and others. She couldn't see their hearts clearly, and they might be hiding their true thoughts from her.
Events gradually exposed the problem all the more.
It turned out that she didn't have to make a promise to break one. Others had expectations of her. She knew they wanted her to be a better person, so she did her best to do as they asked. But when she failed it was even worse than a broken promise. The damage seemed permanent, and the separations final.
She discovered that she had many faults, flaws, and even sins which were clearly described to her so she couldn't make the excuse of not seeing them. And the shape of the wall she hadn't known existed loomed within the shadows. She learned that she didn't have to try to hurt others, but that simply being herself could drive them away.
Oh, how she hated the feeling of separation, and as each new mark of failure and rejection rose up, she found herself trapped more and more. From the center of her heart she could scarcely see others over the mounds of broken ideals, and certainly couldn't see how to please them. The shards cluttered her heart until she could scarcely move.
She pulled away from the hurt and began to attempt to make the small space that remained comfortable, since she would always be trapped inside it. She invented characters whose voices filled the silence, and borrowed friends from the books she read or even from real life. She was best friends with many who didn't even know she existed, but soon learned that those expectations would pile up between herself and others, also.
She, too, could have expectations and feel offended and hurt if others didn't fill them. There was no escape, no way to become the person others needed and desired, no way for them to love her as she was.
Even the fire at the center of her heart seemed smothered, till only coals remained. Sometimes, if she drew near to it, it would burn her instead of comforting her. In the process, she learned her heart was glass. And glass, once broken, can never be repaired. If even the fire of life would burn and destroy her brokenness, then no hope could ever be found.
Everything seemed dark. Life lost its meaning. She stopped hoping that someone would love her and decided death would be the best thing, an end to her suffering and a release for all those people for whom she had failed. She was ashamed that she was too fearful to attempt it, too afraid of yet another form of pain, even with the promise of release.
---
Don't worry. Things happen to bring new hope into the picture, and you can already read part of the result in the story I wrote last year. I'm glad to talk about these words and their meaning with you, so please do comment or email me.
Go on to Part 2 - A Growing Blaze
Part 3 - Not Alone
It is something of a prequel... *grin* (Prequels sound pretentious, don't they?) This collection has its own tag now, and I'm planning more stories based on the theme.
---
It took a long time for her to figure out her heart was glass. At first she thought it was stone or metal, enduring and strong. She counted on the fire at the center to warm the natural chill, but had decided a strong heart must be the best, since it couldn't be broken.
Love seemed a simple thing, though the actuality didn't always fit her vision of how these things ought to work. She didn't think about loving people much, expecting she would always be able to love, so she focused on persuading them to love her in return.
It was this attitude that began the problem.
How could she persuade others to love her? The concern grew as time went on; and through the years she tried various tactics. Generosity seemed to work most of the time. Kindness. Compassion. Gentleness. Sweetness.
Helpfulness was difficult. She broke a lot of promises trying to be helpful beyond her capability. She soon learned that breaking promises meant people would be disappointed with her, and sometimes they would be so disappointed that they wouldn't like her anymore. It was then that she realized there was a wall between her and others. She couldn't see their hearts clearly, and they might be hiding their true thoughts from her.
Events gradually exposed the problem all the more.
It turned out that she didn't have to make a promise to break one. Others had expectations of her. She knew they wanted her to be a better person, so she did her best to do as they asked. But when she failed it was even worse than a broken promise. The damage seemed permanent, and the separations final.
She discovered that she had many faults, flaws, and even sins which were clearly described to her so she couldn't make the excuse of not seeing them. And the shape of the wall she hadn't known existed loomed within the shadows. She learned that she didn't have to try to hurt others, but that simply being herself could drive them away.
Oh, how she hated the feeling of separation, and as each new mark of failure and rejection rose up, she found herself trapped more and more. From the center of her heart she could scarcely see others over the mounds of broken ideals, and certainly couldn't see how to please them. The shards cluttered her heart until she could scarcely move.
She pulled away from the hurt and began to attempt to make the small space that remained comfortable, since she would always be trapped inside it. She invented characters whose voices filled the silence, and borrowed friends from the books she read or even from real life. She was best friends with many who didn't even know she existed, but soon learned that those expectations would pile up between herself and others, also.
She, too, could have expectations and feel offended and hurt if others didn't fill them. There was no escape, no way to become the person others needed and desired, no way for them to love her as she was.
Even the fire at the center of her heart seemed smothered, till only coals remained. Sometimes, if she drew near to it, it would burn her instead of comforting her. In the process, she learned her heart was glass. And glass, once broken, can never be repaired. If even the fire of life would burn and destroy her brokenness, then no hope could ever be found.
Everything seemed dark. Life lost its meaning. She stopped hoping that someone would love her and decided death would be the best thing, an end to her suffering and a release for all those people for whom she had failed. She was ashamed that she was too fearful to attempt it, too afraid of yet another form of pain, even with the promise of release.
---
Don't worry. Things happen to bring new hope into the picture, and you can already read part of the result in the story I wrote last year. I'm glad to talk about these words and their meaning with you, so please do comment or email me.
Go on to Part 2 - A Growing Blaze
Part 3 - Not Alone
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Saying Farewell to a Blessing
Today Frost (secretly known as "He Who Walks on Cake") moved out of my home.
It wasn't as hard as I thought it would be to let him go. Well,...
The scenario I'd been pondering was very different to what occurred.
