I find myself in a hotel room this morning far from home and my lover. I am a man of two people, two that have become me as one. To be separate from one's holy betrothed is to be far less than half you. It is to be no you because you are only you as the two of you. I lead a wasted youth, pigs company at best, and have no shred of claim to earthly delights. It is why grace so overwhelms me because I am one only when she makes me one. Holy matrimony always lives up to its Devine title.
I can remember the days when oft was said to me, “act your age!” followed by a painful pinch from mom. This was to refocus my attention on the proper way to be the age I was. It was always a result of my actions being those of someone younger. There seems to be a truism herein that the problem persists even into old age with one painful nuance, as I get older the age I seem to act continues to fall further and further away from my actual age thus the results continue to be more and more acute. As a sculptor, I find myself regularly acting as if I lived in the nimble body of an 18-year-old which results in mornings like this where my old body pinches the fire out of me.
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| Actually acting my age last weekend hiking with Aaron and his family |
Nothing in nature is more profound than the spreading of green in spring. It is one of God’s most declarative signs of his love for us and his love of beauty. It is so filled with promise and hope, all that was laid aside barren a few days ago now burst forth with emerald praise of life anew. He has brought forth green, let us that have breath praise Him.
Grandparenting is as much a learning process as parenting, marriage, and even the short singleness that we all lived and struggled through. But grandparenting is different in one important way, all that was important seems to be trivial now especially looking back at our parenting attempts and wondering at all the energy we expanded upon what seems trivial to us today. And the opposite is also true, those things that never seemed to rise to the top of our parenting list seem to always be paramount in our grandparenting. It is difficult to explain but it is something akin to this, grandparenting is seen in the future of the grandchild whereas parenting is mostly the here and now, what is going on right now, right in front of me; have they brushed their teeth, done their chores, gotten to practice, been kind. Grandparenting is, “are you free enough from the worries of today to become the magnificent person you are able to become; are the living skills being nurtured and demanded that will allow you to flourish as an adult?” Grandparenting is understanding childhood is but a moment whereas adulthood is a considerably longer moment spent mainly without the parent.
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I love the way the Bible always describes God as He is relating to humans. It is about God but it is about God and us. Now that Easter is over what is He to do and what are we to do? What is the rest of the story? He goes back home to prepare for our homecoming. And we are left here alone. He risen and with us, yesterday, can be followed by us alone here today; today “having enough trouble of its own.” Matt. 6:34. This particular today is rainy and cold following Easter yesterday, sunny and warm. I am reading the book Holiness by J.C. Ryle which “is considered the best book on Christian living ever written.” The chapter I am currently on is The Cost and deals with the absolute necessity of counting the cost of being a Christian. One great struggle I have is feeling alone without God even though His word continually assures me He never leaves me alone. Another great truth is that He always says not to fear. By that, he does not mean, just stop fearing! He means, there is no reason to fear for He is always with me! He solved that after he went back to heaven by sending His Helper, to live in me. I can never be alone because He lives in me. In other words, it’s rainy and cold on Him today as well.
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| Easter at Zac and Britts. Aaron's family couldn't make it. |
There is a great fog on this morning, much as I imagine that Sacred Sunday was so long ago. The trees shrouded in soft respect as The One Most Holy lingered there around His grave waiting on His beloveds to show themselves. He was a new man, something He had never experienced before, a risen Lord still in human form. He had done it, passed from life to death and now His Father had accomplished the greatest of all miracles, a path through death to life for humans of which His Son, Our Savior, was the first. Dead Sin Soaked Savior now lingered in the early morning mist waiting for His beloved humans to come to Him; Him Alive; Risen; SAVIOR.
One time, a long time ago, on Easter Weekend, my mom told me she woke up laughing in joy over Christ’s resurrection. I thought how grand a faith that must be because I had never experienced anything like that. Since then I have. In the middle of the night last night I awoke with the lyrics of the song Up From the Grave He Arose on my heart. I went right back to sleep. One of the soundest foundations for our faith is the great hymns. Few things sustained us in the dark and bright hours of our lives like the great songs of our faith. We rarely sing them at my church. I wonder if the songs we are learning today will awake the young in peace when they find themselves in their greying years? I prayed they will. “Low in the grave He lay, Jesus my Savior, Waiting the coming day, Jesus my Lord!”
