The Building Road Less Traveled

A great joy in life, one filled with anticipation and purpose is to be actively involved with building the future.  So often we are dissatisfied with the present and haunted by the past that we handicap ourselves from doing anything about the future.  However, one sure way to live successfully with the past and present is to spend most of your time building the future.  Building a better planet can be planting trees, building a better community can be building something for the public, (sculpture comes to mind), building a better group of friends means to adopt their best qualities and thank them for modeling it so successfully to you that you want to adopt the quality and building a better you means doing all the above.  But it doesn’t have to stop there, you can begin to work to better the lives of people that you will never know by making your workplace the place you would want if you took the job after you.  Or making your neighborhood the neighborhood you wish was there when you moved there, making your town the town you wish you had moved too so that when others move there it is their perfect town.  It is the old hiking adage, “leave it better than you found it” being the way you live your life.  The world seems only to model, uphold, and video those that seek to tear down so if you are willing to take the road less traveled, first understand, it is less traveled.  One adage I tell my children all the time, “Some people build the world, some people live in it.  We are going to be the ones that build.”    

The Kindest Passage in Literature

The creative account in Genesis is the kindest passage of literature ever written.  In three chapters it is all accomplished, everything is made and made to work together for good.  It must have been exquisite, serene in its quietness, its bountifulness, and the fulfillment of everything made, each thing perfect.  And then came chapter 4 and it was all cursed with death.  That had to be the second most sorrow-filled day in history.  But those first three days will always remain as the truth of life here, even broken it is still overwhelmingly kind; it supersedes all other events except perhaps, Christ’s death and resurrection, but even that has to be held in the context of the creation which made His coming necessary.  God, I just wanted to again thank you for the act and for the recording.  How shallow it would be for me to sit here in front of this roaring kiln and be unaware of where fire originated.  “Let there be light”, and light appeared””.  Kiln sitting is akin to walking in Eden in the cool of the day;  it is being with one of the kindest of all creations, fire, and having unrestrained access to its Inventor.

                            Just started my 35th read through the Bible this morning and by grace

                                                             get to do it while kiln sitting at Union.

It's Why Pencils Have Erasers

Half of the act of creating is mending and repairing.  In any act of art-making, mending flaws and repairing mistakes is as intimate a process as the actual making.  It is so in the world, nature is always sacrificing half its energies in the replenishing of itself, to make new trees from broken ones, in decaying flowers nourishing the soil beneath the stem. In dying as a living thing nature repairs the soil that will grow the new living thing.  But what really sent me down this trail is that this is true of relationships as well, especially those loving relationships we all hold so dear.  Mending and repairing are as important to their health as the effort we expend on developing them.  We must devote ourselves to the task of maintaining the relationships we have and maintaining mainly means mending and repairing.  It is why pencils have erasers.  

You Must Hold Hands to Dance

My lover turned 68 yesterday.  That is not a minor thing.  One of the great surprises of my life is how meaningful it is to grow old with her.  Do not mistake that for growing old.  I don’t have a great desire to be old.  It is tough!  Growing old requires bravery, strength, untold wisdom and above all else a determination to live meaningfully in a body that continually limits that ability and often scourges you for your attempts, our hearts often pushing our bodies into living in ways they can, only with great pain and effort.  But growing old with someone whom you love more than your very life is a prospect sweeter still than youth filled vigor ever was.  And therein lies the secret of my desire to grow old with her.  Above all else growing old requires courage, the courage to face the never-ending dwindling of your physical life while joyfully finding meaning in the dance.  Growing old like dancing is best done holding hands

Tender With Potential

I have again witnessed one of the great miracles of all time and a kindness of wonder;  I have watched night become day.  Day holds such promise of goodness and possibilities of adventure.  It overwhelms you with presence and often seems to lay still to give us the opportunity to experience another of life’s treasures, sincere gratefulness.  Morning allows us to see anew, to discover what appears first, and give it the attention it deserves.  Shapes are first, then darker colors, and finally details and delicate things like colors and flowers.  Deep areas are last, in the woods, under branches, away off.  And then comes the day, full-on, rich blue skies, plants and clouds and day is awake and you are so energized by its becoming that the possibilities of your becoming are filled with meaning and tender with potential.   

