Tag Archives: Artist

A Tree, A River, and the Word…

treebyriver

““Blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord, And whose hope is the Lord. For he shall be like a tree planted by the waters, Which spreads out its roots by the river, And will not fear when heat comes; But its leaf will be green, And will not be anxious in the year of drought, Nor will cease from yielding fruit.”-Jeremiah 17:7-8

There are the long spells of time when all is well with my soul, and nothing seems to cause me to take pause. But then out of the blue, it’s as if I’ve been woken up from a long sleep, and suddenly there’s the sinking feeling that there is a looming appointment that’s been forgotten; panic and dread begin to well up inside like a cauldron of hopelessness. These anxious moments are my days and nights lately. Like a lone survivor of a shipwreck looking for the matches to light the signal fire, I scramble to find comfort in the Word. The Bible is closer now than ever before and the scriptures more significant. When those days of fighting between despair and trust come to a close, the trails near our new home have become my bastion of solitude.

There is a peacefulness to the forest.

I can recall my youth, growing up amongst the cornfields of Indiana, looking out my window knowing there was another place that beckoned; a place where mountains and dark wooded vistas wrapped themselves around clear flowing brooks. Back then I didn’t understand or know why I felt the calling. All I could see then was a sea of green cornstalks, occasionally broken by a tree line. The flatness was so apparent it now takes my breath away just to think of it. Sullenly, on my last visit for my father’s funeral, my heart ached as I watched the gray, dormant land pass by the windows of the car. There was an endless feeling of loss that panged me then, but it came not just from the loved one dying, but more than that, it was from knowing that I had spent a childhood amongst this. Part of me had known death before it was ever realized. A vast somber landscape that forces one to search for hope, and escape, any way you can to be saved from something so overpoweringly sad that it makes you wonder how you ever survived to this day. In that place, the most insignificant speck of color became the focus; your pleasure was measured by simple things. To that extent, you are made aware of beauty when it is placed before you, and you soaked it in like one drinking from the well for the first time.

From the somber landscape of Indiana to the mountains here in North Carolina, my life has been a journey I could have never imagined. This is my world now; beauty like Eden, so precious and stirring you cannot help to be moved. Yet, like the bends in the river, my life has taken a turn that we never expected once again.

We could dwell on the why, the how, or the what of it all. But like Lott and his family, the angels told them not to look back lest they become pillars of salt. So we force ourselves to go onward, measuring our steps ever so painfully. Again, reaching for the Word can provide comfort when there is none, allowing for the eyes to look up and see the world around instead of looking down and pondering our fate.

Making scripture come alive was something I had found so pleasing in this past year. So with that in mind, I sought the tree mentioned in Jeremiah, the one that stands beside the stream. My strength comes from Him, like the living water through which the tree survives even in the hardest times. Back to the forest and trails that have become my comforter, I returned once more.

On the days when nobody at home wants to go with me, I then seek out my friend and hiking buddy next door, Leroy. Like a child again, I wander up to the door of his house seeking out my brother in Christ. I knock and jokingly greet his wife Annette with, “Can Leroy come out to play?”

“Sure, ‘c’mon in and I’ll get them,” she replies with that big wide Texas grin as she swings the door open. “Yes, he can come out to play,” she laughs.

With a sheepish grin, he emerges around the corner grabbing his walking staff and hat, “Where too,” he quips?

“Wherever the good Lord takes us,” I smile in reply. “Today we have to hurry, I want to catch the river before the light is gone,” I say pointing to my sketchbook in hand. “I’ve got a tree in mind that matches scripture that has been on my mind a lot lately.”

“Great, let’s get going then,” he responds, and with that, we were off to the nearest trailhead as we wave goodbye to Annette.

As our feet find the path below, we quickly jump into the day’s events and happenings. Before we know it, we’re standing on the banks as the golden light of the sunset begins to paint the river a copper glow, as Leroy described it. The trees are standing firm overhead as the shadows start to overwhelm the forest beyond. Over and over again, the scripture from Jeremiah had been resurfacing in my mind as my recent job loss has created a turmoil in my life like never before.

As we scanned the scene before us, we both saw it at the same time and realized, there it is; the one that spreads its roots out by the river, the one that will not fear when the heat comes, the one whose leaves will remain green and not be anxious when the dry weather comes.

