These glorious spring storms

Why anyone would ever want to move to some boring temperate zone is beyond me. I love these wild weather changes.

This morning was all glorious sunshine and breezes. I did three loads of laundry before I even should have been out of bed on a Saturday morning and had them all hanging on the line to dry. It was just blankets and old towels airing out and looking beautiful as the sun bleached the winter from their folds.

Before my fourth load had finished it was pouring and I stood at the back door watching it puddle onto the patio. The Forsythia is in bloom already and I could smell the Lilac from the front yard.

When the next load finished it wasn't raining anymore so I hung those blankets and sheets out as well.

It hailed on that load, along with the others. Pea-sized. Dime-sized. I watched that from the back door too. Hailed quite a while.

The laundry's still out on the line and it's dark now. Every thing's sopping wet.

I walked into the yard and looked at the clothes line; nothing was on the ground. I can remember my mom's clothes on the line in the rain when I was a kid... I would run my face through it and smell...

Far to the east, lightning filled the sky, but try as I might I couldn't capture it in a picture. It's so beautiful and destructive and powerful and illusive and I used over thirty shots but got nothing but out of focus shots of the trees.

Coming back into the house with nothing in my basket and nothing on my camera, I stopped short for a final picture.

There's something lonely about being outside your home when it's getting dark. It's always an interesting perspective to me and sometimes I go outside at night just to look into my windows and see what I can see. But I always just end up feeling excluded... I can see the light but I'm excluded from that light.

Thank you, God, that you will take us Home where we will never be excluded. And thank you for this tremendous weather experiment today!

Drawing the Apostle Paul

1974.

I can still remember receiving my first first set of oil paints on my tenth birthday. They were contained in a plastic box: small tubes along with linseed oil for thinning the paints and cleaning the brushes, and two small (very inadequate) brushes. My dad had bought them at the Western Auto store and my mom couldn't imagine why I needed something so extravagent when I'd surely have that all over my clothes and it would never come out in the wash.

Oh my goodness... that smell, when you opened that little plastic box.

The importance.

The grown-upness.

That delightful sense of urgency I felt to paint something worthwhile and lasting.

Painting on paper, of course, didn't work, but I didn't know that until after I had tried it. My dad hadn't known it wouldn't work either and paper was all we had. When he learned that I should be using a canvas, he ripped apart an old sheet and stretched it over cardboard for me to paint on, attaching it with masking tape on the back to hold it in place. It wasn't ideal. The oils in the paints seeped through into the cardboard and made it soggy, but for an exuberant ten year old, it was sufficient.

I couldn't paint anything worthwhile.

I tried a horse but it was too hard. Faces were too hard too and always looked wrong. The paints were too heavy and sticky and wouldn't dry. I never knew about mixing colors but used them straight from the tube. I felt confused that there was no "skin" color when it seemed such an obvious need. When my dad eventually surmised my problem and suggested I try to mix the colors, I thought about his suggestion but ultimately concluded I couldn't risk it. I was afraid to squeeze out the paint and waste it in an unsuccessful attempt. It seemed likely I could mix all day and never come up with a "skin" color!  Eventually, I painted a flag and that was the most successful thing I'd managed to do but I didn't feel very proud of it because there wasn't much life to it: just something I'd copied from a puzzle box.

At church this past Sunday, with the help of my two very patient and gifted daughters, I worked with our class of third and fourth graders who were using oil pastel crayons to create depictions of the Apostle Paul at different stages in his life. Each student had chosen one time in Paul's life to portray. We tutored them in the finer points (okay, finer for eight and nine year olds) of portrait drawing and assisted them in achieving works of art they could be proud of. At the end of the three hour session, six children had a sense of accomplishment with their work that made me feel a longing for those days when I could still be so surprised by how a few quality art tools could transform an empty page. Oh, that magic of the first decent portrait you draw after you learn that there is a method that really works. Learning where the eyes really belong on a face, how big ears really are, that our shoulders actually are wider than our heads... then seeing that if you put these rules into use, voila, you can make something that is better than you thought you could do! We watched these children experience that wonderful moment as we held each child's piece a few feet away and they began to discover their artwork coming into focus.

While I haven't yet photographed the children's artwork, when I do, if I can remember, I'll post their  drawings. Meanwhile, here's what I used as a sample (my own Paul drawing created with oil pastel crayon), which depicts Paul after he has been beheaded by Nero and is being whisked away, transforming in a twinkling of an eye, to receive his own crown of righteousness. God bless those children and each of us who day make this majestic journey. 

Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day—and not only to me, but also to all who have longed for his appearing. 2 Timothy 4:8

Sweet Christmas Times (Just thought I'd share a few pictures from home)

What I am going to remember about today...

After thinking about what I wrote last time, I did this today:

I went outside after taking a shower and lay in the sun on the picnic table for 30 minutes and waited for my hair to dry.

While I was there, Tickles, our dusty old kitty cat, at first made himself comfortable on my stomach then, after I petted him too much, moved next to me where he purred and fisticuffed my earphones.

Frankie cried and whined at the back door the entire time because he wasn't allowed outside. Lucy carried on too, but she didn't know why. She was just following brother's lead. That's what Lucy does: follows brother's lead. Brother loves being the leader. When I got inside I gave them both a biscuit for pretending to be overwhelmed with happiness at seeing me.

On the way to work I took the scenic route and drove past Springcreek. Last time we were there, my older daughter Ashley, found little grey frogs by the bazillions. I didn't have time to look for any today.

Once at the shop (amidst what I felt to be great chaos and dozens of time pressures... even though this is a gigantic over statement) I stopped for a few seconds to look at my old paint set from when I was a girl. My dad bought this for me for my tenth birthday.

Tomorrow I will go by to see him and remind him about those paints and tell him about what old Tickles did and how Frankie and Lucy acted and about the little frogs at Springcreek.

God's blessings on my family.

Gimme Fall.

Gimme Vegetable Soup Saturdays and Roast Beef and Potato Dinner Sundays and a great big pile of covers where I'm crowded up with shivering fat wiener dogs and a very dubious husband who really doesn't want to watch Alfred Hitchcock's Psycho again, but will.

Gimme warm Angel Food Cake when the neighbors come for Bible Study... all covered over in the last of the years' strawberries and whipped cream that begins to steam when it touches the cake. Lord willing, we will always meet together.

Gimme a fire too hot for good sense in our old black rusty wood-burning stove that billows smoke into the house and into our clothes and into our lungs. (The number of years added to our lives by the warmth from that old stove vastly outnumber the days taken from inhaling all the smoke.)

Gimme windows that are shoved all the way open and propped with broken dowel rods on days too cold for such as that and clear black nights when the stars aren't drowning in humidity.

Gimme an end to this Summer Hibernation when the days are too long and too hot and too sticky and too many.

When I began working on a revision for The Frame Shop's website, (trying to update it for a sort of seasonal look with colors, etc.) I came down with such a homesickness for Fall. I feel this antsyness every year in August but this year has seemed inordinately hard. I don't know why but yes, I really do...

My whole life: I wish it away.

I wish it wasn't so hot. I wish it wasn't so late. I wish it would hurry up and be Fall then Thanksgiving then Christmas then Spring. I wish dinner was ready and I was done working and I had this office cleaned up and my thank you cards out and my dogs washed and my laundry finished and...

Somehow, I always think it's going to be better as soon as...

And what needs to be better?

Well. I don't know.

If only I had a cool night and could breath then I'm sure things would be better.

One time, fifteen or more years ago, a woman I worked with told me to stop wishing away my life. She said one day I would no longer be young and I would have wished it all away.

Ten years before that, I had a boss tell me the same thing.

When I was in high school, my grandmother told me to stop wishing away my life.

I'm not a young woman anymore. The woman who told me that fifteen years ago has been dead now for half a decade.

While I'm wishing and waiting and saying Gimme Gimme Gimme, my life is going by and I think I'm missing the majority of it.

I wished away today. There were too many problems at work. Too many hard things to do.  Too many interruptions.  Too many aggravations.

I came home and cooked green beans and roasted ears from my uncle's garden and mindlessly gobbled it while impatiently waiting for the computer software to catch up from the changes I'd made while editing a huge photo. The only thing I know about dinner was that the green beans were limp from overcooking and the corn was so hot I couldn't stand it. Because I missed it.

And so, I came to think about all this because of the picture I decided to use for the header on The Frame Shop's website. I regularly draw these intense pictures with millions of things happening all at once, but I can only handle about a half thing at a time in my own life. When it gets to be more than that, I just wish it would all get over.

Wonder why that is?

Why do I like such chaos in those pictures but I long for simplicity and peace?

It occurs to me that maybe I live this stupid way on purpose?

Working on your Crown?

Do you suppose that when we're goners and get up to Heaven God will give us a real for goodness-sake crown?

