Standing out in the crowd

When I returned from a walk this morning I noticed a bright red leaf lying on our driveway. It stood out so beautifully amidst the mass of shriveled brown leaves that have been there for a few days. I thought it must have fallen recently since I hadn't noticed it on my way out, and it was still so supple and brilliant in color. I immediately bent down and picked it up to examine it more closely and it didn't take but a second for me to decide that I wanted to take it inside and try to photograph it. I wanted to preserve this beauty, knowing that its color would soon fade and it would succumb to decay. This is the resulting image (click on the image to view it larger).
As I was walking this morning I thought about an email message that I had received a day ago from a friend that I had met a few months ago through her blog site. I haven't been posting anything here lately and she wrote to tell me that she had visited several times, hoping to find new musings, only to find that I had been absent. She wanted to let me know that I was missed and asked how I am doing. When we take the time to create and relate, it's nice to know that someone notices. Often it seems that what we do makes little or no ripple in the lives of others, that our work and our words drift out into vast space and float about aimlessly. A message like this one from my friend suddenly reminds us that we have significance, that we can be a channel of grace in the lives of others, even when we aren't aware of it. And that, after all, is what we are all searching for, isn't it?
So I'm thankful for my friend who, standing out among the hundreds of contacts I've made through the internet, took the time to let me know that my words and images have made some ripples in her life, enough to be missed when I didn't show up for a while. What a wonderful act of kindness.
Bless you, my friend. You're one in a million... :o) 

It's all about the light

(Click on images to see larger version)
Without light we don't have photography, and the image of the magnolia leaves wouldn't exist if my camera had not functioned so that the shutter opened and allowed the light to pass through the lens which focused it on the sensor which recorded the information -- or simply, if I had forgotten to remove the lens cap. But even if I and the camera had functioned correctly but the light had not been there, there would be no image of the leaves.
The light outside changes constantly, and the way we see things is affected greatly by the amount of light and the color of the light. I remember walking around the grounds of the Hermitage on the afternoon when I took this photograph, looking at all the unfamiliar sights, taking in everything and making decisions about what I wanted to shoot. I was in a hurry because I had gotten there just before sunset and the light was changing quickly. As the red light waves from the sun became more intense, so did the colors of everything around me. I was walking by the magnolia tree when I looked up and was struck by how the brown undersides of the leaves had taken on this beautiful amber glow, and how blue the sky looked as it peeked through the branches of the tree, reflecting on the shiny dark green side of the leaves. There were places on the leaves that looked like they had been painted with splashes of color, reds, oranges and blues. I've seen this happen in water before but had never really noticed it in a setting like this. It had become a beautiful abstract painting right before my eyes -- and all because of the light, both direct light and reflected light.
At this point the romantic in me wants to come up with some profound spiritual analogy about how God is light, and so on and so forth.
But the practical side of me just wants to thank God for the light, just enjoy the fact that we have it and I have eyes to see it. 

None of us is promised tomorrow. Today, in all its beauty, is all we have.

I'm not sure who the author of that quote is, but I was moved to deep thought by it today. We've probably all, at one time or another, heard something like it. The Proverb says, "do not boast about tomorrow, for you do not know what a day may bring." A stern warning not to take anything for granted -- life is fragile and uncertain.
However, I particularly appreciate the second part of this newfound quote, because of that prepositional phrase stuck in there between "Today" and "is all we have" -- "in all its beauty." It stood out to me as a blunt reminder that I let so many days go by without seeing the beauty they hold, living a joyless, survival-mentality-type of existence. Then I think on my past entries to this blog and find a recurring theme -- stop and smell the roses.
Hmmm.....
The photograph in this entry was taken this spring in a park where my children and I had met some friends one day for a trail walk and a picnic. The trees were freshly clothed in their new spring-green garb, and the critters (including masses of gnats) were not scarce. It was, after all, that time of year, you know (coming out of hibernation, hungry, looking for love...).
Anyway, I was especially delighted by the presence of several Eastern bluebirds that came close enough to get a good shot of one of them. They are shy birds, and for one to stay put in one place long enough to shoot several frames is a rare opportunity that I relish with delight. The tree's new growth was bright green and delicate, and though it deserved attention all its own, it made a fine backdrop for the photograph of the bluebird.
The Eastern Bluebird was my favorite bird all through my growing up years and remains so to this day. Who could resist the bright blue flash as it flies from tree to ground and back again while gathering the next meal? I've watched them for so many years that I can spot them just from their silhouette as they sit on a tree limb or fence post. I have learned to rejoice in that kind of beauty when I come across it in a day.
But there are so many other beautiful treasures and small graces in each day that I miss, or do not see the value in them. I'm too busy getting through the day so that I can get to tomorrow's agenda, all the while overlooking the beauty in a moment with one of my children, or the way God has orchestrated the day just perfectly with so much that is good and beautiful thrown in. There is so much I miss as I grumble my way along the path of this journey, always thinking that there must be something better or more important just over the next rise.
Father God, plant the truth deep in my heart that today, in all its beauty, is all I have, and I should rejoice and be glad in it.

