Tuesday, February 27, 2018

At The Edge of The Wood

Snow is falling at last.
Easel ready. Canvas edged with blue tape. Palette moist. The brushwork starts.

The snow melts.

A week later, a snow shower returns. Delighted I refresh the palette.

Three minutes. My indoor work space for the snow by the wood. Double click to enlarge images.

At The Edge of The Wood
40 x 30 inches
Karl Marxhausen

in the lab

This from yesterday.

Such a little design that the English Society used. I don't know the originator of it. I eyeballed the original and created my own version of it in pencil.

The H.A. Fowler manuscript grows.

Sunday, February 18, 2018

to thee i bow you hold me now

The riches of his love. This season. I remember emotion was encouraged in our community. It was okay to think about Jesus on the cross and to be touched by what he did for me. It was okay to have tears, okay to be loved by God, both internally and privately but also in the pew. Hearing the words, believing, and making them mine. The way he makes us his. The way he brings faith. The way he comes.

I remember fondly walking the dark halls of Weller to rooms lit by a single candle, during the season of Lent. People silently gathered along the walk to remember Jesus, a meditation and fondness for his being beaten and stripped and mocked and cruelly nailed to heavy wood and left to die. Singing "Go to Dark Gethsemane, ye that feel the temptor's power." That melody meant everything to me --the somberness, the grief, and wonder. Being held by the One who lives forever. Calling me his child. A grown 62 year adult-child, tenderly met, held close, thought of by the Lord, the Most High's precious Son.

Thanks to those who modeled this emotion for me as a child. Pastor spoke about the 40 days leading up to Easter this morning. Lots of words for those who didn't know. For me, the heritage ran deep. St. Paul says how we can be known deeply, how ugly inner workings can be viewed by a loving God, and his mercy pours gratitude out from within the mess that I hide. It is his embrace. That blood cure that makes me know inspite of the crap hidden within he calls me his little boy. 

This is You. My king. tears of joy. Yes!!!!!!!!!