Here’s the page. The drawing has nothing to do with the text. In this sketchbook, there’s generally been a meditation on the left, a drawing on the right. Click for larger view. (For a look at the painting that came from this sketch, go here.)

I’m in Anchorage. We stretched, hung and unveiled a giant painting. I’ll share more on that next blog. For now I want to share something from a page in the sketchbook jotted back in January. We were in Oregon. I’d been in reading the passage at the end of John, about an event after the death and resurrection of Jesus. Peter and six others had been out fishing, by dawn still without result. Then a man appeared on the shore.

Here’s what I wrote:

They didn’t recognize it was Jesus–
Wasn’t he dead?
How often do I also not recognize him?
Beckoning my attention while I’m working/busy?
And don’t ask how it’s going, thank you,
When it’s not going very well.
And don’t be giving advice–
I know how to do this . . . and I’ve already tried everything.
Or when you do, don’t be giving such idiotic advice
Like ‘Put your nets down on the other side.’
Fish aren’t like that, and how do you know?
I’m here, you’re there. Besides, why do you care?

How does one know when they’re getting a word from God?
The fishermen didn’t know it was Jesus until they did what he said. They experienced the result and their eyes were opened. I was sensing the same sensation that morning.

I continued writing:

For years–since the beginning–I’ve been fishing
With questionable success. All night.
I did not want to be a “Christian Artist.”
A Christian, yes, and an artist, but nothing more.
I felt I needed to earn my credential in the secular school
Then offer also my skills to the Body.
But now, is this for me? Is that him just beyond,
Saying, ‘Cast your net on the other side’?
“Okay, if you say . . . and this time, no ‘Buts’
And let the net fill to overflow.”

That was just over three months ago and my nets have been nearly breaking ever since. I’ve been amazed at the work that has come my way, and almost all on the God side. Some has been for pay (even abundant) some not at all, but they’re all been worthy projects–and highly creative–with more on the horizon.

In the end, Peter recognized it was indeed the Lord and jumped in the water. After breakfast they talked. Jesus asked Peter three times if he loved him, always following with, “Feed my sheep.”

I’m wondering if I’m hearing the same word.

As with the nets, I’ll watch for the proof in the doing.

9 Comments

Little Justine will be five in just five weeks, and very precocious. Of course . . . she’s our granddaughter. Actually we have 16 grandchildren, all favorites, but Justine and her brother are the only ones that live near us. So we get to watch the daily growth.

The other day Justine told us she’d been learning about talents. I thought she said she possessed them all, but she said, “Not all, just almost all.”

A short list starts with:

Jumping on one foot
Hula hooping
Drawing
Painting
Coloring
Tap dancing
Working a zipper
Holding a guinea pig

She said she can also hold a rabbit.

Something she didn’t mention was riding a bike, which she picked up lately and already races circles in the cul-de-sac, stretching the patience of whoever’s keeping an eye on her.

Which one of this ever-growing array of talents she will develop to the point of defining her is yet to be seen. When we’re young, it’s a broad horizon; as we go, it narrows.

It’s like making a painting. The first strokes can be all over the place, but the last stokes are limited and specific to that particular painting.

You might have known I’d get around to making a painting metaphor here. The fact is, I have been doing a lot of painting lately, and have received a number of interesting commissions. If you’ve been watching the Blank Canvas blog, you’ve seen their results. For a review, go here. (Speaking of that, thanks to all those who made such gracious comments on the last one, rounding out the whole message.)

Today I’ll fly to Anchorage to stretch, install and unveil my largest painting yet, a 12 ft. tall by 60 ft. wide mural for a new youth center at Muldoon Community Assembly Church. I got to know the pastor, Kent Redfearn, years ago when we were both working on our master’s degrees . . . in “leadership.”

(As I think about it now, it would seem I was still moving toward the talent that would define me.)

Over the years Kent procured a number of my paintings for his church, but this one will be a climax. The last time I was there he invited me to return and speak on Ecclesiastes. Since then I’ve made a book on that topic, so of course, it’s what I’ll do.

You’re all invited. Just come to Anchorage this Sunday and ask around. I’ll be the guy talking about his granddaughter with so many talents, like holding a guinea pig.