He now owns a young gentleman who has desired a cat for years. I'm sure he'll manage him well, and will be glad to have escaped the indignities to which he has been subjected as the owner of an artist.
I did things like wrap him in 'miles' of decorative beads ...
And I often took close-ups of his face when he was trying to sleep.
He got pretty tired of the click and flash.
And I tried to make him stay in the perfect position on my quilt so it would look like he'd grown wings... That didn't work so well.
I am certain God managed the choosing of his new home perfectly, and that he will be loved.
I'm so glad I was able to care for Frost for a time. God has blessed.
Hopefully, once we clean the fuzz and dust from the house, I will no longer face the nearly constant sinus irritation that has been bothering me. Who knows? I might even sleep better.
The scenario I'd been pondering was very different to what occurred.
He now owns a young gentleman who has desired a cat for years. I'm sure he'll manage him well, and will be glad to have escaped the indignities to which he has been subjected as the owner of an artist.
I did things like wrap him in 'miles' of decorative beads ...
He got pretty tired of the click and flash.
I am certain God managed the choosing of his new home perfectly, and that he will be loved.
I'm so glad I was able to care for Frost for a time. God has blessed.
Hopefully, once we clean the fuzz and dust from the house, I will no longer face the nearly constant sinus irritation that has been bothering me. Who knows? I might even sleep better.
Saturday, March 26, 2011
An Illustration for a Year and a Lifetime
Learning what it means to depend on God, not only for things, but also for relationships and growth feels like the burn of over-strained muscles. Knowing and living truth are different things. I keep leaping in the wrong direction, stumbling and falling back. No wonder there are aches and pains.
I've been trying to think of something I could do every day that could become a visual anchor for the growth I'm learning to live, while not being too difficult to complete. I'm a wimp when it comes to routine, and the only thing I'm reliable about is not being reliable. This, too, is changing.... Oh, so slowly...
I've been thinking about all the plant illustrations through the Bible. From the beginning of time, plants have been a theme God uses to illustrate his relationship with us, and our acceptance or neglect of the truth of it. This is probably why roots and branches always fascinate me. They sneak into my art and fill the lens of my camera.
When starting a new routine, it always helps if it's something that is already begun. And roots, branches, leaves, fruit,... they anchor the visual imagery that always weaves through my thoughts and dreams as I learn.
For a year, starting today, I will take photos of plant-life, whether living or dead. I don't expect to do this perfectly, nor to share them all with you. But I think it is best to explain to you why you will encounter more of these images here from today forward. Besides, telling people becomes something of a back-up memory prompt. It helps that I have trees out my windows, too. I won't have to walk far.
The photo above is a 30 second exposure I took out my window last night at about four in the morning. I missed the shot I really wanted--A black sky swallowed the uppermost tips of the branches so it looked like the tree was cracks in the clouds. But this is beautiful too.
What truth does the sight of trees bring to your mind?
I've been trying to think of something I could do every day that could become a visual anchor for the growth I'm learning to live, while not being too difficult to complete. I'm a wimp when it comes to routine, and the only thing I'm reliable about is not being reliable. This, too, is changing.... Oh, so slowly...
I've been thinking about all the plant illustrations through the Bible. From the beginning of time, plants have been a theme God uses to illustrate his relationship with us, and our acceptance or neglect of the truth of it. This is probably why roots and branches always fascinate me. They sneak into my art and fill the lens of my camera.
When starting a new routine, it always helps if it's something that is already begun. And roots, branches, leaves, fruit,... they anchor the visual imagery that always weaves through my thoughts and dreams as I learn.
For a year, starting today, I will take photos of plant-life, whether living or dead. I don't expect to do this perfectly, nor to share them all with you. But I think it is best to explain to you why you will encounter more of these images here from today forward. Besides, telling people becomes something of a back-up memory prompt. It helps that I have trees out my windows, too. I won't have to walk far.
The photo above is a 30 second exposure I took out my window last night at about four in the morning. I missed the shot I really wanted--A black sky swallowed the uppermost tips of the branches so it looked like the tree was cracks in the clouds. But this is beautiful too.
What truth does the sight of trees bring to your mind?
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Is This Rest?
I think rest ought to come on my terms. It seems an easy thing to say, "God gives me rest." But I have many ideas of how it ought to go and what it ought to look like, usually involving getting my own way or being perfect.
I think rest should mean eliminating the struggle, but it isn't like that at all. I don't live in rest if I don't live the suffering and strain. Pushing it away and pretending it isn't real just turns the pain into a secret burden, all the more difficult to endure.
In honor of Faith Barista's topic of the week- Emotional Rest -here is what I'm learning:
Rest is crying when tears are needed; giving up on what I can't control and accepting that life may not progress the way I want it to.
Rest is counting on God to do good when no good thing seems possible, while telling him straight out how impossible I think it is ... but then, still choosing to believe in his goodness.
Rest is finding I have something to give when I thought I was empty; taking my eyes off my emptiness to find the fullness of Christ ready to overflow.
Rest is discovering gain in losing, and through the process learning I can choose to give up good things for greater good, even if the ultimate goal seems distant or unobtainable.
Rest is finding out I can be myself (and different from the world) learning God had a purpose in designing and developing my perspectives, strengths and talents.
Rest is seeing God's handiwork everywhere and reflected in everything.
Rest is rejoicing in good given to others, and giving good to others, even when I'm wondering why it hasn't been given to me. (... and finding that rejoicing with others is even better than getting what I want ...)