You know, the Bible says we get one so I'm betting on it. And I am very intrigued by this crown.

A year or two ago I started fiddling with the idea of this promised crown and wondering what exactly our crowns will look like. What will they tell about us? What will they mean? Will we be embarrassed if ours is just some litty-bitty gold loop thing like a hair band and everyone else has a big fine mighty one?

My thinking is, that while I want one that is ludicrusly humongous and diamondy and intricate, I don't want to get too set on a design because I'm pretty sure God will have an idea for a crown for me that's ten-millions better than any dumb idea I can think of. I don't want some lame preconceived notion to cheat me out of the dilly-whopping crown God would have thought up for me, if I should have earned one.

Along these lines of thinking, however, in the last year or two I whipped together about 15 or 20 mixed media crown pieces and I still have several of them. Each tells a different story but it must be deciphered. Some are lively and chaotic and others are simple and sweet. Some tell stories that are bold and strong and some tell stories that are meek and small. A few are showy and a few are understated. There are party hats and crowns designed for big strong proud aggressive lives.

Jesus wore a crown of thorns.

Maybe I've been on the wrong track with my crowns.

Maybe I need to think about these projects some more... My silly little mixed-media pieces, sure; but mostly the crown God will choose for me when I'm up in Heaven.

So, just what exactly does a crown of righteousness look like, anyway?

Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day—and not only to me, but also to all who have longed for his appearing. 2 Timothy 4:8

Love to all, d.

P.S. I'm also hoping we get to wear shoes with pointy-up ends that curl around like my Hot Snots wear. But, PLEASE! I do not want pointy-up toes that curl around.

Another P.S. If you're not standing aside and allowing God to design your crown, time's a wasting. If you don't get with it, mine might end up all bigger and fancier than yours and won't you feel so stupid then?  Seek, grasshopper, seek!

Who does she think she is.... entering a contest?!?

Entering contests sort of reeks of self-promotion and a big giant bobbling head. I never could understand why so many people would do it... especially when I would (very critically and superior-ally and judgement-ally) look at whatever they had made to enter the contest and think to myself, "who do they think they are? I could do better than that."

Oh my goodness. I should not admit that.

But unless you're a fat liar, you must also admit that you have looked at the decisions others have made to enter a contest and laughed at them.

Seeing someone enter a contest and then deeming that others are not very good contestants is funny. Because we know -- completely KNOW -- we could have done such a better job if only we had entered. We end up feeling all superior. And the fact that we did not, indeed, enter, proves that if we had, we would have won. Period. No need to enter the contest.

It came to me in the last few weeks that I have had this snotty attitude and I am appalled to realize it. 

Since when did I begin to believe I was something superior? I never thought I was... no, I never consciously thought I was. But subconsciously, I'm not so sure. Why have I always acted so silly over someone else's decision to try things I was unwilling to try? Why so smarty-pants and know-it-all? Why such a jerk?

It came to me in the last few weeks. My friend Amy is excited to enter her photos in the local fair. We are going to frame them. She told me she always enters and it's not for the prize money ($5.00 top prize) and not for the competition, per se. She does it because it's an adventure and it's fun and it's something to look forward to. Mostly, she does it because she "just wants to."

And so, because of Amy, I thought about contests. And I thought about what entering a contest might really mean to a contestant.

When someone enters their creative endeavor into a contest, that person is vulnerable. It follows, I think, then, that that person must also be confident. They are going to risk sometimes enduring the snickers and sneers of others. They are going to risk losing. The bottom line is, they are risking baring their souls for others to simply dismiss.

Brave thing to do.

And even if you win, some are going to think your entry is the worst.

And so, because of Amy, I thought about contests some more. And I thought about what entering a contest might really mean to me.

It would mean actually doing something instead of just talking about it. It would mean risking (perceived) humiliation when people laugh at my entry. It would most likely mean losing and feeling sad even if I told myself I didn't care when I entered (which is what I always do).

And so I did it.

I entered the Cloth Paper Scissors contest called "Home Sweet Home" and I was so embarrassed and proud and, good grief, I have logged onto that site numerous times to look at all the other contestants entries and, good grief, has it ever been fun!

A picture of my little entry is posted above. And here it is on the Cloth Paper Scissors website:

http://www.clothpaperscissors.com/media/p/17660.aspx

and:

http://www.clothpaperscissors.com/media/p/17661.aspx

If you decide you are going to rate me, I hope you aren't secretly sneering at how stupid my entry is. Believe me, this has crossed my mind!

Love to all, d.