Who knows where all these things will lead? Like me, picking up a brush one day and ending up in Alaska.

Likely something similar is happening with you.

___________________

PS  It’s About Life, my take on Ecclesiastes, is available on Amazon and on this website, here.

10 Comments

Welcome Doorway, click for larger view and availability. 

I was speaking somewhere and made reference to my art. Afterward a young man came up to me and said, “My brother’s an artist, and struggling. Would you have any advice for him?”

I thought it a strange question, not because the question was strange, but that it wasn’t coming from the struggling person. How could I answer? I couldn’t even see the person’s work, or hear his story, or form any idea at all what his particular struggles might be?

Then it came to me. “Yes,” I said, “Tell him this: Walk though every door that opens, and knock on all others.”

With that the man looked at me a moment, thanked me and walked away. I’ve never seen him again, and I have no idea how the advice was received.

But through it, I received something myself; and I’ve since passed it on to many others.

Our struggles are often due to lack of opportunities. We do have something to contribute. Yes, our quality could be better, should be better . . . but the honing comes from the doing. And we need reasons to be doing. We need openings. We need someone somewhere to need us.

That’s where the doors come into play. When we’re asked to do something, or see opportunity where we can contribute something, that’s an opening. Take it. Doing it provides the focus, the occupation, the chance to refine our skills. And likely it’ll be a chance to try something new.

Moreover, the focus becomes “for others,” getting our minds off our preoccupying selves. And that’s a gift right there.

So is just being “busy.”

Then, as you’re walking along, working along, occupied with the challenges at hand, there will be other doors in the periphery of your path. Who knows what’s behind them, or which will open if knocked on? Just knock as you go. Knock on a lot. All you need is one at a time.

The counsel was for a struggling artist. But which of us isn’t a struggling artist at one time or another? The principle is for all.

Doors are everywhere. Enter the one open before you now, and get knocking on others.

14 Comments

Left to right: Sister Sue and Mark (San Luis Obispo, CA), brother Steve and Karen (Sonora, CA), me and Anne (Dana Point, CA), sister Lori and Leonard (Chicago, IL), Roger and sister Lynnel (Siloam Springs, AK). 

I reported last week about the siblings’ reunion coming up. It happened. And it was glorious. I also said we’d take a picture, which several asked to see, so here it is. This one’s not at the old house but in the backyard of our place in Dana Point, with a better camera and photographer Allison shooting.

As you can see, the weather was wonderful for the occasion. It was unseasonably warm at Disneyland but no problem. Lines were long, but that was no problem either as we found ourselves in different conversation units in each.

We did all the things we planned, including watching old movies, until the wiring on Dad’s old projector gave out. Still, we roared with laughter at the recognition of what we and others looked like many years ago.

On a couple of occasions we set apart time to intentionally reminisce. One was at the Palos Verdes house where we grew up, recounting stories about it and our parents. Another was when we all took a few minutes to recount our lives since being together last, where we’ve seen the hand of God, and something appreciative about our spouse. All this was rich, and brought out things that would have never surfaced otherwise. Sister Sue remarked later it was the best day of her life. (And her life is one filled with great days.)

Here’s the book, mainly for family, but to be made available more widely when finished.

At one point I presented proof copies of the book I’ve been working on. It features the lives of Mom and Dad with a lot of the material I’ve shared in this blog, and more. Of course they were completely surprised and delighted. They’re also commissioned to read it, make corrections and get it back to me for final publishing. (More on that when it’s finished.)

We also made (tentative) plans for a next reunion, whenever that will be. These things have to be intentional or they don’t happen. And when they do happen, we further appreciate the quality, the direction, and the meaning of our own lives . . . not to mention the heritage we’ve received, and are receiving, born and raised as we were by a particular set of parents.

It’s something all of us have to be grateful for.

8 Comments

Here we are, enjoying or enduring the front yard ritual of a family photo. These are the four that moved into the Palos Verdes house in 1955–this photo taken some time later. Left to right are Sue, Steve, me, and Lynnel (on tiptoes). Lori joined the family later (below).

It’s the weekend of the first anniversary of Dad’s death. That’s not something I necessarily intend to commemorate every year, but this year all the siblings are coming together for a reunion.