Rest is prayers that count blessings both promised and seen, filled with the echoing silence of waiting for emptiness to be redeemed.
Rest is gratitude for a little, instead of pursuing more, but opening the small gifts and keeping them stored.
And rest is hurting, and confessed discontent. It's asking for help in weakness and sin. It's depending on God to be what he says, and not thinking my limitations confine his answers.
Rest is an imagination freed to be less than God's creative handiwork, but appreciative of the gradual discovery of the scope of his work.
Rest is living now, accepting the reality of all that has occurred, counting on promises, relying on resources that cannot be seen, touched, or counted, and believing God is present and insurmountable.
---
Yesterday I discovered I have to give away my cat and rabbit, since I now know I'm allergic. I'm finding them new homes. If I were generally able to live a normal life, then I wouldn't consider letting go of these gifts which my family and I have enjoyed so much.
But I'm living a life of minimal energy, depleted strength and curtailed effectiveness. In short, I'm sick every day. If letting go of my pets means I'll have more strength for my children, then it must be this way.
I feel like God is taking away good things instead of giving them today. But, consciously ... I know he is giving me so much good that I can't comprehend it right now. I'll see it through to the other side. This will be proven, as he has proven himself so many times.
Right now, though, I am sick from the effort of letting go. It isn't done yet. I still need to find homes for them.
Rest, today, is weeping in God's arms.
---
Giving up what I love means accepting the pain.
Sometimes all I see is the hard path, no gain.
I trust, in the end, that by just letting go
new hope will take root and new life will grow.
I think rest should mean eliminating the struggle, but it isn't like that at all. I don't live in rest if I don't live the suffering and strain. Pushing it away and pretending it isn't real just turns the pain into a secret burden, all the more difficult to endure.
In honor of Faith Barista's topic of the week- Emotional Rest -here is what I'm learning:
Rest is crying when tears are needed; giving up on what I can't control and accepting that life may not progress the way I want it to.
Rest is counting on God to do good when no good thing seems possible, while telling him straight out how impossible I think it is ... but then, still choosing to believe in his goodness.
Rest is finding I have something to give when I thought I was empty; taking my eyes off my emptiness to find the fullness of Christ ready to overflow.
Rest is discovering gain in losing, and through the process learning I can choose to give up good things for greater good, even if the ultimate goal seems distant or unobtainable.
Rest is finding out I can be myself (and different from the world) learning God had a purpose in designing and developing my perspectives, strengths and talents.
Rest is seeing God's handiwork everywhere and reflected in everything.
Rest is rejoicing in good given to others, and giving good to others, even when I'm wondering why it hasn't been given to me. (... and finding that rejoicing with others is even better than getting what I want ...)
Rest is prayers that count blessings both promised and seen, filled with the echoing silence of waiting for emptiness to be redeemed.
Rest is gratitude for a little, instead of pursuing more, but opening the small gifts and keeping them stored.
And rest is hurting, and confessed discontent. It's asking for help in weakness and sin. It's depending on God to be what he says, and not thinking my limitations confine his answers.
Rest is an imagination freed to be less than God's creative handiwork, but appreciative of the gradual discovery of the scope of his work.
Rest is living now, accepting the reality of all that has occurred, counting on promises, relying on resources that cannot be seen, touched, or counted, and believing God is present and insurmountable.
---
But I'm living a life of minimal energy, depleted strength and curtailed effectiveness. In short, I'm sick every day. If letting go of my pets means I'll have more strength for my children, then it must be this way.
Right now, though, I am sick from the effort of letting go. It isn't done yet. I still need to find homes for them.
Rest, today, is weeping in God's arms.
---
Giving up what I love means accepting the pain.
Sometimes all I see is the hard path, no gain.
I trust, in the end, that by just letting go
new hope will take root and new life will grow.
A Pleasantly(?) Disturbed Thursday
It turns out all I offer, disturbing this day,
is a series of poems that demanded their way.
Even when, just like now, I wanted to prose,
they scramble my fingers and brandish and pose.
I hope you survive, since I've let them stay,
and still read my thoughts, since it's Thursday.
---
I have a cat and rabbit, both pleasant and sweet.
They live in my home (which has never been neat)
explore through my boxes and munch on my things.
So lively when they are not sleeping.
They snuggle when I'm sad
torment when I'm mad
and generally distract me from me.
Nobody could love them as much as I do....
I clearly know this is not really true,
since I'm not that special. But I love them a lot!
And that's all the evidence I've got.
---
It rained so much this week.
I love the sound, but sometimes I weep.
Grey days shadow circumstance when life seems grim
where sunshine would counter and make things less dim.
But in the end, time passes like clouds.
Today there's blue sky, gently brushed by rain's shroud.
And days of bright sunlight will soon seem to glare
till my heart and mind dream of rain-scented air.
---
Duane Scott
writes a lot
his talents are not grim.
Consuming peeps
and cheeto treats,
his squirrels are never thin.
On some Thursdays
we join his days
and write of random things.
And when we're not
there's still a thought
that something is missing.
So join the fun
or at least come
along to read the game.
Boring can't be,
as you will see ...
but that is all I claim.
is a series of poems that demanded their way.
Even when, just like now, I wanted to prose,
they scramble my fingers and brandish and pose.
I hope you survive, since I've let them stay,
and still read my thoughts, since it's Thursday.
---
I have a cat and rabbit, both pleasant and sweet.
They live in my home (which has never been neat)
explore through my boxes and munch on my things.
So lively when they are not sleeping.
