Our Family

It's time to broaden our vision...to realize we are a part of a world much larger than our little section of it. I don't think that's such an easy thing to do, especially for those of us who have become quite comfortable in our physical surroundings. It's not easy to realize, in a personal way, the things happening in other parts of the world. We've become complacent....simply biding our time and leaving the changing of things up to the younger generation.

 This is not a time for complacency. It's a time when we have to realize our place in God's family. We have to come to the actual realization that we are all brothers and sisters.....regardless of nationality or religion....we are part of one family....and love everyone as we, and they, are loved by God.

As in any family, there will always be those who are obsessed with selfishness and greed. There will always be those who stray... who rebel against love and goodness but, because they are part of our family, we love them anyway....always praying they return to the fold.

 We need to stretch our minds and open our hearts to include all people of the world. We need to love and pray for our family in Beirut as well as in Paris. We need to welcome home and provide safe haven for the lost and the suffering. We need to look beyond ourselves and love. Love is the only cure for the world...for our family.

 

So let us love and let us pray the violence against our brothers and sisters will end. Let us pray for those who have chosen the wrong path. Let us welcome those who are lost with open arms and a loving heart. Let us grow into and become the family God wishes us to be.

It Is Happening

It is happening. There are active cells all over the world. Artists, musicians, writers, thespians, even prominent sports figures are joining the movement, sharing the light. This is the light that will overcome the darkness. People are searching for it and those who have found it are openly sharing with those still in the dark. The light is being passed from group to group.....from individual to individual. It calls to people from all walks of life...of all nationalities....regardless of gender, position or religion. It is happening.

There is a movement...slowly growing....always growing. A movement which slowly makes us aware and pulls us in because that’s where we want to be. It is happening both within and without.

We continue to find others who believe, who shine their light and we unite. We are being sewn together with an invisible golden thread and as we grow in numbers, we grow ever stronger. Eventually it will happen where all the groups and individuals will come together as one and we, and our world, will be saved..

We all carry that light and it’s our responsibility....our obligation... to share and let it shine, lighting the way for others. One day the light will be so bright no one will be able to look at its brilliance.

It is happening and I invite you to see and be a part of it.

New Painting.....

See

My Direction

It’s been a while sine I’ve written a Blog. I could say it’s because I’ve been busy painting, but that wouldn’t be the whole truth. The real reason is, so much has been happening with me I barely have time to write a little about it before something else comes along...just as exciting and just as interesting. So... I'm going to make an effort here and try to let you in on some of it.

The other day I shared with a friend, "I feel like I’m being led by the Holy Spirit."

She smiled knowingly, "It’s wonderful, isn’t it?"

"Yes!" I exclaimed. "There is so much joy!"

When I sat and reflected on our conversation, I was reminded of something I’d said in our prayer meeting, "Jesus doesn’t ask us to worship Him. He asks us to follow Him....to follow His teachings and example...’Come, follow Me’."

"Ahhh," I thought as I reflected on my words and the changes within myself. "It all comes together. This is what ‘contemplation in action’ means."

What joy there is in following the Holy Spirit! What joy! Oh, believe me I have my battles. If the negatives insinuate themselves and I find myself struggling, I have to go into the silence and discern what is from God and what isn’t. Discerning is sometimes difficult.

There are times I’m overwhelmed
with things I’d like to say
and when I search for truth,
my thoughts get in the way.

Attached to one another,
there never seems an end
to where those thoughts will take me.
Confusion sets in then.

I try to set those thoughts aside,
close my mind to them
so I may hear the truth
speak from deep within.

It’s there, and only there
I’ll find my true direction,
where all I see and hear
calls me to reflection.
 

What I Love about Painting

I am reposting this because I realized I hadn't shown you the finished painting..... In case you were curious.

Every painting has a story.  I am either responding to something I see or expressing something I feel, or both.  No matter what the source, the painting is a part of myself... my responses, my reactions.  I have a friend who, knowing this, always asks, “What’s the story behind this one?”  And that question always prompts me to ask myself, “Why did I paint it?  “What’s the real story?”  Naturally those questions lead to introspection and I come to realize the painting as a visual poem... a window into my soul... a window through which I allow others to see. 