Actually we’ve done it every year for awhile, family members traveling in from their places around the state and country on the occasion of Mom’s birthday, or whatever date worked. As the folks entered their 90s the thought was always, “This could be the last time.” And finally it was. Our last gatherings were for Mom’s funeral, then Dad’s, four months apart.

Now what do we do to keep up our family-ness? Well, this year we’re having a long-weekend reunion.

And what will we do? We’re going to Disneyland!

Disneyland? It’s something my mother would have loved, and my father would have been glad to pay for. And so he is, not to mention the travel costs for those coming from distances (that’s four out of five, plus spouses). There was a bit of money left in Dad’s legacy account, and I’m sure he’d agree this to be a good use of it.

Speaking of legacy, someone asked me lately about mine, what I felt it was, or will be. I answered immediately, “My children.” Whatever is after that will be a distant second.

That’s how Dad felt too, especially in his later years. He kept up a family tree, with him and Mom at the top, punctually updating it with every new addition of grandchildren and greats. In time it went onto two pages, and smaller and smaller type. Sometimes he carried it around, giving a copy to anyone who would take it.

We thought it was humorous. But now none of us can locate any but outdated copies.

No matter. This weekend we will revel in some of these memories. Besides the day at Disneyland, we’ll take an evening catching up, look at some of Dad’s early family movies, and probably laugh at the progression of photos Mom always insisted we pose for on the front lawn.

We’ll also visit the Palos Verdes house Dad bought in 1955, where we all grew up, and where Mom and Dad both died. The place was afterward purchased by friends Jeff and Michelle Aleixo. They’ve made beautiful improvements and will host us for a tour and a time of remembering so much of what happened there.

Maybe we’ll even get picture out on the front lawn.

13 Comments

Here’s little Ebenezer, his crooked foot barely visible in the painting. If you want to see that video again, it’s here.

This time last week we were putting in the last day on that big mural for Joni and Friends. I’ve been grateful for the abundant feedback on the last blog that released the video. It’s been going all over Facebook as people are getting a visual reminder of a basic teaching of Jesus–to not forget the disabled among us.

This is all close to home as we continue to deal with our dear Vernon, still in a rehab facility, and not always making the kind of progress we’d like. Even when he gets out, he’ll be in a wheelchair for who knows how long?

At least there are wheelchairs, something still not so in much of the world. In many places a person might be confined to a bed or a room virtually all their lives without being able to get around. A wheelchair can be a breath of freedom when it comes.

Bless the various groups that work to provide them. We were heartened again to hear of Joni and Friends‘ recent landmark of the 100,000th wheelchair donated. It went to little Ebenezer in Ghana, a survivor of polio which left his legs all wrong and feet bent permanently down.

He was one of those featured in the mural, and that happy face is now apparently as permanent as his foot condition.

At last week’s conference I was impressed with many things. One memorable remark was in the closing plenary talk by founder Joni Erickson Tada, a dynamic woman who’s a quadriplegic and has been confined to a wheelchair all of her adult life.

She said, “When I get to heaven, I want to take my wheelchair with me. I know that’s not theological. But when I’m standing there next to the Lord, the wheelchair on the other side, I’ll want to say, ‘Lord, you said that in the world we would have troubles. And that wheelchair has been nothing but trouble. Useful enough, yes, but now you can send that thing straight to hell.’”

Here’s a short video about little Ebenezer. Don’t watch it if you don’t want your heart broken.

5 Comments

A painting by Allison.

I’ve not blogged for a week. Sometimes that happens, especially when preparing for the next big project, and the one after that. Funny, how our lives are.

Son-in-law Vernon’s was like that, until last May, when he had that encounter with a truck on his motor scooter. He’s been in one facility after another since then. Progress continues, two steps forward and one step back (or vice versa). Meantime daughter Allison’s life has changed altogether.

I must say I’m impressed with the way she’s carrying on, keeping everything moving, and processing it verbally. Today, for my blog, I’ll simply share hers, The Theory of Everything. That’s not a movie I’ve seen yet, though I did read Hawking’s book years back. I’ll see it just as soon as I get through these major projects.

More power to you on yours, too. And be thankful you’re on your feet.

6 Comments

Click here or on the picture to watch. 

Below is how the painting looked 30-minutes later.