They snuggle when I'm sad
torment when I'm mad
and generally distract me from me.
Nobody could love them as much as I do....
I clearly know this is not really true,
since I'm not that special. But I love them a lot!
And that's all the evidence I've got.
---
It rained so much this week.
I love the sound, but sometimes I weep.
Grey days shadow circumstance when life seems grim
where sunshine would counter and make things less dim.
But in the end, time passes like clouds.
Today there's blue sky, gently brushed by rain's shroud.
And days of bright sunlight will soon seem to glare
till my heart and mind dream of rain-scented air.
---
Duane Scott
writes a lot
his talents are not grim.
Consuming peeps
and cheeto treats,
his squirrels are never thin.
On some Thursdays
we join his days
and write of random things.
And when we're not
there's still a thought
that something is missing.
So join the fun
or at least come
along to read the game.
Boring can't be,
as you will see ...
but that is all I claim.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Secrets Exposed
I thought I'd try to be subtle and unoffensive,
yet few manage to breeze through
without inhaling the scent of God.
yet few manage to breeze through
without inhaling the scent of God.
The Great Vision --- Limited
I can see what it would look like to live full in the life I wear. But my wills and won'ts disagree with the vision like great bars, caging the dream. Where is the strength to live beyond my capacity though it may seem within my capability? I look upward at the resources promised and gain the courage to press toward the mark.
Image: A 10-12 year past colored pencil drawing I found recently and took a photo of before eliminating the original. It is good to see signs of improvement somewhere.
Image: A 10-12 year past colored pencil drawing I found recently and took a photo of before eliminating the original. It is good to see signs of improvement somewhere.
Monday, March 21, 2011
Perspective
uncertainty grows
when every promise seems ravaged
on the surface of event
reaching like some great tide
to wash away hope
until the waters recede
revealing the roots of truth
anchored, unmoving, and strong
when every promise seems ravaged
on the surface of event
reaching like some great tide
to wash away hope
until the waters recede
revealing the roots of truth
anchored, unmoving, and strong
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Worship Song
throb within my soul,
deeper than sound.
They fill and overflow,
vibrating from my depths
up through open throat;
then slip across my tongue
to linger in the air
like the scent of spring.
Holy
Holy
Holy
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Creativity as Life - beginning a conversation with you
For all you folks who say you don't have a creative bone in your body, I beg to differ*. (*Where in all creation did that phrase come from?)
None of us is fitted to be everything, or even most things for anyone, but all are capable of creativity within their capabilities and interactions. We are meant to interlock like the fine workings of a clock, where every gear and pin must be in place and one broken part means time no longer can be perfectly tracked. And the measure of efficiency is the time followed.
The church follows life as it proceeds along, with or without us. God doesn't need the clock to move time forward, but he asks it to follow, to measure, watch and proclaim. The swifter we are in tracking his presence, the more likely we are to benefit the world.
The world still lurches and spins forward, counting the days, but few note the meaning or reason for the measure. Cogs and pins scatter and come together in impossible patterns, slowing and speeding until it seems impossible that any good works are left within the pile. Yet time isn't hampered by the broken clock.
We forget that the original creator of intricate systems is God. He is creative enough to keep this world ticking while all its parts are jumbled into a box full of broken pieces. He is creative enough to use the broken pieces, wherever they are, to help everyone tumble through the times he has set. Since nothing can overwhelm his capacity, no matter the overt destruction or improbable interaction, then I expect that nothing in our lives can prevent us from living creatively under his management. Even the parts that consider themselves to be against him still function because he maintains them.
When God lifts the completed clock from the workroom, non-integrated pieces will fall away. Connection is a result of his presence. Wholeness is who he is. We are marked by Christ, shaped, positioned and linked. Each part chooses whether to be a part of tracking time or trying to invent its own time. In the end, though, time is independent of our presence.
God is the originator. No clock makes time, but all simply reflect and follow it. We aren't life, we follow life. And life exists because God is that creative. He gives us the ability to reflect the existence of creativity; I have a feeling hell is empty of this quality.
A creative outlook takes circumstances where they are. It makes adaptation and growth possible. Art, words and ideas grow from a constant process of learning and growing. But it is not only the commonly acknowledged creative outlets that benefit from this point of view.
Homes are clean and welcoming.
Businesses move forward into the market and adjust to the changing desires of society.
Dull jobs are aptly accomplished.
Bright and lively people make their surroundings a joyful place.
Idealists challenge the status quo.
Entrepreneurs discover new needs to supply.
Ministers study God's Word in order to respond the the heartbeat of the church.
Counselors support broken hearts as they heal.
Workers input their ability to see and fill needs which are invisible to others.
Families and friends support one another.
Healers strive against degenerative physical brokenness.
The list goes on and on....
Nothing fits into the box of, "Everyone like this; only do that; all will be well."
We exist because of Christ, not the other way around. Why do you think we value so many things that are descriptors of who God is? Light, connection, interaction, justice, life, joy, growth, love... these are all indicators of his reality and continued presence, no matter whether we measure and reflect those characteristics well. Even those who merely value God's character traits gain ability to benefit the world simply because they are unknowingly following a portion of the measure of what is good.
We are meant to grow, shaped by circumstance and capability, but not limited by them. The reason we can be creative and track good through any situation is because God pours that ability into the world in general, and into those who follow him, specifically.
I suppose, in the end, I'm saying all good things come from God whether they are acknowledged or denied. Creativity is one perspective that develops my understanding, and one of the ways I think we reflect a reality that exists independent of our existence.
