It just dawned on me that as of last Tuesday my blog is 1 year old. So I mark this anniversary with some thoughts from some favorite writers...
Frederick Beuchner on words (from his book, Beyond Words, 2004)
Something that lay hidden in the heart is irrevocably released through speech into time, is given substance and tossed like a stone into the pool of history...
God never seems to get weary of trying to get across to us. Word after word, God tries in search of the right word. When the creation itself doesn't seem to say it right....God tries flesh and blood....
The apostle John says of Jesus in the opening words of his book:
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning......He was in the world, and though the world was made through him, the world did not recognize him. He came to that which was his own, but his own did not receive him. Yet to all who received him, to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God— children born not of natural descent, nor of human decision or a husband's will, but born of God.
The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the One and Only, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth. (John 1: 1-2, 10-14 NIV).
Michael Card, one verse of his song, Final Word
You and me we use so very many clumsy words.
The noise of what we often say is not worth being heard.
When the Father’s Wisdom wanted to communicate His love,
He spoke it in one final perfect Word.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Letters, traces of life
Every now and then in the rush of daily activity, my forward momentum is pleasantly interrupted with an invitation to travel in my thoughts back to another time and place. After spending 9 hours in a human services conference in the bowels of the Cleveland Convention Center Friday I detoured back to the parking lot via City Hall.
There on the back wall of the City Hall rotunda was my invitation, portraits of famous Clevelanders. I recognized many of the names but one in particular caught my attention. Rebecca Rouse, and the inscription below the portrait indicated she had organized the Soldiers' Aid Society during the Civil War. That portrait was as a door to walk through and that evening I started the journey, finding an entry in the online Encyclopedia of Cleveland: http://ech.case.edu/ech-cgi/article.pl?id=RRC1
But my primary interest in this historical character had more to do with linking her story to that of many in my family tree who were profoundly impacted by the Civil War. I thought first of my great-great Aunt, Eliza Savage, sister to my great-great grandfather Martin M. Hester. I thought of her because in our family collection we have a great many letters, perhaps 50 that she wrote to her brother during the Civil War, with three sons in the front lines of battle. We have transcribed about a dozen thinking that would be a good sample, but who knows what thread of thought lies buried within those thin lines of faded ink, lines that get smaller and closer together near the end of the page when there is more to tell than there is room to write and paper is scarce and ink is home-made.
Take a quick view back to March 5th, 1864 with this excerpt....
...we received a letter from James last evening, he left here Friday morning and reached Nashville Sunday evening about 6 o'clock.... they would start the next morning for Chatanooga. Watson has enlisted in the 1st Ohio Battery. We will be left quite lonely. Elisha has some thoughts of selling out [the farm] and renting a house in Berea for the present. He cannot do much on the farm alone, help is scarce and high....
Could she have imagined that these words would be read nearly 150 years later.... Could she have imagined the value they are to us now in capturing our imagination for the otherwise unimaginable tragedy of Civil War? And can we imagine how our own written words will be read in years to come...?
There on the back wall of the City Hall rotunda was my invitation, portraits of famous Clevelanders. I recognized many of the names but one in particular caught my attention. Rebecca Rouse, and the inscription below the portrait indicated she had organized the Soldiers' Aid Society during the Civil War. That portrait was as a door to walk through and that evening I started the journey, finding an entry in the online Encyclopedia of Cleveland: http://ech.case.edu/ech-cgi/article.pl?id=RRC1
But my primary interest in this historical character had more to do with linking her story to that of many in my family tree who were profoundly impacted by the Civil War. I thought first of my great-great Aunt, Eliza Savage, sister to my great-great grandfather Martin M. Hester. I thought of her because in our family collection we have a great many letters, perhaps 50 that she wrote to her brother during the Civil War, with three sons in the front lines of battle. We have transcribed about a dozen thinking that would be a good sample, but who knows what thread of thought lies buried within those thin lines of faded ink, lines that get smaller and closer together near the end of the page when there is more to tell than there is room to write and paper is scarce and ink is home-made.
Take a quick view back to March 5th, 1864 with this excerpt....
...we received a letter from James last evening, he left here Friday morning and reached Nashville Sunday evening about 6 o'clock.... they would start the next morning for Chatanooga. Watson has enlisted in the 1st Ohio Battery. We will be left quite lonely. Elisha has some thoughts of selling out [the farm] and renting a house in Berea for the present. He cannot do much on the farm alone, help is scarce and high....
Could she have imagined that these words would be read nearly 150 years later.... Could she have imagined the value they are to us now in capturing our imagination for the otherwise unimaginable tragedy of Civil War? And can we imagine how our own written words will be read in years to come...?