                                                            Waiting and watching for day.

Knowing You Have It Is Half The Joy

One of the great optimism of life is knowing how to make art and craft.  By this I mean; at any time I can go into one of my studios and make work, I know how.  Over a lifetime this brings such optimism and eagerness to any given moment but also another great gift, anticipation!  When you have reached a certain level of skilled confidence in your abilities, the awareness that you can awaken at any moment, the thought, “I have this skill”, is almost as good as making with the skill.  Just the pure fact, I am able to make good work, is part of the joy of the life of making good work.    

An Open Letter to America

At what point did we become so devoid of memory or barren of purpose that we needed to be reminded that Black Lives Matter?  When did they not matter?  And when did we not know that we are all people of color, differing shades of brown?  When did we give up on our ideals, on social justice, and racial reconciliation to the point that we need the government, focus groups, the media, and the internet to get us to be who I thought we were all along?  Haven’t we made huge strides forward as a country?  When did we forget that we just elected a brown president as a universal symbol that we are still moving forward?  I will readily admit that I am an idealist but I also feel most of us are or want to be.  When did half of the country go to sleep and need “woke”ed up?  This is the only country we have; it is not just for half of us, one color of us, one political stripe. It seems to me that the ones banging the drum the most are the ones that never lived through the 1960s, never sang the 5^th Dimension’s, “Aquarius”, Woody’s “This Land is Your Land” or “Get it Together” by the Youngbloods and never believed what they were singing.  What about the Jesus People, Flowers in our hair, honey bees, and apple trees before vegan was ever a word and wanting to Teach the World to Sing in Perfect Harmony?  I actually believe that most of our parents believed in the civil rights movement and worked selflessly to bring about a more Perfect Union.  My parents did.  They worked in the only environment they believed in, the Christian environment.  They worked to integrate their churches, to stand with the churches of color to live the truth of Christ that all humans are created equal.  Didn’t we all march, sit-in, go to predominantly black schools, believe Dr. King, JFK, and listen over and over to the 45 of Abraham, Martin, and John?  It seems that we have forgotten our history of success which encourages us on and or instead marred in hatred promoted by self-righteous forces of hatred.  One thing we learned in our youth is that Love sweet Love is the only thing there’s too little of...and if that’s not your drumbeat, your true drumbeat, then count me out—because I learned at my parents’ knees that the greatest of all is love—and the ’60s and 70’s just underscored that!!! 

 

And not much of what I hear today does.   

  

There Was Jesus

It was Jesus.  I was overwhelmed with this song.  I confess as I have so many times to all those that witnessed and lived with me in it.  I was a wretch.  I had burned up the Word, burned up my salvation, burned it all up in pain, and the highway.  But there was no excuse—I was a wretch.  I am sorry.  I knew the truth.  I knew it all along and to all those that I ran with, all those years I was next to you, by you, with you, I knew the truth but I burned it up.  And then came Jesus.  And then came Jesus.  Every now and then you are taken back, your mind drags your heart into the dump of your past and you ache and long to say to all those in your past, I Am Sorry—but you can’t!  But you are!  And then a sweet song, a most beloved lover, nudges you to the grace of forgetting the past, striving for the prize, holding on, moving on, on knees and rendered heart and your wife, your beloved lover casually whispers, “I heard a song.  You should listen to it.”  And in the silence of your noise your turn it on, and it carries you away once again and “There was Jesus” where he has always been, lo these 62 years, and he reminds me, “your sins have been forgiven”.  Thank You!  Amen   

   

God Hidden In The Arts

For the 31^st time, I begin a college year, nine as a student, and 27 as a Professor.  College for me has been one of the greatest adventures of my life, a seemingly perfect fit for all that I vocationally sought to live.  I have much greater wisdom than I began with, know my subject matter much better, am more committed to its theory and concept and much clearer on the necessary skill sets young people need to acquire.  The benefits of a college education have never dimmed in my heart,  Its overarching ability to change a man’s life, to give him opportunities he never imagined were available to him, to create in him an understanding of life and subject matter that to this day still inspires him to exploration and living at the very edge of human experience cannot be overestimated.  Life in higher learning is to me like daily hiking the most beautiful, the most challenging, the unmarked and never hiked trail of vocational joy—there is always a bend in the river, a fork, a path that may or may not be there but is always so overwhelmingly filled with the possibility of meaningful experience that you take it anyway and by grace and truly grace alone, God is always to be found on that unmarked trail.  This is most inadequate to sharing my heart but it is true—“You will seek me and find me when you search for me with all of your heart.”  God, I am so grateful that you hid for me, in the arts.  

