Why God Made Us

Amid unimaginable sorrow, the sky was as blue as clear sapphire.  How can this be, tragic, hope?  One defying the other? Mountains of debris and an old man slowly sweeping it up one speck at a time.  Bitterness all around while Hersey Bars were passed out.  Blue skies, sweepers, chocolate.  Acres of destruction surrounding an acre of supplies.  A beautiful young woman, covered in mud,  weeping as she told of all the “Christians just showing up!”  In all the disasters of life let this be known, Christ is the first to show up.  

This is why He made blue, servants, chocolate, givers, thankers…and you.  “To whom much is given, much is required...You are my ambassadors…In as much as you have done it to the least of these my brothers, you have done it to Me.”  

   

 

Those Four Years That Made Much of Me

In my lifetime the blanket was a treasure in our home.   Blankets came only when there were enough cloth squares to make one.  I still remember my granny's old trunk filled with these 4” squares saved from worn-out cloth.  For me, the blanket symbolizes goodness, and kindness, an artefactum, crafted from a much earlier time.  I have made three sculptures that are quilts.  Last night there was a gathering in our home of old friends, those who crafted me in a much earlier time, those who were sown into the life of my youth.  They are the early squares of my life, the treasures covering my teenage years, the holders of kind memories that tendered my often misspent youth.  They are those, the ones who only knew me and me they, the beginning blanket sown with golden threads of immortality, wild-hearted exuberance, first loves, warm fall days, hard-fought Friday nights, and patched-up Saturdays.  Their part of my blanket often warms the coldness of my aging days, those bygone sweet days of a certain innocence that comes only when one is new, when life is new, when all is new but not much is known.  These are the loves of my youth, the pleasant squares that make the beginning of the blanket that I now cling to, easing my way into my ancient days.  Those four years that made much of me.  

   

 

If You Disagree With Me

For those who disagree with me.  That’s fine.  I don’t feel much need to prove or defend myself or correct you.  Everyone believes many things.  The internet has given us many more things to believe or not believe.  My lover and I live off the grid and get little information from technology.  Most of my thoughts come from my heart.  I find the left-leaning and the right-leaning to be untruthful.  Truth sources are rarely true sources.  I naturally distrust popular culture, news media, and government.  My parents taught me this.  I feel those in the media and popular culture mostly believe what I do not.  The Democratic party believes that it is ok to kill a child in the womb which I find abhorrent.  My personal thoughts on this are there are lots of people who actually have an abortion out of desperation, shame, and guilt which I truly understand and sympathize with.  However, a political party that celebrates it is craven.  I believe an open border is treasonous and those who allow it should be tried, convicted, and jailed.  It is like mandating that we all leave our homes, schools, cars, and business doors unlocked and unguarded.  I believe one of the purposes of the Christian church is to protect us from the government.  I believe it is my personal responsibility to help the poor, the needy, the foreigner, and those less fortunate than myself.  I believe I must give 10% of all my wealth to the church to do these things.  I believe I should give much more than that to do the same thing.  I believe it is my personal responsibility to take care of the earth.  I believe it is my job to take care of my neighbor.   I own guns and carry them.  I have Democratic friends, Republican friends, and most of my friends I don’t know and don’t care.  If you disagree with my thoughts I am ok with you.  However, I would much rather read your beliefs than read your comments on mine.    

 

Earth to earth, Ashes to ashes...

Our Mighty Tennessee River is the color of creamed coffee.  Has been for four days.  All that earth from the mountains of Appalachia divided between Tennnessee and North Carolina, is now stirred into her depths.  It will soon be deposited across all of Tennnessee, parts of several other states, and eventually into the Gulf of Mexico, where it will spread across the world.  Like a weeping lament heard round the earth sharing the grief of so much loss.  “We therefore commit this body to the ground.  Earth to earth.  Ashes to ashes.  Dust to dust; in the sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to eternal life.”

 

Speaking of Stars

Oh the glories of the sun, our own little star.  What praise could come from my pen to equal your magnificent kindness?  But I know it's not you littles, but He Who commands you.  Oh to have been there when He said, “Let you be light!” and you were set ablaze and 8 minutes later our earth was glowing in glory only your little light could reveal.  My world sings color this morning in anthems reserved only for the Divine, with a little help from my star.  Thank you star!!!     

Star Light Star Bright

I saw the stars this morning.  My habit is to complete and start each day by walking outside and looking toward the heavens for the stars.  They are often His voice to me, reminding me that each has a name He gave them, and each is in its place.  Since last Thursday, I haven’t seen any, and since then great tragedy has befallen my beloved East Tennessee.  However, this morning many were sparkling across my heavens, some still hidden by clouds, but there were a great host of witnesses.  Stars are mysteries, ours is the only one we know and its kindness is so overwhelming we naturally think they all are like that, a great life-giving miracle of Divine love.  That is why I look.  I am unrelentingly in need of reminding of His Divineness and this week more than most.  I saw the stars this morning and they said, “He is Lord, Lord indeed.”      

His sun lighting His fruit.

 

Floating Through Our Friday’s Tombs

Monday, Sept 30, 2024

I live beside the Mighty Tennessee, which lays swollen before me, gorged on all the flood waters and sediment flowing here from Appalachia.  All that sorrow fills her now like a great tragedy languishing, spent out, as she spreads prostrate in our Tennessee Valley.  She will roll on to West Tennessee, a mighty preserve of open spaces to contain her.  She will then push north into The Ohio, west to The Mississippi, and south to The Gulf, which birthed all her drunken wretchedness.  I have prayed all summer for rain and finally got all our summer rain in three days, 12+” here at Fair Haven.  It is hard to hold in my heart the joyous nature of rain and the utter tragedy of its destruction.  My mind can’t make sense of it; desiring always to say, “I understand that!”.  So little of life is understandable, such as war, poverty, death, unkindness, wickedness, evil, and sorrow.  But one thing I cling to.  Last night, as is our habit, my lover and I turned off all the lights and sat quietly and listened to great choirs singing great hymns.  We then held hands and cried out to God for His help.  This morning I sit beside the Mighty Tennessee as it rolls along, as it has since “Let there be water!” knowing again, “Fridays here but Sunday's coming.”