Sometimes I feel like I can step back and look at myself from the outside.  As a painting develops I can look at it and say, “Wow, look at that.  I didn’t expect that to happen.” and continue on in a different direction from the one I started.  I have to be honest and say I truly enjoy those moments.  The last painting I did pretty much developed like that.  I had one theme in mind when I started and it morphed into something similar but different.  It’s as if the painting leads me.

Tonight I’ll be participating in a communal painting session.  It consists of a small group of artists... each painting our own thing.  I love the creative atmosphere and we each take the time to comment and encourage one another.  I can feel the creative energy in that room and marvel how it feeds the energy within myself.

I wondered what I might be painting when I ran across a photograph taped to a hidden canvas.  It was something that interested me enough to save.  I thought the rain and the wetness of it might be challenging and I had full intention of painting it one day.  I figured this might be the day so put both the canvas and the photograph with my painting supplies to take with me.  

Those were my thoughts as I gathered everything together last night in preparation.  This morning, however, I had to smile at myself.  I’m smiling because I know I won’t be painting the actual picture, but how I feel about it.  Then again, the final painting may turn out not to resemble the photo at all.

This is the joy and wonder I experience in painting....the not really knowing but being open to whatever might happen.... allowing the inside to come out.... going with the flow of wherever it might lead me.  This is what I truly love about painting! 

I look forward to tonight’s session with joy and expectation.  Can’t wait to see what happens!  More to come......

                                                             Titled: A Foggy Day

A Reflection

The other day when with a few friends, the Dalai Lama came up in conversation.  One exclaimed, "I love the Dalai Lama!"

"I do too!" I responded. Later, I wondered why I had responded so readily and decided to do a little studying and research. I didn’t know much about the Dalai Lama other than he is a simple man and has a way of stating indisputable truths in very few words. One of my favorites is, when asked what his religion was, he smiled and answered, "My religion is kindness."  Naturally, such a statement piqued my curiosity and I decided to learn more about Buddhism.

 I’ve since read a few books on the subject and it seems to me it doesn’t matter whether we follow the paths of the Saints or the Buddha. They lead to the same place. Though we live in, and move through, the ‘outwardness’ of the world, our journey is an inward one. It is within ourselves we will find the God we seek and in our recognizing Him there, we will recognize Him everywhere.

When we grow in love...the love of God and the love of ourselves.... we can’t help but be a channel of that love for others.

I read and study the ways of the Saints, the paths of the Buddha, the teachings of Jesus, the understandings of the Apostles, and in the end they all lead to the same place...the love within myself.

Not that I should stop reading and studying because the mind must be fed and come to a conscious understanding of what the heart already knows.... that the path we’re called to is love.

Love is the foundation, the root, from which all joy, compassion, peace and humility grows. Without love we are nothing.

And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love. (1Corinthians 13:13)

　

The Bend in the Road

There is always a hunger, an insatiable desire to come to know, more intimately, the God within. In my continuing efforts to satisfy that hunger, the road I travel has been full of awesome discoveries...discoveries leading me ever closer to my God.

My road is leading me in a different direction now... one familiar, yet unfamiliar. I find myself wishing I had a traveling companion... one with whom to share all that awaits. But it is enough to know my God is always with me and we travel together.

Others, I know, I will meet along the way and as it is with all travelers who meet, we will share a few bits for a little while and then continue... each on our own way. I gladly share my journey with those who wish to know and they may be interested enough to walk with me awhile, but my road is a solitary one.

So I stand here at this bend in the road, suddenly aware of, and thankful for, all that’s brought me to this place. My normal fear of the unknown has been replaced with an expectancy bordering on excitement... the kind of excitement that rides on the surety that, in following round this bend, great and awesome discoveries await me as I walk with the One I love.

Painting is Prayer

John Keats said, "Writing is prayer."  I say. "Painting is prayer."