                            Aaron and me making sculpture during our family reunion.

Life Better Than My Daydreams

One of the most deeply held treasures of my life is the enormous difference between my wife and me.  She is very young at heart and I am very old at heart.  A good example of this is that my wife dances, twirls and shakes through any given day.  Every song, old rock and roll, country and even gospel is a reason to begin to shake, rattle, and roll.  Add to this that she has impeccable rhythm and my life is spent laughing, admiring, and cutting in to all this young punk delinquency.  I would spend my days with my feet in the stream and my head on a rock daydreaming and she would be upon the rock, jumping in the stream, shaking all she had on the way down and whooping it up when she came out.  Why is this a treasure?  Makes an old soul always young.  My life is better than my daydreams.   

                                                       My dancing partner for 36 years.

A Fairwell to a Fair Haven

It is quiet this morning which is what I will miss the most, the morning quiet so present God is easily heard.  We will close Fair Haven this morning, she’s swept, mopped and mowed, her edges, nooks, and niches cleaned, our Eden left nicely for the forest and stream that will keep her.  My cherished sleeps warmly, the morning begins, everything as it has been for months but this is the last morning of our summer.  Our resident family of otters shows themselves for only the second time, a silent swirling of joy, the wildness of our beloved Haven come to say farewell.  We have started something magical here, His talent of subduing this little part of his earth we are diligently multiplying but today we return it to its Master.  It will for now be a weekend retreat, a fair harbor for the coming winter, a daydream in the leftover heat of harvest summer.  Today we will close Fair Haven, another summer, another season of slowly creating the Eden where we will spend our last days.  She is such a Godly gift, a resting before the Great Departing, a Fair Haven in our greying years. 

              

Stand up, God is walking by.

I received a note from a friend yesterday.  She is this morning hiking Half Dome in Yosemite and was asking for prayers.  I awoke in the dark this morning and prayed and have several times since.  She is in it now, beginning a 12-14 hour hike.  Oh God must be so present in her life right now and throughout the day, His glories resounding down that ancient valley passing through her as it goes, dividing her as He did that mountain.  God always divides those that seek Him, His world, our inventions, His thoughts, ours, His ways our byways.  But hiking is like walking with Him undivided, Him pointing out our soul, his creation making us aware we have one, our relationship becoming real, you being gently placed aside while God walks by.  It is like that famous scene in To Kill a Mocking Bird when Scout is told to stand because her father is leaving the courtroom—hiking is like standing in awesome wonder as God walks by.  Happy standing trails April.    

My friend April is in the back, notoriously camera-shy.  Her friend is taking the photo. 

Sitting In Dawn

I sit in the dark, sweet night sounds making kind, being with me in these times, pre-day.  Even now to my four o’clock a deep chirping, as from the bottom of a crock, makes the woods a living room of sweet mystery.  A group of duck’s floats by, one white, sacred seeming and making me sigh at so much that is sacred and is a part of daily life.  I am awake and have chosen to place myself here because it is time to be with God.  That is a silent shattering of my reality and stills me to be awakened.  Fish break the grey-blue surface leaving circles, dream catchers, a dream here—a dream there and God is here but distant, present but overarching, inside but everywhere.  Yesterday my lover and I saw a rainbow, its base between a ridge and the Appalachians beyond.  It comes to my memory again as my beloved lies sleeping at my six o’clock.  It dawns on me that I am using myself as a compass pin and relegating my thoughts to Him alone.  It thunders quietly in the way off.  I sit in the dawn.  

