His Thoughts On Grey to me

If the world were just a thought in my head and I could make it as I thought it, I would be God.  No thought in the formless void of nothingness could be formulated by me…but if I could, I would.  The earth, ours, and all above and around it are not thoughts in my head but just the grey morning before me that I can see becoming in my head.  Oh, but the thoughts of what I see are dreams I cannot tell, say, or think.  This is a sincere connection between God and me and was in His thoughts when He said, “Let there be…” and His thoughts became.  His thoughts are not my thoughts nor His ways mine, but I am so grateful He doesn’t mind sharing His if I have a heart to see and hear–Him.  My thoughts, on His grey morning, He gave me.   

          

 

The Great but Only Partial Unveiling

The unveiling of life, the world, love and kissing, colors, humans, animals, trails, feelings, the whole of it as I can contain it, and know it but only vaguely, but furiously, is a gift from God in Christ.  I know the difference.  I have lived against Them and for Them.  It is this unveiling that most assures me of Them, and Them in me being the only rightful place for Them and me.  It was certainly art or better her master, beauty, that first assured me of a possible unveiling.  Now The Word, my parents, and Betty all gave flesh, a living out of it in front of me, but art defined what they had in them that attracted me.  I read this morning, “All art comes from God”* and it was this way in which God began to unveil Christ’s love for me and create an overwhelming need to surrender all of me to Him. He had help, a violent breaking of me, but even there it was the beauty of blood being washed off living bone, that caught my attention.  What is my point?  All of you come to Christ.  In every way He is the only way in which you, art, beauty, and all other things become unveiled, but mainly you, an unveiling of a masterpiece, you, who He made.  

*From the book The Discipline of Inspiration by Carey Wallace 

The church in Knoxville where Betty was first baptized 
as a child. 

    

 

Knowing! knowing art.

The Christ of the don’ts and can’ts is not the Christ at all.  It is the delusional lie that I shunned for years; I cannot do what I want if He is He to me.  But after 39 years I can say with all truthfulness, I would never have known me until He allowed me to be me.  I am made only to be freely me.  He made me to be free.  He is always and only The Christ of the dos and cans.  The freedom He has given me is the freedom to be freely me.  Its foundation?  The freedom to acknowledge and delight in Him.  The freedom from the world to be in the world.  The spiritual, emotional, psychological, physical, mental, and creative exhilaration that comes to me through Him in me.  The exuberance of all the dos and cans now mine in Him.  

P.S. A minor/major byproduct of all Him in me.  Knowing Art. 

The setting sun on,
The Halo Icon.  49"/49"/7",  birch plywood, 24k gold.

  

 

Maclin

All art is redemptive. I first knew this young man as an artist who came into my beginning art class only for me to show him what he already was, an artist.  He understood the immersive abiding of God in himself and all things and the desire this awakens in him to give back to Him who provides.  He moved on, married well, an artist herself, had children, one son named after me, and they and God live together on the earth, gleaning, harvesting, hunting, and putting by stores to live in relationship.  He is becoming a timber framer, a skill lineaged to him by his father and forefathers.   A great red oak fell on Fair Haven*, and he asked if he might take it and make two tables, one for my lover and me and one for him and his.  It is an homage.  So Friday, he drove across Tennessee, and arriving late in the afternoon, we found ourselves on the side of our mountain, in the waning sun over the river, me watching, him with mighty tools.  The youngster first knew the tree, walking up and down it, admiring it, studying it, seeing in it all its divine possibilities.  It was Him and him, and his father, and forefathers all there, and I, alone watching.  And then he harvested it, releasing its powerful tensions one knowing cut at a time.  From its stump to its crown, he began its process to two tables, and the crown he cut into firewood for us.  And, as it should be, finished just as sun set.  It was a work of art, a forefather’s apprenticed artisan, showing me again, the young man I first knew, being what he always was, an Artist.  Art is redemptive.      

    

 *https://aaronleebenson.blogspot.com/2024/09/well-done-thy-good-and-faithful-tree.html?spref=fb&fbclid=IwY2xjawIEbaFleHRuA2FlbQIxMQABHZPStgdMqCxyTVLCpyvEwVP3WUw4KuP9d8tbICDx3XQ1_7PHBxrUUwVtkw_aem_j8X37Wl-g4u7GNI96Hb2lQ

Staying Warm in 9°

There is a great joy in this bitter cold.  It plays outside our windows here at Fair Haven.  At first light, I can see the Herons grouped just offshore.  Next, the tiny birds puffed to the size of an egg, feeding on the seed we spread on our porch.  The light brightens, and the Seagulls begin to fill the skies beyond, hurriedly flapping back and forth, searching for breakfast.  Then comes the Geese, they glide just offshore, some dousing themselves up and down in the frigid Tennessee.  Last are the Pelicans, not yet showing themselves but will soon float atop the river and through our lives.  And the great joy?  