Saturday, March 7, 2009
The essence of hope
The snow shovel has been idle for quite some time now and it looks like I probably won't need to purchase any more rock salt this season. The commute to and from work these last couple weeks has been a breeze, not having to contend with icy roads. On my neighborhood walk Thursday night people were lingering outside, chatting with neighbors and two boys had struck up a basketball game in their driveway. A guy just down the street had hauled out the hose and was washing a layer of salt from his car. The smell of Murphy's soap in my house is evident that the urge for spring cleaning overtook me today.
Signs for lenten fish frys have been popping up all over town. Department store racks are flush with fresh spring colors and the clearance racks of winter duds are pretty well picked over. Tax preparation offices are lit up at night and people are talking about plans for their refunds.
It's only one week into March but it's warm enough today to have the windows open to get some fresh air circulating through the house. For the first time in many months today I heard the sound of the male cardinal's song, which seems all the more delightful after its long absence.
But the calendar says it's still winter and no one is putting away their snow shovels or windshield scrapers. The tilt of the earth on its axis and its yearly journey around the sun make it a certainty that spring will arrive in due time. But that's just the science of it. The certainty of spring following winter is the essence of hope. And hope has the power to sustain life even in the darkest, wintry seasons of our lives.
Faith is the confidence that what we hope for will actually happen; it gives us assurance about things we cannot see. Hebrews 11: 1 NLT
http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?book_id=65&chapter=11&version=51
Signs for lenten fish frys have been popping up all over town. Department store racks are flush with fresh spring colors and the clearance racks of winter duds are pretty well picked over. Tax preparation offices are lit up at night and people are talking about plans for their refunds.
It's only one week into March but it's warm enough today to have the windows open to get some fresh air circulating through the house. For the first time in many months today I heard the sound of the male cardinal's song, which seems all the more delightful after its long absence.
But the calendar says it's still winter and no one is putting away their snow shovels or windshield scrapers. The tilt of the earth on its axis and its yearly journey around the sun make it a certainty that spring will arrive in due time. But that's just the science of it. The certainty of spring following winter is the essence of hope. And hope has the power to sustain life even in the darkest, wintry seasons of our lives.
Faith is the confidence that what we hope for will actually happen; it gives us assurance about things we cannot see. Hebrews 11: 1 NLT
http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?book_id=65&chapter=11&version=51
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Weavers' handshake
Of course one expects to see art displayed on the walls of art galleries but at the opening reception of a new exhibit at Heights Arts Friday night, virtually every one of the dozen artists were wearing a beautifully handcrafted item, a work of art.... whether a vest, jacket, scarf, jewelry or purse. But of course, since all the artists use textiles in their art work.
I was talking with one of the artists and admiring her hand-woven jacket. It had a wonderful soft sheen that invited to be touched, so I did. She called that touch, the "weavers' handshake," and its that feel of texture that must draw these artists into their work.
I distinctly recall that when I was first learning digital imaging and desktop design at Cuyahoga Community College I just wanted to be able to reach into the computer monitor and manipulate the "objects" with my hands. I am much more proficient with technology now, particularly since I spend so much time on the computer for my work, but I still enjoy the "hands-on" experiences, particularly with interesting textures. That's a big part of the reason I enjoy knitting and exploring the use of interesting yarns.
What I saw was an exhibit of the Textile Arts Alliance which is associated with Cleveland Museum of Art. For an overview of their programs: http://www.taacleveland.org/program.html. For this particular exhibit each of the artists in this organization were offered the opportunity to select a textile object from the museum's collection of items no longer being used for exhibits. They either used that item for inspiration for creating their own piece or incorporated all or part of the original piece in their own work. The exhibit is on until April 4th. For more info: http://www.heightsarts.org/
One artist "Sigrid", had with her a notebook showing the steps she took in designing/creating her piece. She first studied the textile artifact from the museum under 40x magnification. She told me that in studying this 18th century artifact that she learned something new about weaving that she had not come across in her 32 years of weaving. That's saying something about the 18th century artist since Sigrid is widely known for her expertise: www.artsstudio.org/magic.htm.
There's still time this Sunday evening for a little knitting, accompanied by a audio book, a fiction with a central theme of quiltmaking. And that's a subject for another time.
I was talking with one of the artists and admiring her hand-woven jacket. It had a wonderful soft sheen that invited to be touched, so I did. She called that touch, the "weavers' handshake," and its that feel of texture that must draw these artists into their work.
I distinctly recall that when I was first learning digital imaging and desktop design at Cuyahoga Community College I just wanted to be able to reach into the computer monitor and manipulate the "objects" with my hands. I am much more proficient with technology now, particularly since I spend so much time on the computer for my work, but I still enjoy the "hands-on" experiences, particularly with interesting textures. That's a big part of the reason I enjoy knitting and exploring the use of interesting yarns.