Two artists standing in admiration of God’s beauty, and knowing His word was with us, makes me even now feel blessed in so many ways. The Lord puts us in places with people for reasons we cannot fathom or understand. We are asked only to do His will and obey. When we do, we will be rewarded with innumerable sanctifications.

In awe and silence, I quickly sketched and captured as much of the image as possible before the light of day was gone. Leroy and I had shared once more the feeling of the Holy Spirit coming alive as the Word became truth before our eyes. We shall not be anxious in times of drought, for we will find sustenance in Him, and we will continue to be fruitful in all that we do.

Another walk, another trail, and the journey continues.

These are the Words of the Lord. Thanks be to God.

I will lift up my eyes to the hills— From whence comes my help? My help comes from the Lord, Who made heaven and earth.”-Psalm 121:1-2

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The Formal Dining Room

IMG_20131229_215919Most of my adult life existed without owning a formal dining room. However, once we knew we were going to build our dream home, there was no question about it having to include the “Formal Dining” room. We seemed to go for quite some time after building our house to actually have a use for that fancy room that sat just off the kitchen, overlooking the front gardens and the creek outside the large picture glass window.

It was the Thanksgiving that we had my late grandmother, Wilma Pryor, visiting when we first used the room for its intended purpose. Back then, before children, we had lots of time to entertain and visit with neighbors in the area. This particular Thanksgiving, we had our neighbor friends from up off the main road (the main road was the paved road that passed our gravel road), Harry and Katherine Robertson. Grandma Wilma seemed to enjoy visiting with Harry and Katherine, so we took the opportunity to include our neighbors in our holiday meal and to celebrate the use of our very own dining room.

We had met Harry and Katherine by an accidental encounter or excuse, however you prefer to look at it, through the tale of a little dog I called “Buddy.” Of course, the tale of Buddy is another story for another time. Katherine was a retired nurse but still and always will in my mind, a concert pianist. On one of my very first unannounced visits to their home up on the main road, I stopped in only to have her husband Harry meet me at the door with his index finger pushed across his lips in the “Shhh” position and then motion me to follow him. As I stepped through the opened screened door, I could hear the sounds of a record playing beautiful classical piano melodies. I followed Harry through their kitchen and into their formal dining room, only to find the sounds of the music growing louder as we progressed. The farther we traveled the more it became obvious that this was not a recording but rather, live music. Harry had built his home such that the formal dining room was open into a hallway that separated it from the drawing room. As we neared the drawing room, it became perfectly clear that the woman seated at the full blown grand piano was his wife, Katherine, and that the music emanating from therein was from her and not the recording I had first thought. This was just the first of many wonderful discoveries we had with the wonderful and entertaining elderly couple. Harry was also himself a very talented portrait artist and learned individual, so that any visit with the Robertsons was never a short visit.

That Thanksgiving, with Grandma Wilma, Harry and Katherine, seemed to be the perfect initiation for our new formal dining room. Sheryl, my wife, and Wilma had worked hard to prepare the perfect meal which was quite distinguished. We sat around with our plates full, discussing various topics as the meal progressed. I can remember sitting there and thinking to myself how this was how people that had “Made It” lived. However, part of me knew I was much more comfortable on that bench at the end of grandma Tron’s kitchen table. There in that humble farmhouse back in Indiana, there was no room for a formal dining room. The kitchen table was the central location for all things in life, from Morning Prayer, grand reunions or mourning the loss of loved ones, it all happened at grandma’s kitchen table. That Thanksgiving, as I reflected back to those days gone by while seated at one of the most lavish Thanksgiving Dinners I had ever known, I was thankful not only for our beautiful dining room and family and friends that were there with us that day, but also for all that had made me who I am and for that, I was most thankful of all.

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Confluence of Me…

[Disclaimer: This is meant to be a humorous look at a sleep deprived perspective of life. Enjoy…]mental_dstruction_350

Today as I loaded the car, I had to think about all the various parts of my mind that needed to get it together in order to pull off tonight’s speaking engagement. It wasn’t so much what I was speaking about; rather, it was just the fact that I was going to perform a song that I wrote, speak about a book that I’d written and then present a slide show to back up the research that I’d done in order to write the book. In other words, I had to get all the confluences of thought streaming into the same direction.

I realized all this when I fortunately remembered to grab the binder full of genealogy research my Aunt June had given me. It then dawned on me; we needed to get all of me into the car and go.