Tick, tick, tick... Whether we throw the measure off by millennia or minutes now, only the parts linked to the master key will be corrected to keep true time forever.
So many allegorical possibilities remain.... I love watching Christ from every angle. I can't comprehend his entirety, but I sure am awed by the view through the perspectives by which he makes himself visible.
---
I do not expect this post to be read as fully logical. I used too many metaphors, and it seems clear to me that two or more ideas are jumbled together in one frame.
Make of it what you can.
I'm hoping for conversation so I can think these things through and grow from where I am.
----
If you include your email address in the designated box when you comment (Only I will see the address.) I can reply to you directly and know you'll receive it. One flaw in the blogger comment system is the generic and impersonal quality of the author's ability to respond.
Image: "Things I Like" My art, events, food, gifts, memories... Random objects come together into a united whole. I'll have to take a new photo already, since the collage has been dramatically altered this week.
None of us is fitted to be everything, or even most things for anyone, but all are capable of creativity within their capabilities and interactions. We are meant to interlock like the fine workings of a clock, where every gear and pin must be in place and one broken part means time no longer can be perfectly tracked. And the measure of efficiency is the time followed.
The church follows life as it proceeds along, with or without us. God doesn't need the clock to move time forward, but he asks it to follow, to measure, watch and proclaim. The swifter we are in tracking his presence, the more likely we are to benefit the world.
The world still lurches and spins forward, counting the days, but few note the meaning or reason for the measure. Cogs and pins scatter and come together in impossible patterns, slowing and speeding until it seems impossible that any good works are left within the pile. Yet time isn't hampered by the broken clock.
We forget that the original creator of intricate systems is God. He is creative enough to keep this world ticking while all its parts are jumbled into a box full of broken pieces. He is creative enough to use the broken pieces, wherever they are, to help everyone tumble through the times he has set. Since nothing can overwhelm his capacity, no matter the overt destruction or improbable interaction, then I expect that nothing in our lives can prevent us from living creatively under his management. Even the parts that consider themselves to be against him still function because he maintains them.
When God lifts the completed clock from the workroom, non-integrated pieces will fall away. Connection is a result of his presence. Wholeness is who he is. We are marked by Christ, shaped, positioned and linked. Each part chooses whether to be a part of tracking time or trying to invent its own time. In the end, though, time is independent of our presence.
God is the originator. No clock makes time, but all simply reflect and follow it. We aren't life, we follow life. And life exists because God is that creative. He gives us the ability to reflect the existence of creativity; I have a feeling hell is empty of this quality.
A creative outlook takes circumstances where they are. It makes adaptation and growth possible. Art, words and ideas grow from a constant process of learning and growing. But it is not only the commonly acknowledged creative outlets that benefit from this point of view.
Homes are clean and welcoming.
Businesses move forward into the market and adjust to the changing desires of society.
Dull jobs are aptly accomplished.
Bright and lively people make their surroundings a joyful place.
Idealists challenge the status quo.
Entrepreneurs discover new needs to supply.
Ministers study God's Word in order to respond the the heartbeat of the church.
Counselors support broken hearts as they heal.
Workers input their ability to see and fill needs which are invisible to others.
Families and friends support one another.
Healers strive against degenerative physical brokenness.
The list goes on and on....
Nothing fits into the box of, "Everyone like this; only do that; all will be well."
We exist because of Christ, not the other way around. Why do you think we value so many things that are descriptors of who God is? Light, connection, interaction, justice, life, joy, growth, love... these are all indicators of his reality and continued presence, no matter whether we measure and reflect those characteristics well. Even those who merely value God's character traits gain ability to benefit the world simply because they are unknowingly following a portion of the measure of what is good.
We are meant to grow, shaped by circumstance and capability, but not limited by them. The reason we can be creative and track good through any situation is because God pours that ability into the world in general, and into those who follow him, specifically.
I suppose, in the end, I'm saying all good things come from God whether they are acknowledged or denied. Creativity is one perspective that develops my understanding, and one of the ways I think we reflect a reality that exists independent of our existence.
Tick, tick, tick... Whether we throw the measure off by millennia or minutes now, only the parts linked to the master key will be corrected to keep true time forever.
So many allegorical possibilities remain.... I love watching Christ from every angle. I can't comprehend his entirety, but I sure am awed by the view through the perspectives by which he makes himself visible.
---
I do not expect this post to be read as fully logical. I used too many metaphors, and it seems clear to me that two or more ideas are jumbled together in one frame.
Make of it what you can.
I'm hoping for conversation so I can think these things through and grow from where I am.
----
If you include your email address in the designated box when you comment (Only I will see the address.) I can reply to you directly and know you'll receive it. One flaw in the blogger comment system is the generic and impersonal quality of the author's ability to respond.
Image: "Things I Like" My art, events, food, gifts, memories... Random objects come together into a united whole. I'll have to take a new photo already, since the collage has been dramatically altered this week.
Friday, March 18, 2011
Art, Architecture, and Photography
In the past, very little seemed beautiful to me. My eyes were shut to constant visual grace even as my heart was closed to the possibility of relationship and life in the seemingly one-dimensional people who passed through my presence as if they were mere vapor.
There was substance all around, of course. I was the one who lived an intangible presence. I lost so much during those years of depression. And yet, those shadows of my memory now provide the contrast by which all that is lovely imprints upon my eyes and heart like a series of miracles.
