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.