What I saw was an exhibit of the Textile Arts Alliance which is associated with Cleveland Museum of Art. For an overview of their programs: http://www.taacleveland.org/program.html. For this particular exhibit each of the artists in this organization were offered the opportunity to select a textile object from the museum's collection of items no longer being used for exhibits. They either used that item for inspiration for creating their own piece or incorporated all or part of the original piece in their own work. The exhibit is on until April 4th. For more info: http://www.heightsarts.org/
One artist "Sigrid", had with her a notebook showing the steps she took in designing/creating her piece. She first studied the textile artifact from the museum under 40x magnification. She told me that in studying this 18th century artifact that she learned something new about weaving that she had not come across in her 32 years of weaving. That's saying something about the 18th century artist since Sigrid is widely known for her expertise: www.artsstudio.org/magic.htm.
There's still time this Sunday evening for a little knitting, accompanied by a audio book, a fiction with a central theme of quiltmaking. And that's a subject for another time.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Art appreciation
A group of us from church visited the Cleveland Museum of Art this afternoon which has been undergoing significant renovation for a couple of years now and it won't be completed until 2012. The sections of the museum that are now open include exhibits of European, Dutch, French and American art from the 17th up to the 20th centuries, and the armor court, displaying European Arms and Armor from 1400-1700. Here is a link to online photographs of some of the art we saw today. http://www.clemusart.com/explore/viewCMACollections.asp?cid=P113
One member of our group has significant visual impairments. Pastor Doug and some of the rest of us made an attempt to describe what we were seeing. But of course, words can never do justice for all that the perceptive eye sees....the play of light and shadow in a painting, the artist's skill at rendering detail, shades of color, perspective, emotion, meaning and all the rest.
As a photographer I am particularly sensitive to the play of light and other visual elements such as composition, color and contrast. Photography has been described as "painting with light", noticing the quality and direction of the light and how it is affecting the subject to be photographed, and then working with the light for the most favorable outcome. Thus, I consider myself a visual artist.
"Because the eye loves novelty and can get used to almost any scene, even one of horror, much of life can drift into the vague background of our attention...."* The work of artists is in part, to call our attention to things that might otherwise escape our notice.
In spite of my visual sensitivity, gazing at great works of art today alongside someone who cannot see has renewed and heightened my appreciation for art and beauty and the wonder of vision. And for all those who feel the same, and have given generously so that many thousands can visit the museum each year without charge.
Take a look at this painting and imagine describing it to someone who cannot see and never has: http://www.clevelandart.org/Explore/work.asp?searchText=noah&recNo=1&tab=2&display=
* Diane Ackerman, A Natural History of the Senses.
One member of our group has significant visual impairments. Pastor Doug and some of the rest of us made an attempt to describe what we were seeing. But of course, words can never do justice for all that the perceptive eye sees....the play of light and shadow in a painting, the artist's skill at rendering detail, shades of color, perspective, emotion, meaning and all the rest.
As a photographer I am particularly sensitive to the play of light and other visual elements such as composition, color and contrast. Photography has been described as "painting with light", noticing the quality and direction of the light and how it is affecting the subject to be photographed, and then working with the light for the most favorable outcome. Thus, I consider myself a visual artist.
"Because the eye loves novelty and can get used to almost any scene, even one of horror, much of life can drift into the vague background of our attention...."* The work of artists is in part, to call our attention to things that might otherwise escape our notice.
In spite of my visual sensitivity, gazing at great works of art today alongside someone who cannot see has renewed and heightened my appreciation for art and beauty and the wonder of vision. And for all those who feel the same, and have given generously so that many thousands can visit the museum each year without charge.
Take a look at this painting and imagine describing it to someone who cannot see and never has: http://www.clevelandart.org/Explore/work.asp?searchText=noah&recNo=1&tab=2&display=
* Diane Ackerman, A Natural History of the Senses.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
There is more
"She had a farm in Wisconsin..." that's the line I think of in remembrance of my dear friend Joan who passed away several years ago on Christmas day, losing a well-fought battle with cancer. The line is derived from the opening phrase in the book and movie, Out of Africa, "I had a farm in Africa at the foot of the Ngong Hills...". (The book was written by Karen Dinesen.)
And now a song comes to mind in honor of all the cherished memories, by Andrew Peterson entitled "More". Find out more about More and much more at http://www.andrew-peterson.com/
.
Yesterday I came across a note from Joan and so today my thoughts are dwelling on the wonderful memories of the times we spent together.
