Mumble fumble

Mumble Fumble Bumble
round the rough paths I stumble.
The jagged ragged ledges of a day long drawn down
Who placed this path under the boulder?
Now older, bolder more faithful courage to ascend

mumble fumble bumble
round the rough paths I stumble.
The ragged jagged edges of years drawn thin
I placed this path under the boulder
Now older, bolder, more humble to descend

mumbling fumbumbling
round and round and round the rough path I stumble.
God placed the boulder and the path
Grateful now. Not to ascend, nor to mourn.
but to laugh. A pleasant line drawn in my path.

Good waters flow

 

• Good waters flow

• By stones beneath the stream

• From the mountain to the valley go

• The waters come the waters flow

• 
  

• Tumbled bumbled rumbled

• Shaped by flood and flow

• A mighty silent river

• Of stones beneath the stream

• 
  

• Smoothed by time and trial 

• The giver and the means

• A witness of the mountain

• The stones beneath the stream

Welcome Home Cannon

Welcome Home Cannon
I can only imagine how strange things must seem. Last Thursday you left the womb. Your time there must have seemed an eternity. Before your birth the weather was perfect and the comfort of your mother's heartbeat was your constant companion.

Now it's: flashing lights, weird fabrics, pocking needles, and a digestive system which seems to cause you problems from head to toe. Among the million other differences between this world and your former home, you now seem to be bombarded by two giants constantly wanting to eat you. (btw, they are your siblings and they love you very much).

It is now your third night in this new world. Just a moment ago you were explaining your displeasure very well. Some call it screaming the paint off the wall. I can only imagine that somewhere in the mix of everything new you are a little unsure if this place is safe.

Well, it is. In fact, I spent my entire day dedicated to providing for your security. I am your Father and I commit myself to your prosperity.  

Lord, I know I act like Cannon an awful lot. Thank you for caring for me in what sometimes feels like perpetual infancy. Yours is the love and care beyond comprehension.

The Sweet Creative Mind

We tucked in the kids and headed to the kitchen. It was that time of day when spouses finish chores and debrief the ebb and flow of life. Tonight the dishes were piled a bit higher because the ladies of the house had made cupcakes, frosted cookies and marshmallow strawberry treats. This is ironic because our family does not eat many sweets. In fact, there is not one sweet treat made in our home which does not end up at our church or neighbors house.

So there we were, cleaning dishes and chatting about parenting, friends, work and what not. Then came the blind side. "I sure love cooking, but these dishes gotta go" It took a moment to sink in before I realized what she said. The girl who claims she can't draw stick figures had just confessed she was an artist.

The curtain had been pulled back. It was a glimpse into the sweet creative mind. The mind that delights in creating. In my bride I saw a reflection of God's image which takes tasteless things and turns them into beautiful objects, sweet and delightful.

Many people think artist are creative. This is only part true. Real creativity is rooted in love. God is love and He is the ultimate artist. Every time we create (songs, cupcakes, friendships, houses, paintings, jet planes, heart valves etc..) we reflect the Father's image. When creating is born from love you have art. Life is a grand canvas, and he has given us a sweet creative mind.

Ephesians 2:10 
For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.

Continuous Tone

I once heard that lines do not exist in nature. How can this be? I see lines every day. Edges from shapes that share a border. Is the line real? Can you really separate two objects with nothing between? Something has to fill the void. All of  creation is in relationship. One shape touches another, the image never stops. It is continuous in tone.

I have work friends, street friends, Chinese friends, Church friends, coffee friends, etc... None of these worlds touch each other. Is this really possible?

We are drifting deeper into a culture of lines. Day by day the images of our lives become more divided. Front porches become back porches. villages become bedroom communities, dinner time becomes the drive through line.  Slowly but surely, the relational organs of our lives atrophy and suddenly this all feels very normal.