Not all painting is prayer. I wouldn’t consider the paintings my students copy and try to reproduce from photographs as prayer. These paintings are the vehicles for learning the mechanics of painting.....the proper use of brushes and knowing which brush to use; the learning about and how to mix colors; the learning of perspective, proportion and composition. In my classes I try to teach the ‘how’ of painting but most importantly, I try to teach them how to "see" and to illustrate their seeing with paint.

As with anything else, once the mechanics are learned, the way is paved for creativity. It’s within this creative aspect painting becomes prayer. Some might call it simply "inspiration" and that’s a part, but it’s more than that.

Recently, one of my students sat down to paint, turned to me and said, "I don’t know what to paint."

I smiled. "Why not start by putting colors you like on the canvas and see where it takes you?" Purposely then, I walked away but continued to watch as she became ever more engrossed in her painting. Only once did I ask, "Do you know what you’re painting?"

"I think it’s a forest fire," she responded as if seeing it for the first time. I nodded my head, offered a mechanical suggestion, and moved on.

I knew she was experiencing the contemplativeness of painting.....that time when she was so in touch with her own spirit she could express it in paint....the one time she wasn’t fearful of the canvas or the paint...the one time she just decided to dive in and see what happened....the one time she experienced the freedom of expression.

The finished product isn’t necessarily just a work of art, but a work of prayer.

 I’ve told my students that my purpose is not only to teach them how to paint, but to encourage them to paint ‘from the inside’. It means being in touch with the creative spirit. It means being in touch with, and expressing, the God within.

When that happens.... Painting is prayer. It is the result of a direct communion with God.

I Am Offended

I am an American and I am offended. I’m offended that my country’s history and my personal heritage is under siege. I am offended that my country’s flag isn’t respected by all who live under its protection and freedom. I am offended that our National Anthem isn’t treated with the pride and respect it deserves. I am offended by those elected to public office who have no respect for those who voted for them. I am offended by greed, by graft, by the raping of our earth for profit’s sake. I am offended by those who have no concern for their fellow human beings. I am offended because the "law" has become more important than the people it’s supposed to protect. I am offended by those who wish to destroy flags, remove statues and burn books. I am offended because it smacks of Communism and I don’t live in a Communist country. Do I?

Yes, I am offended! Aren’t you?

I am a Christian and I am offended. I’m offended by your taking my God and trying to make Him disappear... The same God our founding fathers came to this country to worship freely, without persecution... The same God we and our military look to in time of struggle and sorrow for strength and healing... The same God you’ve taken away from our flag and out of our schools. I am offended that those in our military, regardless of belief, aren’t allowed to pray or witness to their faith without punitive repercussions.

I am offended at the removing of monuments attesting to our Judo-Christian heritage. What’s next? Will all the government buildings having reference to God and His Word also be defaced? I am offended by the so-called Christians who don’t have the backbone to defend their faith.

I am offended!  Aren’t you?

A Greater Understanding

I try to set aside a couple of times each day to read the scriptures of the day and pray. Lately, however, though I’ve been faithfully reading the daily scriptures, I haven’t really taken the time for prayer. I figured I was doing enough by being conscious of and talking about God. It was something a friend sent me on facebook that got me to thinking I hadn’t heard God in a while and I wondered why.

That night, as I opened my Magnificat for evening prayer, I realized I hadn’t heard God speaking to me because I hadn’t been speaking to Him. Though He knew what was in my heart, He was waiting patiently for me to talk to Him about it. I closed my book and put it aside. This was the private personal time I’d needed to spend with my Lord and I opened my heart to His love and understanding.

It’s not unusual to hear God just before going to sleep or in that half-sleep period before waking up. These are the times our minds are most relaxed and receptive. I learned a long time ago to keep a pad and pen next to my bed because the times I told myself I’d remember the things I "heard", I didn’t. I felt I’d never forget the understanding that was given me last night, but taking no chances, wrote it down anyway. As it turned out, I don’t have to look at what I wrote. This further understanding God gave me is a gift to be kept, treasured and shared.

I often meditate on the two commandments given us by Jesus and, to be honest, struggle with the second one. Especially with all that’s going on in the world, it’s so difficult to respond to hatred with love.

"‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’  This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’  All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments." (Matthew 22:37-40)

Last night He spelled it out for me.

It’s impossible to do one without the other. In my loving God I have to love my neighbor and in loving myself and my neighbor, I am loving God. God lives within His creation and in order to love Him I must also love everything He has created. My loving is the loving of the God who lives within. I cannot, therefore, profess to love God without also loving all. This doesn’t mean I condone the actions of others but it does mean I must see beyond the human and love the divine within.

In following the first commandment....centering heart, mind and soul on loving God... the second is automatically fulfilled.

A Reflection on this Day of Pentecost: A Gift of the Spirit

There are those times when I experience what I call, "surges of love"...emotional times when I realize how much I do love....how much love there is within me. It’s then my heart fills and tears overflow because I can’t hold it all. I must share it.

I know from experience (and I’ve been told) that some others don’t know how to respond to my sharing of this love. They have difficulty in accepting it and put up barriers. I may perceive that difficulty as rejection and in that rejection know the hurtful side of love.

I am coming to grow in knowledge and understanding of this love. It is both human and Divine but its source is God. So I experience this love, which is all-inclusive and all-powerful. At these times, love is such an overwhelming force within me, I must surrender my self to it. It’s then the Divine and the human become one and I’m given a tiny understanding of the immensity of God’s love..

As St. Paul says in his letter to the Corinthians (I Cor. 13-14) when speaking of the gifts of the Holy Spirit, These three remain: faith, hope and love; and the greatest of these is love. (I Cor. 13:13)

Free to be Me

I’ve been wanting to write about freedom and got a little side tracked with my last blog. Oh,, I know it’s about freedom and I guess I had to say what I did. I was a little caught up in it. Those freedoms have been fought for and won....freedoms every human being deserves to have. Uh-oh...with that last statement I can feel myself wanting to go in another direction. Not this time, my friends! This time I’m sticking to the subject.

My turning seventy turned out to be a new, almost magical, beginning. I dreaded it beforehand. There’s something about those decade numbers that kind of throw us a curve. I think we’re more apt to think of it as the end of something rather than a beginning. But it’s both. There can be no beginning without an ending and there’s no end without a beginning. So here I was, experiencing both. To be honest with you though, I didn’t really start to see the beginning until the day after. Hummmm....I wonder which we celebrate on our birthdays...the beginning or the end? Whoa! Starting to wander off again.

I couldn’t tell you exactly when it happened.....whether it was on my birthday or the day after. Whichever it was doesn’t matter. What does matter is that I experienced a great sense of freedom...the freedom to be me. In case you don’t realize the impact of that, let me tell you, it is a great big WOW! You know the kind of ‘wow’ I mean. The comics always picture it as a brightly lit lightbulb. It’s the ‘wow moment’ when we suddenly see and understand something that’s eluded us. But this, my friends, this is more than that. This is HUGE!

It’s huge because I’d spent the majority of my life trying to become.... become an adult (not such a great goal)....become educated/knowledgeable....become successful.....become not only what others expected, but what I came to expect of myself. I was always trying to become. All of a sudden I realized that if I hadn’t become yet, I may as well stop trying.

When I stopped trying, the most wonderful thing happened! It set me free! I don’t know how others see me but in my mind I’m a small child laughing, jumping and skipping along while holding onto God’s hand.

I am free to be that child of God...not only of God, but with God. I know, without a doubt, I am God’s child and as His/Her child, I am loved, protected, loved, guided and loved ('loved' deserves to be repeated).   I know I am free to be the child because God is holding my hand and will never let go. The real freedom is in following God’s lead.  In trusting Him/Her  completely, I am free to be the me God means me to be.

What's Happening to Freedom?

It’s hard to talk about freedoms when there are so many in the world who don’t have them. It’s hard, too, when there are people in our own country who want to take away some of the freedoms we do have. Well, maybe not so much take them away. It’s more that they want to decide and dictate exactly what our "freedom" should be.....or simply sit back and do nothing to defend our right to personal freedom.

This isn’t the direction I meant to go in this blog but things I recently read on facebook and heard in the news have pointed me down this road.