Among her many other skills and talents, Joan was well versed in agriculture and had studied the subject at the Wooster extension of Ohio State University. She was beginning to live her dream of raising grass-fed beef in a beautiful tract of land surrounded by gentle hills. She had a good understanding of horses, too and was going to use draft horses, Percherons, in the work of the farm. A distinctive feature of this place was how dark it was at night once all the house lights were turned out. There was only one artificial light visible in the far distance.
She and I and another friend Karen met at a time when we were all considering some career changes. We were attending some free career workshops hosted by the library and at the end of the last one I said, "Let's go for coffee" and that started a long series of get togethers even though our paths and locations diverged quite a bit over the coming years.
Joan (seated) and Karen pose as we wait to be seated in a restaurant.
And now a song comes to mind in honor of all the cherished memories, by Andrew Peterson entitled "More". Find out more about More and much more at http://www.andrew-peterson.com/
.
An excerpt:
This is not the end here at this grave
This is just a hole that someone made
Every hole was made to fill
And every heart can feel it still
Our nature hates a vacuum
This is not the end here at this grave
This is just a hole that someone made
Every hole was made to fill
And every heart can feel it still
Our nature hates a vacuum
.
There is not hardest part of all
This is just the seed that has to fall
All our lives we till the ground
Until we lay our sorrows down
and watch the sky for rain
There is not hardest part of all
This is just the seed that has to fall
All our lives we till the ground
Until we lay our sorrows down
and watch the sky for rain
.
Chorus:
There is more
More than all this pain
More than all the falling down
and getting up again
Chorus:
There is more
More than all this pain
More than all the falling down
and getting up again
.
There is more
More than we can see
From our tiny vantage point
in this vast eternity
There is more
There is more
More than we can see
From our tiny vantage point
in this vast eternity
There is more
.
Jesus replied, "Now the time has come for the Son of Man to enter into his glory. I tell you the truth, unless a kernel of wheat is planted in the soil and dies, it remains alone. But its death will produce many new kernels—a plentiful harvest of new lives." John 12:23-24 NLT
Jesus replied, "Now the time has come for the Son of Man to enter into his glory. I tell you the truth, unless a kernel of wheat is planted in the soil and dies, it remains alone. But its death will produce many new kernels—a plentiful harvest of new lives." John 12:23-24 NLT
Friday, February 20, 2009
Hibernation
For everything there is a season, a time for every activity under heaven....a time to be quiet and a time to speak.... (Ecclesiastes 3: 1 and7b NLT).
My blogging mood has been in hibernation, now for seven weeks. There is a time and season for everything. But in the frozen world of winter the barren trees wait. The seeds of ideas that would ordinarily germinate and surface during my walks in the woods, they all have been waiting, too.
It reminds me of the centuries-old practice of letting farmland lie fallow from time to time. It helps to restore nurtients to the soil and reduces the buildup of pathogens and pests that occur when the land is continually planted with the same crop. Scriptural references to this practice call it a sabbath rest: "For six years you may plant your fields and prune your vineyards and harvest your crops, but during the seventh year the land must have a Sabbath year of complete rest. It is the Lord’s Sabbath...." (Leviticus 25: 3-4 NLT). A good idea since the Israelite farmers could not run to the store for pesticides to ward off pathogens and pests. Today the practice of crop rotation is implemented for the same reasons.
And the first day of spring is exactly one month from today.
"Yet God has made everything beautiful for its own time. He has planted eternity in the human heart, but even so, people cannot see the whole scope of God’s work from beginning to end."
Ecclesiastes 3: 11 NLT
My blogging mood has been in hibernation, now for seven weeks. There is a time and season for everything. But in the frozen world of winter the barren trees wait. The seeds of ideas that would ordinarily germinate and surface during my walks in the woods, they all have been waiting, too.
It reminds me of the centuries-old practice of letting farmland lie fallow from time to time. It helps to restore nurtients to the soil and reduces the buildup of pathogens and pests that occur when the land is continually planted with the same crop. Scriptural references to this practice call it a sabbath rest: "For six years you may plant your fields and prune your vineyards and harvest your crops, but during the seventh year the land must have a Sabbath year of complete rest. It is the Lord’s Sabbath...." (Leviticus 25: 3-4 NLT). A good idea since the Israelite farmers could not run to the store for pesticides to ward off pathogens and pests. Today the practice of crop rotation is implemented for the same reasons.
And the first day of spring is exactly one month from today.
"Yet God has made everything beautiful for its own time. He has planted eternity in the human heart, but even so, people cannot see the whole scope of God’s work from beginning to end."
Ecclesiastes 3: 11 NLT
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