“All things bright and beautiful,

All creatures great and small,

All things wise and wonderful,

The Lord God made them all.”  to stay warm when it is 9°.

For a better explanation see Psalms 104

The dousing Geese

 

A White Line of Praise

That white line is our pelicans.  How Great Thou Art!!!

 

Horace Kephart and The Three

My lover and I spent most of yesterday gathering firewood, cutting, splitting, and stacking readying for the coming “arctic blast” the weather app keeps predicting.  I am reading Horace Kephart’s, Camping and Woodcraft.  Mr. Kephart was a failed father and librarian who came to the Appalachian Mountains in 1904 to start a new life and eventually helped to win part of them as our beloved Smoky Mountain NP.  His writing describes how mountains can provide all one needs to sustain one’s life.  I am encouraged by the many times Christ went up into the mountains for the same reason.  He, like Mr. Kephart, my lover and I know they can also sustain one's faith and spirit.  We turned to our own mountain to keep us warm for the next several days and are now serving me warmth as I read another text, a Living and Active telling of God, Christ, and the Holy Spirt, The Three who conceived of and made mountains, wood, and fire.  

Horace Kephart

     

Our She Neighbor

Cold Winter has settled in, made herself at home here at Fair Haven.  She is most welcomed by a warm fire and attentive heart.  We watch her, and she performs for us.  She brings us winter birds, pelicans, and seagulls, an occasional snow that falls with something of the grace of infinitesimal butterflies lighting on our acres.  Soft and quiet, her snow is and is always welcome for a short stay.  Winter pushes our bar quite a bit higher, forcing us to brace up with will and wool to face her, hike with her, walk in her stillness and the cold of her mornings.  Winter is like an old, bony, she neighbor whose translucent hands and milky eyes comfort you as she hands you a cup of hot chocolate.  

   

Fully Full Glass

The glass window is clearly a gift. It opens to us the world while holding it at bay.  It allows us to see winter, its glory, and beauty, without having to experience its special effects.  Seeing is its own experience without troubling ourselves with experiencing what we are seeing.  It is the ultimate video game, playing in nature without actually being in nature.  How differently, difficult our life would be if to see nature we had to go outside.  What a gloriously clear gift is glass, allowing us to see why we should be thankful.  I would say our glass is full, fully full.   

        

Pelican Praise

We have a love affair with the Pelicans.  My wife told me what she was reading about the Pelicans and why ours are the prettiest.  Ours would be the American Pelican; 100 or so come every winter to spend it with us.  We are overjoyed when they arrive and often talk to them as they glide beautifully by day and night like His Parade of Glory.  They have become our Thanksgiving Parade, moving us in ways only big white pelicans can move you.  Right!  We’d never heard of the parade or dreamed we would be “moved” by it until they showed up in our front windows.  Now, we are some of their biggest fans.  In our old, ancient hearts, we’re BFFs.  Pelicans doing God’s work in our hearts, delighting us in the Lord.    

   

 

Standing With Lesser King George II

Oh, the precious winter months and the fires that warm us through them.  Being warmed by fire can be a part of a great awakening, of the cosmic kindness of all things working together for good.  The earth, and sun, and all stars and humans are on a great stage, and God is our audience.  What act shall we perform as our time on stage grows short?  An act of worship-filled thanksgiving seems too small as we sit by a warming fire.  Who, oh yes, Who could in Their wildest imagination, dream up fire and put it in wood? Our great King could and did, and like the much lesser king George II, we rise before Him and call him Blessed, for fire’s Hallelujah Chorus warms our old bones to stand on stage and perform for Him.  

 

Sabbath's 25 Herons

The world in solemn stillness lay.  It is just light, grey, and cold, the earth, the river, and the sky are all the same cold color.  When I awoke, the moon shone bright upon the earth, giving light to the cold.  We had near 25 herons overnight by our shore and now I can see them very slowly, one and then another, fly away to mornings somewhere else.  It is Sabbath morning and we will join the pilgrims around the globe moving to worship together.  I can feel the swelling faith, as millions uncounted rise to join all nature (and herons) in manifold witness and declare, “This is the day the Lord hath made.  Let us rejoice and be glad in it.”  But for now, the world in solemn stillness lay.  

What's left of our Sabbath Herons waiting to fly away.