Franklin Delano Roosevelt proposed the Four Freedoms in his State of the Union address on January 6, 1941.... 11 months before the United States declared war on Japan. These four freedoms, necessary to all of mankind, were illustrated by Norman Rockwell on the covers of the Saturday Evening Post in 1943, during the height of World War II.


Freedom of Worship

Freedom of Speech

  






　

　



Freedom from Want

Freedom from Fear

　

　

　

　

　

　

　








Our goal as American citizens in a democratic society is to work at ensuring all people come to realize these freedoms.

I wonder why we’re so afraid of offending someone else when they seem to have no qualms about their doing the offending? Why, I wonder, do some atheists work so hard at removing God from everything when they don’t believe in Him in the first place? Why are some so against others worshiping and praying when they’re free to make their own choices? Why are there those who feel they have to force their beliefs onto others?

Our country was founded by those seeking religious freedom...freedom to worship as they chose without fear of persecution. We are a melting pot of many nationalities, many cultures and many religions and though there have always been differences, there was once respect.

I wonder what happened to respect? Maybe it died along with common sense? Why do we need laws to tell us how we should relate to one another? What happened to "love your neighbor" and "do unto others as you would have them do unto you"? What happened to people standing up for what they believe and trusting those we elect as leaders to have courage enough to do the right thing?

This morning I found myself wondering.....if I were still teaching school, I wonder what would happen if I had my class salute the flag? What would happen if I set aside a few minutes each day for quiet meditation? What would happen if I said the word, "God"? I wonder if I’d lose my job...or end up in jail...for "offending" someone? I wonder who and how many would support my actions....and how many wouldn’t?

We need to stand up and make ourselves heard so the deaths of the Holocaust and the Christians murdered by ISIS will not have been in vain.

A Reflection

The mountain
   and the valley
    loom
before me...

the mountain,
   bathed in light,
the valley
   covered
     in darkness. 

I want to climb
    the mountain,
but cannot scale
   its sheer
      rock cliffs.

I turn my eyes
   to the valley below.
      I shudder.

"Go to the valley,"
   I hear God say
     "Carry
         My light."

and so,
   In faith,
     and trepidation,
        I go.

When I am spent
   and they see
     His light,

I raise my eyes
   to the mountain top,

knowing God,
   through His grace,
     will lift me up.

                 ....Connie  04/03/15

God, in His great mercy and grace, will always lift us up.

Happy Easter

 









 My Cross

This cross of mine
   was given me
on my day of birth
   for me to carry
through the days
   I live upon this earth

As I have grown
   through the years,
as I have gotten older,
   I’ve come to love
this cross which rests
   upon my shoulders.

Some days it seems
   its weight
I cannot bear.
   But, then the times
it lifts me up
  I’m so glad it’s there.                         

This cross of mine
   does lift me
ever higher,
   closer to my God
where I can hear
   the angels singing
in His heavenly choir.

I love my cross.
   I’ll not let go
     for I know

When I’m too old
   and feeble;
too weak
   to lift its weight
Tis then my cross
   will carry me
to the One I seek.

       
This poem is an original and I wanted to share it with you. There would be no Easter without the cross.  May you have a blessed and glorious Easter. God bless you!!

Love, Connie

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

A Painting Story

When I posted this painting on Facebook, some asked me about the story behind it...knowing that every painting has a story. It may sound strange, but I painted this one mainly because every day I didn’t have something planned, Mom asked me if I was going to paint. Last Sunday when she asked, my answer was, "It doesn’t look like it, Mom. I think I’ll be writing,"... and write I did.

I started at least three blogs which didn’t go anywhere. I would write up to a point only to reach a dead end. My thoughts were wrapped in confusion...too many in different directions all at once. I felt overwhelmed with things I felt I had to let out but stymied as to how. The words just wouldn’t come together the way I wanted them to. So I figured... if I’m not to write a blog, maybe I should paint. I put a blank canvas on my easel, sat down and waited for the needed inspiration. Nothing came.

