Day in the Park

Heather and I had some fun with her camera while awaiting the Bridal Shower Bonanza for her friend Donna last weekend. Thought you'd like a peek at the things we do to kill time in a public place. (I only posted the flattering ones)

H


She's a silly girl, and I love her to death. You would have to appreciate the fact that I abhor my picture being taken, as I seldom like anything that the camera produces when it is pointed in my direction. Somehow, I expect to appear differently than the image my mirror gives. Go figure.

Visitation

My parents are here visiting, and I am reminded how much I really like them. How much fun we have just laughing...old jokes, new puns, sweet times. I know most people think I am much like my mother. I see so many ways in which we are quite different. and yet...the things we share are remarkable. intimate. worthy.

I love having them here. (sweet sigh)

First Showing

I got to see a wondrous sight today - my daughter's art hanging in a gallery. Wow.

As I wandered about, looking here and there, I must admit to being cautious. You never know what you will see in an art gallery: nude paintings that are graphic, lewd poses, twisted sculptures that reveal too many illicit medications, or just plain bad art. Sometimes I get surprised with something sweet, poignant, or just plain funny. Lately, though, not so much. It seems that the minds of so many have become so jaded and worn, they can only find things to criticize or debauch, instead of things to motivate and entrance. Today was no exception.

This was an art gallery at the college she attends. Much of the art was from students that had been in classes for several semesters. Frankly, just to be allowed to display there was an honor. When she applied (strongly encouraged by her teacher) we were totally thrilled. She is, after all, only in her second semester of photography class. We love her photography. She has a way of making something simple leap out of the photo and grab your heart. This was something simple: hands. Her grandmother's hands. Yet the message they offered was deep. There is such beauty revealed in these simple black and white photographs, it causes you to pause and wonder: what story are my hands telling? You'll have to decide for yourself what the story is when you see them - that's the beauty of art. You can participate. Which is why I am so leery when entering a gallery - I may not wish to participate in what is being offered. I am after all supposed to be sanctified, am I not? Anyway, to be encouraged to apply was amazing. To be chosen to be shown, and have a chance at an award: breathtaking.

So here I was, wandering around, secretly trying to see if anyone saw what I did hanging on the wall behind the reception desk. MY daughter's artwork. Next to what some might think was similar work, but it lacked the depth, precision, and story that hers offered. No competition. And while I didn't find that hers had won an award, I was no less touched and awed by the fact that it hung there. Her first showing. Splendid, I might add. As I walked away, I wondered how such art is rated. If by the heart, then hers had first place.

In HIS light

He was a burning and shining lamp, and you were willing to rejoice for a while in his light. John 5:35

I was thinking about how we can be so content to shine in the light of another - a good sermon, good worship, praying with another. These are all good things, but not the needful thing. The needful thing is to spend such sweet time in the presence of Jesus ourselves, that WE shine. Truly, it is Jesus who shines in us - yet when we spend time with Him in prayer, in the Word, in meditation of His Word, we get to shine. We get to be the light, the vessel that overflows with joy and the Spirit.

I don't want to be content to rejoice in another's light, but to BE light myself.

Distracted Disciple

Watch this, then we'll talk:





Retreat is in 2 weeks. I told someone that I didn't think I could wait that long for a touch from Jesus. I got to praying, and thinking about what I'm holding back, what I'm keeping in reserve, how I got to be in this place. I figured out that it doesn't really matter. What matters is what I'm going to do about it.

Repent.

How about you? How's the flame inside you for Jesus? A spark, and ember, or a full-on bonfire? Are you living your life as if Jesus is returning TODAY? Or are you putting off until tomorrow what you should have accomplished last week?

Well, it's time obedience and praise were the first things on my list. Not to mention more time in fellowship with the One who owns me body, soul and spirit. Remembering that I have been bought with a price, redeemed. Ransomed. Raised from the dead to new life.

Now, to live it! Fervent Love in action.

Carpet machines and power washers

So, I'm standing here with a rented carpet cleaner in one hand, a power cord in the other, contemplating spots. Spots on my carpet. Spots that I find rather disheartening, because no matter what I treat them with or how hard I scrub, they always surface again. Disgusting.

I began thinking about me, my spots. The behaviors I choose, the attitudes, the downright rebellion I choose to live in. Let's call it what it is: sin. Disturbing.

Which leads me to consider Jesus. HE is the only real cure for spots. He alone can make them disappear - be truly clean. And He does, with His blood. His purposeful, determined, death. His suffering and pain make me wholly clean again. How thankful I am that these spots, these sins, never surface again! Once forgiven, they are "power-washed" away.

Thanks for the spots in my carpet, Father. For leading me to consider the stains, and the cures. While ones on my carpet may be disheartening, the cure for the other is redeeming.

Thank You, Jesus, for Easter.

Of Geraniums and Geography

I was picking dead leaves off the geranium plant my mom gave me before she left, looking at this funny plant and trying to see it as she did. I'm not a big geranium fan. In fact, I let my sister take most of them and kept just this one. It's been hanging in my 'green house' for almost a week now, and I was noticing how the branches (?) have changed direction, reaching toward the new sunlight. And then I saw it. The first bloom - a small white flower with a hint of purple inside. I had such a sense of wonder - this plant had been shoved in the back of a car. Piled up with other plants. Rattled around on a dirt road, then an asphalt highway and driven at a fast pace to reach another house. Shoved around and mangled a little as it's previous porch-mates were chosen or reorganized. Then, off to it's final destination. Hung by it's chain in the garden area and watered (much out of pity) and left to see what would happen.

It bloomed.

It helps me when I think about my parents. I would love to see how they are faring - see what they see and feel as they get their details settled, house put down, furniture arranged. I would like to see how the changes affect them - temperature, humidity, geography, culture. They, too, have been rattled around trying to make decisions. Packing away treasures, and giving away treasures. Final chores, final purchases, final sales, final farewells. Then scooting down the road in a breakneck pace to make it before the moving truck arrives with items to help them feel at home.

I have a feeling they are doing much as my geranium. Adjusting to the new light. Spreading their branches. And...peeping underneath, blooming.

It's a great comfort to me that the Light is the same. The same Jesus is with them there as was with them here. The same warmth holds them, waters them, feeds them, and enjoys their blooming.

Welcome home, both of you. The geranium, and the parents. May you both enjoy your new geography for many years to come.