Sunrise and shadows on the sand

I awoke early the morning I shot this photograph in eager anticipation of the sunrise, believing that there would be a few gems to be discovered in my camera after I finished shooting. When I walked out onto the beach the wind was chillly and blowing stoutly, carrying sand and seafoam with it. The water fowl seemed to be enjoying playing and gliding on the air currents, often looking as if they were having contests to see which of them could stay in one place in mid-air the longest. The sky was glowing pale blue on the horizon as the sun was making it's way to its debut. I planted myself as close to the surf as I dare and waited. . . . Suddenly, there it was! One second it wasn't, the next it was. It never ceases to amaze me. This time I tried to imagine the earth moving instead of the sun, just to try to get a sense of our place in the solar system -- I wanted to feel small, sitting on a huge rolling ball as it flies around the sun in the vastness of space. I wanted to sense God's bigness, to get goosebumps at the thought of it.
I started snapping photographs as soon as the sun made its appearance, and I didn't stop for another forty minutes. I watched the seafoam blowing on the beach, and the birds, first chasing the surf and then running from it. I watched the pelicans flying in a line and gliding into a landing on the water, a few of them diving into the ocean after a fresh catch for breakfast. I looked at the way the sun shown on the water and the sand, making the water sparkle and glow fluorescent blue and orange, and casting long shadows on the tiniest ripples in the sand. The sand fences and dunes in this photograph caught my attention just as I was walking back to the house and I reached the top of the deck stairs. I looked down over the railing and was captivated by all the different shadows that were being cast. I captured a few different angles and then shut down the camera, hoping that I didn't get too much sand blown into my lens.
When I looked at the photos later I was stunned by the way this one turned out. It looks like a desolate place, almost like it could be desert land instead of the shoreline of the Atlantic Ocean. The shadows all showed up and created patterns and shapes of all sizes and kinds.

I love being a photographer in part because of the way it helps to emblazon certain memories like this particular morning and all of its sights, sounds and smells on my memory.
I was revelling in the Creator's glory that morning and I won't soon forget how awesome it was!

(photograph taken at Sandbridge Beach in Virginia Beach, VA -- April 2006) 

An awe-inspiring evening

I've waited at least two years for Mark O'Connor to come back to Norfolk for a performance -- it was worth the wait! The Virginia Arts Festival this year included Mark's Appalachian Waltz Trio, made up of him, Carol Cook, and Natalie Haas. The combination of Violin, Viola and Cello was SO rich.
Crossing Bridges is a CD that includes much of what makes Mark unique in his music. He is a virtuoso fiddle player and has composed his own music, a combination of the styles of music that he loves -- jazz, folk, classical....
Amazing -- it was utterly amazing. And speaking of amazing -- as an encore, the trio played a soulful rendition of Amazing Grace that sent chills up and down my spine -- I've never heard a better rendition.
I read the bio on Natalie Haas and found out she is just 20 years old! Check out the link to Mark's website. You won't be disappointed.

Wonderful Power

There is wonderful power in the Cross of Christ. It has power to wake the dullest conscience and melt the hardest heart, to cleanse the unclean, to reconcile him who is afar off and restore him to fellowship with God, to redeem the prisoner from his bondage and lift the pauper from the dunghill, to break down the barriers which divide people from one another, to transform our wayward characters into the image of Christ and finally make us fit to stand in white robes before the throne of God.
~ John Stott 

"Live deep instead of fast."

