Categories
Blog Showing My Work

Buried Hope

Down from the cross
Laid in the grave
Jesus buried behind a stone
Hearts filled with loss
And emptied of joy
His sheep left all alone

Buried hope, silenced songs
God is laid in the tomb
Friday ends in darkness
All creation steeped in gloom

His body lay still
For the second day
Dead, inside the earth
He obeyed the Father’s will
So we can have a second birth

Buried hope, silenced songs
God is in the tomb
Yet, like a buried seed
We await the bloom

Categories
Blog Showing My Work

A Christ Original

Jesus was a carpenter, 
What did He build? 
Imagine visiting a home, 
To hear the owner say, 
“This chair is a Christ original.” 

A hammer 
The tool of His trade 
With nails and beams 
My debts were paid 

Jesus was a carpenter, 
But His single greatest work, 
Was not to build, 
But be destroyed. 
So I could be remade. 

I am a Christ original. 

A hammer 
The tool of His trade 
With nails and beams 
My debts were paid 

Categories
Blog Deep Thoughts Showing My Work

Boredom

Boredom is a blank sheet of paper. A wide open world with so many possibilities that we cannot choose one to engage with. It is literally having too much to do, as opposed to nothing.

Boredom isn’t about options: it’s about desire and decision-making.

Boredom is a result of your mind-spirit saying, “Enough of this. We want something different.” But then, providing no clues as to what different thing would be best.

It’s like being hungry but for nothing in particular, starving with a panty full of unappealing though totally acceptable food.

Categories
Blog Deep Thoughts Showing My Work

Freedom (06-13-23)

Freedom Through Creativity

Teaching children how to do something creative w/o telling them what to create is difficult. Kids are used to concrete tasks, used to following the dotted line.

Of course, for some things, this is how it has to be, but when it comes to acts of creative expression, freedom must win the day.

Freedom is a wild thing, and so glue will be spilt and markers left uncapped. But the work?

Masterpieces made by tiny hands.

This is part of my Public Domain Derivation Series.

Hand holding a brush
Arthur Wesley Dow’s Floating World: Composition (1905 edition), page 8
Categories
Blog Deep Thoughts Showing My Work

Communication (06-15-23)

Communication

Communication has come a long way in the past few decades. It’s truly amazing how easy it is to communicate with others, even when miles apart.

Despite all of this communication—true sharing of the self with another and receiving [the same in return]—is more difficult. We have more ways to share and less to say. And if we we’re not careful, we get so wrapped up in ourselves that we communicate a lack of care.

Nothing could be worse than to tell someone you don’t care without even realizing it.

This is part of my Public Domain Derivation Series.

Giles Gilbert Scott's design for a telephone booth.
Categories
Blog Showing My Work

Locked In

Man locked in a roomBeing awake and unable to speak, unable to communicate has to be one of the worst ways to live.

Once, in high school, I had to have surgery. When I woke up, I was nauseous, weak, and unable to speak. While in that state of post-anesthetic paralysis, all I could do was steam for help in my own head as a doctor behind a curtain ordered a pizza with what sounded to me like the most disgusting assortment of toppings imaginable.

Within a few minutes of standing up, I vomited.

I don’t think of that moment often, but today I did as I had a similar experience.

I was trying to get somewhere this morning when three of four different “domestic” issues—nothing serious at all—and I don’t know why but immediately my stress level skyrocketed.

For no good or even discernible reason.

But there I was, seething because my dear, sweet family dared to interact with me.

Not my proudest moment, but not really my focus here either.

No, my focus is my inability to articulate my emotions or to even speak when I get upset.

After all the benign issues were handled, I left to take my daughter to where she needed to go and, the whole way there, I couldn’t speak, couldn’t talk about what happened, couldn’t talk about the day, couldn’t ask her questions about her day which was going to be filled with lots of fun and exciting events.

I was locked in by my anger.

It’s happened so many times, and it’s paralyzing. I can’t tell people I’m trapped, and yet if they poke me hard enough, the bubble will burst and all of my anger and rage will pour on so poor, unsuspecting person.

Usually a loved one.

So, I’m writing this for those moments, when I’m locked in, when I can’t explain, can’t speak, but that I love them and will hopefully be back soon.

(Featured Image Modified from Original)