Eventually I got tired of banging my head against the wall and took my frustrations to prayer. It was then I realized I was trying too hard on my own and conjuring up my own confusion. So I neither wrote nor painted but did spend some much needed time with God.

Today when Mom asked me if I was going to paint, I still had no idea what, but responded with a "yes". I’ve learned that when Mom suggests...repeatedly and strongly...that I paint, I’d better paint. I figured I’d start by putting some color on the canvas and see where it took me. Which is exactly what I did. I love it when I don’t have a pre-conceived idea and a painting simply develops. It’s then the painting becomes part of my prayer and God has a hand in it. I was totally engrossed in the colors and shapes of the sky and water when He came up with the idea of a boat.

Though I had to do the research and sketching until it was right, the rest, I believe, is His.

Coming Home

18x24 acrylic

What Color the Thunder?

"What color the thunder?" is the question that came to mind one night last week just as I was dropping off to sleep. Thinking it might turn out to be important, I quickly jotted it down on the pad I keep next to my bed so I wouldn’t forget it. Forget it? How could I forget it? Those words have been bugging me ever since as I continue trying to apply some kind of reason to them.

It couldn’t be a painting, I reasoned. Thunder has no color. It’s a sound.... often a sound heard far off in the distance announcing a coming storm to a sunny blue sky with fluffy white clouds. No, I can’t paint the thunder until it brings the storm. Even then I’d only be able to paint the storm, not the thunder.

If not a painting, I wondered if perhaps it was meant to become a poem. I then tried, valiantly, to put all that simple phrase conjured up in my mind into poetic form....and failed.

Sharing my frustration with a friend, I asked for her insight. "Why," I entreated, "does this stay in my mind and what am I supposed to do with it?"

"Don’t worry," she assured me, "It will bubble up from inside you one way or another. Be patient."

And while it’s "bubbling up", as she says, I find myself watching fluffy white clouds move across an ultramarine sky while listening to the distant thunder. While I watch and listen, I ask others the question, "What color the thunder?" I get a color response...usually gray (payne’s gray from the artists), black or purple... but no one has yet asked me, "What thunder?"

The thunder I hear is not only one sound, but many which come together to make it seem as one. Like musical instruments joining together one at a time until, together, they build to a single, loud, crashing crescendo.

The sounds I hear in the thunder are the cries of the persecuted. I can see the crimson red of martyrs’ blood. I can hear the wailing of the children as they watch their parents being slain...and of the parents as they see their children beheaded. What color are screams of anguish? I hear the sounds of hatred, envy and judgment. I hear the sounds of verbal and physical cruelty...of complete disregard for others. I hear evil in the form of negativity trying to creep unnoticed into our lives, affecting our love and acceptance of one another. What colors would these sounds be?

Maybe the thunder isn’t so distant as we’d like to think. Maybe the thunder just isn’t as loud as we think it should be....yet. Maybe we can shut it out and pretend it isn’t there. Maybe.

Every day I face the choice of succumbing to the storms...giving in to "popular opinion".... or standing firm in my faith, relying solely on my God and His promises while seeing the colors of thunder.

A Simple Truth

I’m no Philosopher and I’m certainly no Theologian. I only know what I know.... what I recognize as truth within myself. That truth is, Before I formed you in the womb I knew you... (Jeremiah 1:5)

Before we are born we are intimately connected with God. We know God in the purity of our souls. The soul is the face you had before you were born--your authentic self. -Richard Rohr . In the womb we are enveloped in the essence of love.... and we spend the rest of our lives longing to return to that essence.

Some speak of aging as if it’s a bad thing, something to be avoided at all costs... as if we could! Whenever I think of myself soon to be seventy, I’m surprised. "What? Already? How did that happen? When did it happen?"

I’ve noticed things as I’ve aged... the normal signs of my body slowing down, my not being able to do all I’d like to do, and (I have to smile at this one) those increased Doctor appointments. There is, however, something wonderful happening.

As my body slows down there is a growth. There is a spiritual growth....a longing which continues to grow stronger. Richard Rohr puts it this way, Longing for God and longing for our True Self are the same longing. The ‘true self’ he speaks of is God within us and our spirits long to be wholly united as we were in the womb.