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| Easter with RoRo |
One of the great joys of teaching is learning. I am always deeply moved by the sincere beauty of creation. In its study to pass along to my students, I am always far higher in the heavens of wisdom learned from our Father’s creative endeavors. It is like a great mine of sapphire where for 45 years He has allowed me deeper and deeper shafts filled with more and more splendor. We have moved into the element of light this week and its kindness never ceases to implore me to my knees. Just a single hint to its glory that is easily understood. Have you ever felt the great peace of the first hint of dawn after a night of turmoil? Just that first hint in the sky that confirms day is coming. It is one of the greatest hopes of all humankind and it is given once a day to everyone who needs it. There is no greater medicine created and prescribed by any human that has such a profound effect on so many; light—and it is free.
Yesterday Betty and I took my mom to Palm Sunday service at her Assisted Living facility. It was good for anything that ails you. 25 or 30 ancients with walkers moving ever so slowly, gently, and sincerely along the earth. Their feet barely seem to touch the floor their primeval bodies mostly present in the heavenly realm as if they are now being constantly transported there. They are so quiet, like angels in the treetops, steady moving, golden clouds, floating in transition. It is life as old as time, standing patiently, quietly, at the elevator, each one with their rolling partner board and stop when they come to the other end. Steady, waiting on the door to close and maybe wondering if this is Heaven Prep, slowing down enough so the transporting angels can catch up. When I am around I wonder if they can feel the air being pushed aside by my lightning speed and hear the thunder of my incessant hurrying’s. They are mostly fixed now, their life a patterned dance of a few steps, food, bath, warmth. Maybe transfixed is a better word as they stare in wonder through The Veil as it is slowly opening in welcome and hear the heavenly choir singing “Hosanna! Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord.”
We are on the road again. We stayed over at Allison’s parents’ home in Chattanooga on our way to Sewanee GA to install a sculpture. It’s a grand adventure. Aaron and his children Reese and Knox are going with us. The piece we are installing is Mommy, made from a drawing Reese did when she was little. Art for us is a family affair that makes for great family and good Art.
As I was reading in Ezekiel* this morning I was once again moved by God’s desire to give us visuals of and for Him; His creativity used to design forms (Temples) with marvelous materials and adorn them with such sincere precision, exacting angels and then allow humans the joy of making them. His additions of flowing organics filled with life-giving beauty and living food just underscored His desire for collaboration. He has such a desire for material witness.
Most art is a material witness to the glory of our sense impressions. An artist is born with a heightened awareness of our senses, what we see and hear, smell and taste, and the glories of what we feel. Added to this is a heightened sense of knowing, our soul and hearts response to what our senses are receiving; the actual spiritual nature of the physical feelings we have inside in response to this information and we are like the Bible describes, ‘our hearts burn within us, our bones cannot contain it, it is like living water welling up inside us pouring forth’** in creative acts. In and through our Lord, Christ Jesus, this often becomes a sincere act of worship as we experience the joy of thanksgiving to all the myriad ecstasies our senses are transmitting to us of our King’s creativity.
*Ezekiel 42-47,**Luke 24:32, Jeremiah 20:9, John 4:14
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| Love Hurts II being installed at Fair Haven |
In my freshman 3-D course I have introduced the next element, texture. I lecture on the profound kindness of our bodies being covered with millions of texture receiving and texture giving cells, each one worthy of producing in us a constant state of gratefulness; warm slippers, kissing, and holding grandbabies come to mind. Over the years I have noticed a profound paradigm shift in my students. It goes something like this. I remember when I was a child if a favorite teacher touched me on the shoulder for any reason I would have an internal response somewhere inside my chest that I now can only describe as ecstasy. The same thing occurred in high school when I would rub shoulders with my girlfriend but it has reached a zenith unknowable by words with my wife, my children, and my grandchildren (the latter two especially as newborns). These cells give and receive textural information leading to ecstasy indescribable. Who is coming up with these ideas and then covering our bodies with them? When you find out you will worship Him. And there is the rub. So many of my students no longer seem to have those textural cell experiences even though they are still covered in them.