 

His Cold Child's Thoughts

Well the snow has laid hold of the earth and will not relinquish it like the mighty struggle we wage for faith.  Our heart, that dull, sedimentary, stone heart, we labor to fan to flame that which lies cold beneath the skin like the earth beneath the snow.  We beat our body to enslave it to faith as violently we take His kingdom of salvation.  Who has faith and has not found it often frozen like the pure white snow, its beauty there lies until we seek to cloak ourselves in it and find there is no warmth from its blanket.  The faith that soared while sitting by the fire and watching Him snow the earth in purest white now lays cold as the ashes that fill my hearth.  But Christ in God does not take on my feelings as to mount His defense.  He is true and His salvation assured even when I lay spent at the very gate.  He stands inside the gate knowing full well that I also, inside the gate, I, His cold child, lay wrapped in His loving, warm arms.

  Thoughts on Matthew 11:12 

A barge pulls itself up river as the snow begins to fall.

 

Ok God, You're On!!!

Sitting quietly by the fire, drinking coffee, eagerly waiting on the promised snow.  Snow brings out the kid in every Southerner.  We rarely get it, so when we do, it is a special event.  We prep for it, buy all the milk, bread, and bananas, rent several good movies, plan homemade soups, fill our wood boxes, and turn off our alarm clocks.  We then sit and wait for the big event.  Last evening, I sat down, looked out at the setting sun, and said aloud, “Ok, God, I’m ready for the big event.  You’re on!!!”  I always watch the sunrise and sunset.  This is how Southerners feel about snow.  We know He has a storehouse full of the stuff (Job 38), and occasionally, He shares several inches with us.  It brings such a peaceful and sincere quiet to our world.  “Ok, God, we’re ready for the big event!  You’re on!!!”   

 

Serve Us Not Kills Us

It is cold out, and my wood box needs refilling.  A winter storm is coming and the next 10-day forecast is bitter.  I like that even in 2025, nature can still become up close and personal.  She can be an adversary, pit herself against our best efforts, and win.  She can easily turn from a benevolent caregiver to a lethal foe. We hiked up our mountain this morning, 21°, and then we renewed our wood supply, stacked it neatly on the porch, and filled the wood box.  I then secured all our outdoor stuff for the coming snow, forecast today at 61/2”, and headed for the heat inside.  My hands and fingers hurt and burned and it was at that moment I realized, another hour out here and they and I would suffer frostbite.  I opened the door and stepped into the warmth of our home and the blazing wood fire.  Nature can kill my hands and at the same moment warm them.  This is what I find so meaningful, we must regularly and always place ourselves in dominion over nature, so it serves us, not kills us.  

  

To All Those Who Know Who You Are

I got the news yesterday of the death of a great mentor in my life. It prompted a flurry of correspondence to many who hold sway over much of my past to renew my care and thanks for them. So many people have propped me up, steadied my steps, and pointed me in the right direction.  The Bible calls them a “great cloud of witnesses.”  Many I have lost touch with, and too many to count, have gone on to their reward.  I am entering into the last age, the time when my life is the last in the groupings of those still around.  This is not as sad as it is meaningful and reminds me of the old saying; “The unexamined life is not worth living and the un-lived life is not worth examining.”  So many people have given themselves to me to make examining a pleasuring balm on an old body. 

We try to hike up our mountain every morning.

  

 

A Saffron Dove

We live with fire.  I know of few gifts that offer more comfort to our home than a living fire, warming, driving off the cold, and lighting the mornings and evenings of winter.  It is a great comfort to sit and be slowly soaked up in its warmth, charity to our home, benevolence to our goodwill.  Fire is so wrapped in God and His purposes on earth.  He is often manifested in it; the bush and pillar come to mind, and He is easily imagined coming forth into our home this way.  Fire, like first light, often carries my spirit away on the wings of a saffron dove.

 

First Light

I often write of first light because I almost always experience it and its ending.  No one ever sees first light, they experience it.  That moment when all darkness flees because light is let in.  Light comes slowly but wholly, from horizon to horizon, from earth to heaven, to all points of the compass, a dome over all my earth.  And with it comes another experience, I see.  My eyes are reborn as once it was all dark, now, the yard, the trees, the river, and the mountains beyond, I see.  It is like nothing to all.  Seeing is a recoming of all there is, a rebirth, a born again, the earth is silent stillness lay and then in exuberance unfathomable sings forth. It is the greatest hope of the day, night giving way to day, blindness to seeing, a surprise of the hope of life.   

 

 

Happy New Year

“It’s better to have a partner than go it alone.  Share the work, share the wealth.  And if one falls down, the other helps.”  Ecclesiastes 4:10 The Message