As we backed out of the garage into the brilliant sunlit day, I had to laugh to myself at all the various thoughts that were attempting to run through my head simultaneously; Artist, Writer, Musician, Engineer, Farmer and Preacher of sorts. Artist wanted to behold the loveliness of the day, the beautiful blooming trees and flowers with the green grass strong and vibrant in the pastures. Writer agreed with the Artist and wanted to recall the splendor on paper, to describe all of the magnificence the Artist was seeing, but in words.  Musician, full of the exuberance of the moment could only think of how it all made him want to sing, but one look at Engineer glaring back at him quickly dissipated any further melodies that tried to emerge.

All of this talk of glorious beauty only annoyed the Engineer, who now decided it best that he sit on the hood of the car facing us as we drove, so that he could make sure we kept ourselves on track and didn’t wander off into no-man’s land mentally and forget to turn when we needed to do so. At the moment, Engineer simply glared at Musician who wished someone would at least turn on the radio.

Meanwhile, the Farmer, who had quietly and patiently listened to the Artist and Writer describe the scenes around them as they rode, could only think of how well the green grass was growing and that the weeds could use one more spraying of herbicide. It comforted the Farmer to know the cattle would be well sated today and that there would be little fear of them pushing the fence lines. All the while, the Engineer kept reminding us as we drove, that he wanted to make sure we stopped by the church to pick up the projector that we would need to run the slide show which was to be part of tonight’s presentation.

The Preacher, concerned for the well-being of everyone, simply wanted the Engineer to be safe out there on the hood of the car, yet realized that someone had to make sure we paid attention and kept us on time, so he prayed for us all, especially Engineer.

It was apparent, all of us were dependent upon one that had little to no personality at all; our body, the Animal. Yes, Animal instincts and needs overcame any other personality simply because the body in which they lived had to be maintained. So it was today, that as we drove down the road toward Goldston to the church, Animal began to let everyone know that he was beginning to get hungry. After all, we had not eaten anything of sustenance since early the previous morning. It was now nearing six o’clock in the evening, a good twelve hours since the last meal. So it was only fair that he send a sharp stabbing pain to our stomach which indicated his conviction to getting his way while sending a throbbing pulse to our temples warning of a potential headache lest he get his way. Yet, there was no time, said the Engineer, who was still keeping track of time.

I quickly grabbed the water bottle sitting in the console.  It was warm to the touch from having been in the shut-up car all day, and drank down several gulps of hot water. Artist, Writer and Musician all noted the lack of pleasure from drinking warm water and all yearned for a cool sip instead. Farmer quickly let them know, any water, hot or cold was better than no water; they all concurred. The pain subsided briefly, diluted enough so that Animal could wait a little longer to eat.

Meanwhile, Writer was secretly thinking of how funny this would all be if he were to make all of this into a story.

Engineer, who continued to watch us all from outside on the hood, soon caught wind of Writer’s plan and realized he had to regain control from the Writer lest we miss our turn. He broke in; reminding us all that we had to make sure we got all the parts for the projector so that we didn’t get there and find something missing. Engineer again reminded us of the turn into the church parking lot, where we finally arrived. Preacher got out and opened the door for us as we quickly found the projector and easily loaded it into the car with all the parts included, which was confirmed by Engineer.

Then, we were off again…boy were we ever.

As we drove down the road there broke out a huge argument over who, what and how the presentation should go. Preacher tried to calm everyone and told us that if we didn’t work together, we would all fail, yes, all of us. It seemed music was needed to help calm ourselves, so Preacher found the Rhonda Vincent CD and put it into the car’s CD player. Almost immediately the Artist and Writer came back together, reuniting in spirit, joining the Musician who had finally achieved his only wish. Engineer realized the collective result of the action and approved, but remained on the hood, just to be safe. Preacher and Farmer also felt at peace with the beautiful strains of Rhonda singing “Old Rugged Cross” and like the others became one in spirit. Animal, now seeing all the others fulfilled thought of how in times of difficulty it was often better to go into battle hungry rather than full and he too lay down for a brief respite, allowing us all too finally relax.

As we traveled down the road to our destination in the little blue car with Rhonda Vincent singing sweet melody after melody to us, everyone was finally at peace with one another and all was well …with all of us.

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