I love words. I love being surrounded by words. If I could convince my DGH (demi-god husband) that sleeping in a giant dictionary is good for his health, I would. Therefore, one of the things I want to do in…
(Hey, everyone! Sorry for the gap in posts. Been sick and we went under contract for a house! Now we’re suffering from oh-crap syndrome. Oh crap, now we’ll have a yard. Oh crap, now we need to trim trees. Oh crap, now we need to buy tools…..ect.
The first time I opened Walking on Water by Madeleine L’Engle I promptly closed it and shoved it back on my mother’s bookshelf, with all the “forbidden” books (including all her marriage, Your Teen In Puberty, and *gasp* sex books).
The second time I opened Walking on Water, I was a senior on the bus on my way back from a church trip to Mexico. And I fell in love, especially with this quote:
“The artist, if he is not to forget how to listen, must retain the vision which includes angels and dragons and unicorns, and all the lovely creatures which our world would put in a box marked Children Only.”
I'm not into making New Year resolutions. Mostly because my body tends to malfunction randomly like my iPhone through the year, keeping me from completing them. And I'm a terrible loser. Losing sucks. (ahem--my cheat of NaNo 2014) 2014 did…
(If you're new, I had created a set of graphics for my church and thought I'd reuse them here. You can see Week 1, 2, and 3 here.) Last one in this series! Christmas is one of my favorite times…
My junior or senior year in high school I was running late to school thanks to another migraine. I dragged my drugged-up rear into the car and focused through the remaining pain. I feared going to school after migraines because it always meant nausea and pain, and it always meant I took the risk of an accident during the 45 min drive each way with my drugged-up vision and took the risk of being stuck with a second or third migraine either on the road or at school.
I tucked that slightly freaked-out part of me inside and pulled out of the driveway. I reached the crest of the hill my family lived on when I slammed on the brakes, right in the middle of the street.
In the sky was the most stunning sunrise I’d ever seen. Dramatic orange and gold egg-carton clouds billowed over foothills and mountains, a silhouetted house rose in the distance.
This is the one benefit of pollution–breathtaking colors.
I’ve never seen another sunset or sunrise like it, and I’ve never been able to capture it in paint, even if I use straight cad orange.
While I would officially never never EVER recommend driving to school on a migraine OR driving while on migraine meds in general, I will say that if I hadn’t ignored my fear I would never have seen that sunrise. I still treasure the memory of it today.
What caught my attention in this stanza as I sat to write this was how scared the shepherds must have felt. Angels are freaky things. They aren’t the cute naked-butt smiling babies so often painted throughout history. They scare people until the recipients of their amaze-balls-ness fall over in stunned terror.
And yet something so crap-freaky is supposed to be the bringer of goodness and hope.
I doubt those shepherds were buying it.
(Sorry this post is a day late!)
As I mentioned last week, my church is going through the hymn Go Tell it On the Mountain. I wanted to share the digital art I created for the series and a short reflection:
Yesterday, I watched two of my siblings perform in their high school Christmas program. It wasn’t your traditional Mary-shepherds-creepy wise men performance. Using a mixed media of video, dance, and music, they told the story of a WWI Christmas. Exactly 100 years ago–1914.