On Friday evening I spoke publicly while painting for Su Refugio Ministries. It was well received and I’m sharing it here.

Su Refugio is Spanish for His Refuge. It’s an ever-expanding operation, started in Paraguay for orphan children and now expanding to other Latin American countries and other parts of the world. It’s with Su Refugio, along with Kids Around the World, that we went to Jericho to build a playground last November.  Some years ago I traveled to Paraguay to see the work and the installation of one of the large paintings I’ve done for them. The recent event was one of a regular gathering to raise awareness for the work.

I chose the story of The Good Samaritan because it is so well known and so far reaching in its implications. And I chose Vincent van Gogh’s painting to illustrate it. Van Gogh, by the way, was just the kind of person who would have also exemplified the Samaritan in the story, which is a point I might have made, but one doesn’t remember everything when speaking.

Nor will you be able to hear every word. It wasn’t professionally videoed, rather just by a friend with a small camera and a tripod at the back of the room. But I’m glad something was captured.

Enjoy it. Take encouragement by it. Then do what Jesus said: “Go and go likewise.”

The world needs it. Each of us needs it.

6 Comments

Anne, at her press, in the Oregon studio.

Did I tell you? We’re on another of our working vacations. For us, they’re the best kind. We don’t even call them vacations. Others do, so it’s okay to use the word. But we don’t vacate anything. Rather we press in.

We’re in the Oregon hide-away we discovered some years ago. We’re trying to remember, is this our fourth time, or fifth?

As always, we filled the back of the van with supplies and tools of our work. Even the two days on the road is a stimulation—this time listening to a long audio book on Ulysses Grant.* Now, nestled in the studio, we’re listening to The Italian Renaissance.** It’s our third time through, always checking it out from the library here in Toledo. (They’ve finally issued us a card.)

Lest you think we’re only doing historical listening, we also listen to music, to each other, the sound of rain . . . or nothing at all. I suppose that’s when it’s a true vacation. But such moments are short lived. Life is for activity, and self-expressive work is one of its gifts.

Anne is working eight to ten hours a day on her printmaking. As usual, she brought her press, her plates, her inks and paper. She’s got a lot of previously begun pieces to finalize. Then there are completely new creations to bring into being.

I brought three projects to work on. Two are multi-piece painting commissions, the other a writing/book-design project. I’ve calculated that if I can put about three hours per day into each one, by the time we’re finished here I will have reached my goals.

That’s for quantity. Quality is another matter, and not always so reachable. But it’s a good challenge.

Besides all this, the daily rhythms include early mornings with God, evenings with some mystery video (Foyle’s War, again!), mid-day walks (rain or shine), an occasional ten-minute drive over to the coast for clam chowder or just a look at the spectacular and untamed elements of Oregon’s winter.

We’ve been here a week and have a week to go. We’re blessed. Again we’re getting to experience the truth that a man can do nothing better than to eat and drink and find satisfaction in his work.***

Now, back to it.

You too, with yours.

_____________
*     The Man who Saved the Union, Ulysses Grant in War and Peace, by H. W. Brands, 27 hours.
**    by Dr. Kenneth Bartlett, University of Toronto, produced by The Teaching Company, 36 lectures.
***  Ecclesiastes 2:24 (and repeated five other places in that book)

11 Comments

The photo’s not about today’s meditation, rather a mood shot of our drive north. We’re presently in Oregon for our annual art-making hiatus. Perhaps the prayer at right will help with all these creative efforts, too. And yours. (The quote: Jesus, Mark 10:27)

With men, this is impossible,
But with God, all things are possible.
Such a saying,
uttered by one who should know.
Could be / should be a motto for life.
Particularly the last part . . . but the first part too:
An acknowledgement of lack being the first stage for help.

All things, with God, are possible.
All things . . . nothing that’s not . . . Wow !
Wow, wow, and wow ! ! !

So, Lord, let me get asking,
First recognizing my lacks,
Then your lack of lacks.
Turn loose my imagination,
Unleash my faith.
Leave me to live in the now,
Wonderfully dependent, moment by moment conversing,
My asking, you giving.
Both of us doing what we do best.

Then, Self, stand back,
For who knows what might happen?!

12 Comments