Live deep instead of fast.
I wonder -- does anyone today even have a choice? Everyday some trinket of technology enters the market as new and improved, smaller and faster.
I take photographs now without having to wait to see them -- in the instant I click the shutter the image pops up on the little screen on the back of my camera. Only a couple of years ago I still sensed the thrill of anticipation as I worked to finish a roll of film, turn it in for processing and then rush to the dark room to make the prints -- sometimes doing them over and over to get just the right contrast or colors -- and finally being rewarded with a "perfect" print.
All aspects of life in America are like that. Even relationships. All of these progressive improvements in life are making us less patient. We want instant gratification, instant change, instant forgiveness, instant relief from pain, instant removal of consequences -- not only are we less patient about these things, but we have grown a sense of entitlement to these things somehow. Instead of taking the Psalm 139 prayer and looking deep inside -- "search me, O God, and know my heart, try me, and know my anxious thoughts. See if there be any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting." -- we fool ourselves into believing that we deserve to be relieved of guilt, and lose sight of the value of waiting on God, searching deep in our hearts for the guilt, and going through the arduous process of repentance. "Oh! must I go through that valley again -- I was just there! Can't I take a short cut? a by-pass? and get what I want now? Can't I put a band-aid on the wound and move on?"
But it's the deep things that make us grow deeper still, expand our horizons, affect real change, bring the greatest rewards, lead us to real joy -- all of which are gifts of grace, not something we have a right to at all.
So, live deep, not fast. Stop and look at the orchids. Stop and smell the roses. Stop and look deep in your heart and accept the loving discipline of the heavenly Father, no matter how long it takes -- so that you may find the richness of a joyful life. 

From death, new life

I've drawn milkweed pods before, and I thought I'd give it a try with a little watercolor this time. The fine white filaments of the seeds are always the challenge. Maybe masking would be a better alternative. Maybe I'll try that next time.
Anyway, I'm always fascinated by these dried pods when I see them each winter. They are considered to be weeds, and I guess a nuisance to farmers. But I simply love the shape and textures, as well as the subtle colors of the dried pods. The seeds with their fluffy white stuff that will carry them off on a breeze to find a place to be buried, and then with the warmth of spring brought to new life, are symbolic of our lives and the new life we can find in Christ. It is a tiny miracle that happens each spring when billions of unnoticed seeds spring to new life along the roadsides and in the cracks and crevices of our concrete jungles. They are the unwanted and uncared for, and yet God breathes life into them over and again. They bring food, shade and dwelling places for his creatures, which also often go unnoticed and unwanted by us. But, true to His word, God keeps the cycles going, he notices when sparrows fall, he knows about every little seed, and he numbers the hairs of our heads. 

Have you ever seen a cuter face?

This is Curt.
He was 2 years old in this picture.
Seven years ago. . . .

Rod found it in his desk when he was cleaning up today.
I fell in love with those eyes all over again. . . . 

Idleness or rest?

"The idle man does not know what it is to enjoy rest."
-Albert Einstein
I love this quote. It says so much with so few words.
It also speaks to me personally about the way I spend my time and use my mind. It caught my attention tonight primarily because of the word 'rest' -- something of which I am sorely in need -- I am exhausted right now precisely because neither my mind nor my body has had much rest lately. I burn the candle at both ends most days, getting up early because I don't have a choice, and going to bed too late because my mind doesn't shut down unless I force it. There are nights that I could probably go to bed earlier than I do because the work I'm doing is not necessary, or can wait for another time, but I'm enjoying it too much to stop. When my time is my own I'm never bored. There's more to do and learn about in this life than there is lifetime in which to do it. But I keep trying. And when the time comes that I finally shut it down and crawl into the bed, nothing has ever felt sweeter than when I close my eyes and allow (because sometimes it isn't allowed -- like during faculty meetings at the end of a school day, or when I'm driving home) the waves of slumber to wash over me and carry me off to the land of dreams.
But there is also waking rest that comes when I break from the routine and do something I love to do but don't get to do very often. And there is the rest that comes from taking on the light yoke of Christ and casting my heavy burdens on Him. Also, letting the peace of Christ rule in my heart.
There are more, but these are things that come immediately to mind as I read this quote from Einstein -- a man who probably never had an idle moment in his life.
I don't have any desire to be idle, but I do desire to learn more about rest.
I think I'll go study it right now. . . . 

A few more from the Hermitage. . .

Couldn't resist putting in a collage of my favorites from today's photo shoot at the Hermitage. 