Grace is growing all the more prevalent the more I sink into this life that is art. As I look, there is no moment free of that deep inner gasp of recognition. Look! Look at this.... This shadow. That angle of light. Those reflections. These colors. New textures. Complex patterns. Simple flow.
So much of life overflows with God's presence. Meaning, moment by moment, that expands and overwhelms the first impression. Dingy and dark? Look closer for a glimpse of light reflecting off the dampness. Dull and predictable? Change perspective and take a step to one side or another. Move in. Pull back. Tilt sideways.
These concepts don't just apply to the visual aspects of life. I can do this in relationships too. There is always a way to change, inside myself, that will bring new beauty into my life. It won't undo brokenness, but I've found that even damage will hold worth.
All I need is the lens of God's grace. He is the intangible value in everything. I only notice it if I expect to see his goodness everywhere, though. Knowledge of his presence overwhelms me until new insight sinks root in my soul. It seems that no matter how beautiful life may seem at any moment, there is always more.
Now I see in part. How much more is there to taste, see and know? There are promises that explain it's too much for anyone to comprehend. I can already tell you it's true.
Can you see it? If not, you are missing something amazing. You already have the treasure in front of you. Ask God to help you see it.
---
Photo collage: Here is a collage of abstract photos taken today at the Milwaukee Art Museum. Most were in the parking structure beneath the building, and the rest focus on the wires and beams of the Quadracci Pavilion wings atop the building.
There is no part of the pavilion that isn't beautiful. Santiago Calatrava wins the "brings tears to my eyes" award for the intricate simplicity of his structure.
It makes me want to study architecture just so I can give such an experience to someone someday. Every step changed the impression of the shadows and angles. I could spend a week photographing that building without running out of inspiring angles to capture.
Monday, March 14, 2011
When Tears Reach Heaven
These arms cannot wrap those who weep afar off. This heart cannot communicate with those surrounded by the darkness of mourning. These hands are empty of resources to steady even one life through devastation and tragedy.
But my tears are filled with prayer, each one treasured by a God who shaped the mountains and controls the sea.
We do not understand how it is that the world can crumble beneath our feet. There is an intrinsic knowledge within us that it was never meant to be this way from the beginning.
We often blame God, forgetting that the first quake that split the world was our choice to leave his guidance behind. Our separation from God is the source of the fault-lines both physical and spiritual that slip and grind against one another today. He continues to be the unifying factor that holds the universe and life together even through the devastation caused by the entire world's continued pull away from the wholeness of his presence.
Suffering doesn't make God less good. It's hard to see from our distorted perspective.... But it does prove that we were meant for unbroken unity.
Healing and restoration are possible because God is still reaching to pull us close. Christ is the stitching that links us back to wholeness in him, the filter that purifies us as he draws us ever nearer, the light that illuminates all that still needs to be reconnected.
In the devastation of our world as it shakes and folds beneath our feet, let's remember to be a part of holding lives together and contributing to restoration, even if it can only be tears and prayer poured into the hands of God.
I'm adding tangibility to my prayers through images and words, for now. Someday I'll have a chance to be among the hands that touch broken lives to communicate the healing God promises and the restoration he will not fail to accomplish.
---
Image: "Tears That Reach Heaven" ... a compilation of photos I've taken. (The world map in the photo with the mask is on a Nestle mug I was given years ago.) I've also overlaid my recent Tsunami pen drawing and a few sketches, inverted and colored.
But my tears are filled with prayer, each one treasured by a God who shaped the mountains and controls the sea.
We do not understand how it is that the world can crumble beneath our feet. There is an intrinsic knowledge within us that it was never meant to be this way from the beginning.
We often blame God, forgetting that the first quake that split the world was our choice to leave his guidance behind. Our separation from God is the source of the fault-lines both physical and spiritual that slip and grind against one another today. He continues to be the unifying factor that holds the universe and life together even through the devastation caused by the entire world's continued pull away from the wholeness of his presence.
Suffering doesn't make God less good. It's hard to see from our distorted perspective.... But it does prove that we were meant for unbroken unity.
Healing and restoration are possible because God is still reaching to pull us close. Christ is the stitching that links us back to wholeness in him, the filter that purifies us as he draws us ever nearer, the light that illuminates all that still needs to be reconnected.
In the devastation of our world as it shakes and folds beneath our feet, let's remember to be a part of holding lives together and contributing to restoration, even if it can only be tears and prayer poured into the hands of God.
I'm adding tangibility to my prayers through images and words, for now. Someday I'll have a chance to be among the hands that touch broken lives to communicate the healing God promises and the restoration he will not fail to accomplish.
---
Image: "Tears That Reach Heaven" ... a compilation of photos I've taken. (The world map in the photo with the mask is on a Nestle mug I was given years ago.) I've also overlaid my recent Tsunami pen drawing and a few sketches, inverted and colored.
Friday, March 11, 2011
Tears and Motion
I cried this morning, watching the news. Oh, how I wanted to reach through the screen and lift people away from the destruction. I feel helpless, but God is there to heal and support as he has always been.
I really wish art could help.
Image: Tsunami - ink
Image: Tsunami - ink
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
WORD
It is nothing, exhalation of vibrating throat and twisted tongue.
Emptiness to emptiness, a scented wisp of subtle wind.
Yet by the word all things are invested with meaning.
What a wonder to consider this vast universe
existing on such a simple breath of sound.
Submitted to Random Acts of Poetry at The High Calling.