 

Burning Bushes and Boulders

 My lover and I went hiking as is our habit, discovered two new waterfalls.  It was one of those glorious days of bright sunshine and green mountains, flowing streams and aloneness, just her and me (Hounder too).  The stream was a rare thing, plenty of them around, but most so deeply held in the mountains they're never hiked, those that are boulder-strewn making up the shoreline and the river bed forcing the water to find paths that accommodate their massive bulk.  I am very taken with boulders, my earliest acquaintance with God, like this stream, are strewn with them, and often by them, my acquaintance has been born to worshipful adoration of my Father, Savior, Lord.  Burning bushes and boulders are great places to be saved.  

   

Dream Catcher

One of the most serene events in life is feeling the warmth of your lover in the middle of the night.  Your arm cold is laid beside her warm and she flows herself into you, willingly enveloping you.  Just to know that you are not alone, there is someone love ties to you, someone who will awaken if summoned will come forth from slumber to be with you.  But there is an even greater joy, it is the unconscious grasp of love; the moment when you, barely awake, become aware that you have laced your hand in hers and she, not awake, has gently squeezed it, a dream of love that is—no dream.  

Notes To The Father Written On Stone Tablets

I just received an email and images from two students who had gone hiking and made a work of art on their travels.  I was filled with joy!  Why?   They are learning of all the joy God will give the heart which longs to know, love, praise, and worship Him by our acts of making art.  There is great Christian contentment in the creative act when we are surrounded by His creation.  It is a way of being satisfied while living with a soul that longs to be filled.  That is what art-making is, it is being contented while longing to be overjoyed, it is like making good work in the Studio the Master left behind, surrounded by His Glory we make things for Him, imitating Him.  All the while waiting to be welcomed into His Studio Workshop, He is making for us, when we will make like Him.  Michaela and Mia, you moved the heart of an old soul.  Thank you.   

  

Summer Love For What It Announces

Summer is waning, its hot grip and restless nature are beginning its last act.  It is cool this morning reminding all heaven and earth that harvest is coming, crops are ripening, trees and flowers and honey bees have had a good run.  Most all the fawns and chicks are now weaned and God is checking His storehouses of snow.  I love all seasons but summer the most but not for what you might think.  I love summer because it is like the days before Christmas, it is a time of longing in sincere appreciation for and that—fall, winter, and spring are coming. 

You Have To Break The Morning

“Morning has broken, like the first morning…”.  I am convinced that humans are meant to live in the wild.  By this, I do not mean Jurassic Park but the earth as it naturally is.  When God commanded us to “subdue” or “govern” the earth He did not mean enslave or banish.  Most westerners have little or no contact with the earth and today our children are so isolated from it they have lost one of the great treasures of life, adventure.  When we regularly place ourselves in the earth it challenges us in ways nothing else does, it requires strength, ingenuity, restraint, patients, courage, wisdom, and above all else physical labor.  It allows you to continually know by experience that you are capable, you’re up to it, you’ve got it.  But above all else it teaches you humble, grateful, admiration for God who thought it all up and then was kind enough to create and share it. 

My Home Town

“This is my town!  I can’t believe it!” our youngest exclaimed as we drove through Knoxville on our way to her new job, new school, new classroom.  I couldn’t help but think back to the day, nine years ago, we brought her to Knoxville, to U.T. to begin college.  This baby of mine, this tall drink of water, seemingly so young and I was about to drive away and leave her and forevermore my life would be different, changed, never again the same.  Now, this was her town, her home, she had, through bravery, hardships, challenges and even brushing death, carved out a life for herself, made a homestead, settled her part of East Tennessee.  Now she was a professional, she had earned the right to join the ranks of the hard-working, to ply her trade, to cast her bread upon the water.   When we had dropped her off at UT, set up her room, did the small talk that always precedes the inevitable, held hands and laid her gently into the arms of God, kissed goodbye, and left her standing in her room on the 9^th floor of her dorm.  Betty and I were walking away and I told Betty to go on and I would meet her at the van.  I turned to go back and say one last goodbye, one last hug, one last look.  As I opened her door and walked in, I caught her leaning over her refrigerator straining to the side of her widow hoping to get one last glimpse of us.  That image has never left me, the tie that binds, being loosed.  It is one of the fundamental pictures of my mind, it defines love for me, a love that a father has that can never quite let go, can never quite live in peace, is always vigilant, always on guard, always; duty first.  There are five brave women in my life, of which she is one.  This is now her town, and she can believe it.  She, a child of God is now a woman of God.