Exploring old and new places

I took the afternoon today and went exploring in downtown Norfolk -- a rare treat. I wanted to see the current exhibit at the Chrysler Museum of Art called "Behind the Seen" -- a showing of artwork that has been hidden for years in the museum's vaults because they don't have room to exhibit their whole collection. It was a feast for the eyes as I moved slowly from painting to painting, room to room. Dutch masters like Peter Paul Rubens; American painters including Charles Wilson Peale and his son Rembrandt Peale, Thomas Moran and Georgia O'Keefe; European artists such as Rodin, Renoir, Sargent, and others that I met for the first time. They had one room which they called the Chrysler Museum Salon in which they covered the walls in the style of the famous Paris Salon with artwork, including twelve pieces that actually made their debuts at dthe Salon during the 19th century -- a large John Singer Sargent portrait being among them. I pushed through the exhibit with hesitant hurriedness only because I wanted to make it to one more place before sunset.
After leaving the musem a little later than I had planned, I rushed off down the road to the "north shore" of Norfolk to a beautiful old place on the Lafayette River, the Hermitage Foundation Museum. The Hermitage, as it is called by most people, is a place that I have long intended to visit, but one obstacle or another had kept me from it. The sun was just beginning to set as I drove onto the grounds. I parked and went to the door of the museum with the intention of going in to see their art exhibit, but was overwhelmed with the sights to see on the outside of the buildings. I hurried back to the car and put on my extra jacket (there was a cold wind blowing and the sun was losing its warmth), grabbed my camera and started walking all around the place, snapping pictures everywhere there was enough light. The blazing sunset was saturating everything it touched with rich reds and yellows, and the sky to the west looked even bluer. This was the art of God and I wasn't about to miss it. I stayed out till the colors faded and the museum closed and I was half frozen. I shot about 90 photos and couldn't wait to get home to look at them. Among them was this photo of a piece of driftwood that was alive with color from the sunset. I'm sure that in yesterday's dreariness it would not have caught my attention in quite the same way -- it's normal grayness would have blended into the gray day. But today it was transformed into a work of art that rivaled anything on the inside of the museum.
It was old places with new things and new places with old things. It was a banquet for my soul. 

"Books are not dead things..."

...so said John Milton, "but do contain a potency of life...as active as that soul was whose progeny they are; nay, they do preserve as in a vial the purest extraction of that living intellect that bred them."
The book in this photo is a gift from my husband to me, given at Christmas. He knows how much I love books, and especially beautiful, handcrafted journals such as this one. This was made by a man in his eighties who covered it with loving care. He used his own hand-marbled paper for the cover and painstakingly covered the binding with artists' canvas, in hopes, he told my husband, that it would be sold to an artist who would decorate it with their own artwork.
I almost don't want to make a mark on it because of the feared potential of ruining it's beauty. Not only do I want to make it beautiful, but I desire to make marks which will make it my own book. Unlike the books in the opening quotation, this book does not contain the "progeny" of another, but instead it has the potential of being the "vial" that holds the "purest extraction of" my own soul. It is a gift which, unlike the gift of a book written by another, offers the opportunity to "publish" a part of myself, a slice of my life, a record of what is important and beautiful to me, a canvas upon which to paint the things I love.
My hope is that when the time comes that I make the last mark in it that it will look lovingly worn, well used, and contain that "potency of life."
What a thoughtful gift.
Thank you, my love.

Colors of the new year

What will be the colors of the new year?
What subtle shades and tints of colors will we miss by taking things for granted? By assuming we've seen it all before, we so often miss the spectacular events and feastings for the senses that surround us each day. The sky holds more beauty and grandeur in a single moment than we can usually grasp.
But so often I hear my children say they are bored! When I hear that I just want to say, "go outside, and don't come back in until you have seen and counted 10 shades of green!"
Sometimes I am overwhelmed by the scenes that play out around me each day. I want to stop and stay for awhile and soak it all in, but the necessities of life call me inside and away, and deep in my heart I quietly grieve the loss.
But I think that I'm beginning to learn about looking for all the subtle shades and tints of the colors of life -- finally. Personalities, relationships, circumstances, events, routines -- they all make up the tapestry of my life. Do they not each have a color -- or many colors -- that I can see as important and beautiful in their own way? And as they all are interwoven by the hand of my Creator, do they not help make me who I am meant to be?
So what will be the colors of the new year? and will I see them and appreciate them the way I should?
By God's good grace.