Image: a Church Note Sketch
Emptiness to emptiness, a scented wisp of subtle wind.
Yet by the word all things are invested with meaning.
What a wonder to consider this vast universe
existing on such a simple breath of sound.
Submitted to Random Acts of Poetry at The High Calling.
Image: a Church Note Sketch
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Ideas, Plans, and Changes
I'm sitting at home on a Sunday morning with my two sick daughters. We're missing a potluck with our Sunday school class. *cries* And I'm trying to comprehend a strange new prospect in regards to my digital art.
My husband, David, is in process of figuring out what it will entail to take my prints to the local weekend market and sell them. Since he's still painfully unemployed, it will give him a mental occupation that might even bring in some cash. It's definitely God's hand at work, I think. I never thought he'd come up with a plan like this!
Remember when I said I refuse to "sell" my own art, but that I wouldn't object if God brought someone else along to do it? *laugh* I didn't think it would be David. He tends to prefer to sell more practical things, like insurance.
This puts a certain pressure on my thoughts, of course. If my art doesn't sell at the market, what will I do with all those prints? I admit it's a terrifying prospect. But, if I can trust God to make what he will of my art, then I can trust him to make use of this new venture, whether it's financially beneficial or not. Who knows what relationships will come of it?
And I don't learn to trust God by taking the easy path. Trust comes easy when very little could go wrong.
No, if David decides this project is worth investing his time and effort, then I will count on God to manage it. Wasting my time on dreading losing the cash invested ... or worrying David will decide my art is a waste of time even to create, since it doesn't sell (It doesn't take much for dramatic possibilities, does it?) ... or daydreaming about ruling the world with my fabulous prints--No?--well ... it isn't worth it. I need my energy for things like washing dishes and hugging my kids.
Exhilarating or difficult, God has good plans for me, and I don't need to fear what lies ahead since he promises to care for me as he does for the well-dressed daisy and the soaring bird. I may never look successful to the world, but with his presence comes the guarantee that nothing is worthless, and eternal treasure has no stock market crashes.
And, just so you know, I have a lot of trouble entrusting my "strengths" to God. Its easy enough to give up on myself for the things I know I'm not good at, but when I'm told I have talent, I automatically decide it will never come to anything since it's my talent. But ... there are a lot of truths in the Bible that combat this.
Believing God's assurances that he designed these capabilities and doesn't want me to waste them is hard. I'm trembling as I constantly push them back into God's hands and move forward into risky territory. He has been so good. I've been given more encouragement than I ever thought possible.
Even when things turn out differently than I thought, blessings still shower into my life. When I try to give up, he jump-starts me. Nothing is impossible with God.
Someday I'll learn to love like he does.... or, rather, I'm awed that he's teaching me how to love now.
My husband, David, is in process of figuring out what it will entail to take my prints to the local weekend market and sell them. Since he's still painfully unemployed, it will give him a mental occupation that might even bring in some cash. It's definitely God's hand at work, I think. I never thought he'd come up with a plan like this!
Remember when I said I refuse to "sell" my own art, but that I wouldn't object if God brought someone else along to do it? *laugh* I didn't think it would be David. He tends to prefer to sell more practical things, like insurance.
This puts a certain pressure on my thoughts, of course. If my art doesn't sell at the market, what will I do with all those prints? I admit it's a terrifying prospect. But, if I can trust God to make what he will of my art, then I can trust him to make use of this new venture, whether it's financially beneficial or not. Who knows what relationships will come of it?
And I don't learn to trust God by taking the easy path. Trust comes easy when very little could go wrong.
No, if David decides this project is worth investing his time and effort, then I will count on God to manage it. Wasting my time on dreading losing the cash invested ... or worrying David will decide my art is a waste of time even to create, since it doesn't sell (It doesn't take much for dramatic possibilities, does it?) ... or daydreaming about ruling the world with my fabulous prints--No?--well ... it isn't worth it. I need my energy for things like washing dishes and hugging my kids.
Exhilarating or difficult, God has good plans for me, and I don't need to fear what lies ahead since he promises to care for me as he does for the well-dressed daisy and the soaring bird. I may never look successful to the world, but with his presence comes the guarantee that nothing is worthless, and eternal treasure has no stock market crashes.
And, just so you know, I have a lot of trouble entrusting my "strengths" to God. Its easy enough to give up on myself for the things I know I'm not good at, but when I'm told I have talent, I automatically decide it will never come to anything since it's my talent. But ... there are a lot of truths in the Bible that combat this.
Believing God's assurances that he designed these capabilities and doesn't want me to waste them is hard. I'm trembling as I constantly push them back into God's hands and move forward into risky territory. He has been so good. I've been given more encouragement than I ever thought possible.
Even when things turn out differently than I thought, blessings still shower into my life. When I try to give up, he jump-starts me. Nothing is impossible with God.
Someday I'll learn to love like he does.... or, rather, I'm awed that he's teaching me how to love now.
Friday, March 4, 2011
The 10 Most Painful Things You Could Say to Me and Why it's Okay
But there is hope.... more on that after the list.
- You're a phony. Nothing you say you believe shows in your actions.
- I don't really like you; I'm just polite even though you're painfully annoying.
- The people who say they like you don't really know you. If they really knew you, they wouldn't like you.
- You're an idiot. The theories you think are so neat are commonly known to be fodder for fools. You don't even have the decency to keep silent so people can imagine you're intelligent.
- You're useless. You can't even remember to do the most simple tasks, but always get distracted by useless trivia.
- You're doomed to be a burden on everyone around you for the rest of your life.
- You can't draw. You can't sing. You can't write. You can't even take good photos. You're just pushing yourself in where you're not wanted when you try. Stop imitating people you're unworthy to even admire.
- You're selfish. Even when you say you're trying to do something nice, it's obvious that you have ulterior motives.
- You're just pretending to be ill. Whenever something fun comes along, you're suddenly able to do anything.
- I don't know why I even try to help you. You're just going to waste my efforts.
These are the idea-obstacles you'll have to frequently prove aren't in mind in order for me to believe you are my friend. It doesn't seem fair of me to set up such an insulting wall, does it? And I'm not talking about how insulting it may be to me ... it's insulting of me to think you are so harsh.
If you follow my thoughts through to their logical conclusion, I'm the only kind person in the universe!
Well, now.
And here we thought there was a self-esteem problem? Turns out there is one; it's just the inverse of what you'd think. Pride has raised its ugly head and peered over the boundary of my soul through the absolute depression of negativity.
And what of those accusations?
It turns out they are all true, to some extent or even fully. What I fear the most is that other people will know they're true, and see through my careful cover-up.
"What?" you say, "But nobody could possibly...!"
Excuse me. They. Are. True. And I hate it. But right here in this admission is where the hope enters.
See, the problem with the world is that this stuff is true of all of us.
- Everyone tries really hard to believe things they don't really believe from time to time, and it shows in the way they act.
- We all annoy someone, no matter how nice we are. It's impossible to be liked by everyone all the time.
- Some of the people who like us would change their minds if they knew us better.
- We're easily distracted by useless trivia, even if our definitions differ drastically on that score.
- We all have pet theories about life and meaning that aren't really true and deserve to be shot down before they taint the world, even if some of those ideas have a lot of support from other, equally foolish people.
- Everyone is a burden to someone at some point. Some less than others, but in that case they usually don't have relationships. People who try hardest not to be a burden often become a burden just by their effort not to be.
- We all imitate people who have talents we can't aspire to. Often we cause havoc while we do it.
- We're all selfish, and it's really easy to convince ourselves that our selfish act is actually going to benefit other people,... 2 for 1!
- We all resist doing things that are lonely, painful or just plain difficult, but find new energy with the promise of pleasure and companionship, though even that energy may be less than enough.
- We've all failed to appreciate someone who has been a blessing to us, failed to be grateful for what we have, failed to love others as we wish to be loved.
So, in the end, I have hope. I still think of all the negative things people could see in me, since they're really there to be seen, but I also have all of Christ's promises to live on. I may sin reluctantly and cause damage, or sin purposely and regret it later, but God is bigger than my brokenness. He fills and supersedes it.
In the end, he promises to ... give me the will to do his pleasure; provide my every need; live in me; pray for me and hear my prayers; do his good work in me until it is completed; encourage and give endurance as well as the ability to glorify God; overflow his hope into me through his spirit; fill me with joy and peace; give me grace; comfort me especially so I can comfort others with the comfort he has given me; mark me with the pleasing scent of Christ before both Christians and unbelievers; demonstrate his power perfectly through my weaknesses; bless me with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places; teach me the hope of Christ's coming; help me to grasp the love of Christ which is beyond knowledge so I will glorify him according to his power at work in me; love others through me .... and many, many more!
Faced with these promises, how could I possibly anticipate merely being a blight on the planet? To think so after turning my life over to Christ would be to deny everything Christ says about himself, plus all the promises Paul and the other apostles tell us to anticipate and trust him for.
If I'm going to say I believe him, then I can't keep telling him he isn't able to effect any good in me. And I have to walk into my relationships looking to see where his presence will work with mysterious grace.
When you see good in me, I get to rejoice in Christ along with you, because I know what I am and that he gets all the credit.
So, even though you might one day say any of the above comments to me with good cause, I'm trusting God to help me learn not to hold them between us before you have a chance to think them, but to entrust him with the work of doing good to you through me while forgetting the attempt to maintain false appearances.
I feel like I'm being random, but oh well... Up goes the randomness of inner dialogue made visible.
As a Seed
A constant stream of love
asks that I let myself be carried
and trust God to bear me
where I would drown alone.
Confined by my tiny circumference,
dreading the past and the future
even while daisies bloom confident
and fearless birds swoop and soar.
This seed upon the rocks
will yet be washed down by rain,
and I'm tumbling in the presence of God,
afraid of my own reflection.
The promise to nurture, to grow,
to bloom fruitful love, isn't mine to make.
I let go and fall into the ground.
Does a seed create its own root,
or built its own leaves and branches?
I exist on the light and warmth of the sun,
the constant flow of living water,
unwelcome nourishment in composted death,
nutrients bought and carried by nurturing hands.
As this shell breaks apart,
my view of life changes,
there is wonder in the fruitfulness of death.
---
Image: "Seeds and Leaves" I drew this while waiting for my friend's wedding to start, so it's not technically a Church Note Sketch. However, it fits this poem because it's full of the seeds and leaves that were tumbling around me. A fall wedding, outdoors. So lovely!
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Humble
It isn't great strength
but surrendered weakness
that relies most constantly
on the promise of eternal support.
Image: Church-Note Sketches "Humble" I'm going through old papers and scanning any interesting sketches I find, so there will probably be more of these simple shapes for a while.
but surrendered weakness
that relies most constantly
on the promise of eternal support.
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