My life was spent in accumulating what I now refer to as useless baggage....tangible things, mental and emotional.   In these later years I want only to rid myself of all that unnecessary ‘stuff’...to be free to follow my longing.

As I age, I long for only one thing...to totally become what I once was in God.

The Questions

I don’t know what makes me think my story is so unique. Maybe because it’s mine? I’ve always questioned and wondered. When I was in the Community of the Sisters of St. Joseph, they encouraged self-examination as necessary to spiritual growth.... something I found familiarly easy as I’d done it all my life.

I’ve been told I question too much....that I should come to a greater acceptance of what ‘is’. It’s my nature to question. My acceptance is in knowing I won’t always find the answers or that they will make themselves known eventually....but I never stop asking the questions and some questions continue to be unanswered.

Why, I wonder, am I so afraid of being who I am? Who am I?

I went through the first half of life adapting myself to what others wanted ...how they wanted me to act.... what they thought I should do.... who they wanted me to be. In order to survive in the working world, I learned how to bend and how to blend. In search of love and acceptance, I felt I had to earn it, adapting myself to what was expected...and never fully experiencing. Why?

Now, I’m spending the second half of life unlearning... searching for who I really am, hoping the "real" me didn’t get lost along the way.

Of course it didn’t! The "real" me has always been there. I’d just lacked the courage to let her out. Looking for that courage led to more questions. Sure I would receive it, was I strong enough to accept criticism and rejection? Would people love me for who I am? More importantly, would I love me for who I am? And so began the search....the seeking of my self.

The thing about seeking the self is, we cannot find it without seeing and recognizing God.

I know, no matter what the question... or how many there are... God will always have and be the answer. I just have to stop asking long enough to see and hear.

Second Painting

I call this the second painting because it is the second of what I envision as being three...all of which do... and will... express what I feel so deeply. I have been overcome with the abundance of ignorance, selfishness and greed....what I often refer to as the "me-me" attitude... and these paintings are my response.

Those of you in my classes, knowing how I feel about using black, are probably laughing at my use of it. The thing is, for these paintings, I feel black is the only "color" which represents the negative effectively.

I had a hard time titling this one and am still not certain the title Tomorrow? will remain. I hope it asks the questions loud enough for people to answer.

This painting is in response to the greed of fracking.... the threat of global warming, the poisoning of our waters and our earth. How far will we allow it to go before we step up and do something about it? Hence the title is a question. Is this our Tomorrow?... Or do we, like the figure in the painting, plant to restore and nourish hope?

Wouldn’t you know it! In writing that last sentence I settled on the final title.

Planting Hope

Being Hungry

Usually we think of ourselves as being hungry when it’s close to meal time or we’ve skipped a meal... Nothing to be concerned about because we know dinner will be served and the hunger cravings satisfied. On the other hand, when we think of hunger in the abstract sense, those pictures of starving children, the homeless and the destitute come to mind. I say "abstract sense" because if we’ve never experienced that kind of hunger, we can’t really know what it is. We can only imagine...and those who are hungry are those "other people", not us.

The hunger I’m going to talk about here isn’t the hunger of the body, but the hunger of the spirit...the hunger in our souls.... the hunger for God. It's a hunger which exists in all of us.  It's a hunger we might push aside and try to ignore...pretend isn’t there and try to bury in the busyness of our lives. The problem is, it never goes away but continues to gnaw at our insides until we recognize its presence and take steps to feed it. 

Last night a friend and I went to dinner. During the course of conversation, when speaking of a group she was involved with, she said, "I don’t know if I want to continue. It doesn’t feed me."

Four simple words, "It doesn’t feed me" and I responded with a resounding "yes" of sudden understanding. She had very simply and effectively put my hunger for more of God into words.

I had once shared with someone that I felt like a starving person looking at the delicious, sumptuous banquet laid out before me but not allowed to partake. While looking at all that food, my mouth watering to taste it, I was expected to be satisfied with the few crumbs put on my plate. I was not... and am not... satisfied with crumbs. I agreed with my friend. If it does not feed me...if God does not feed me through it.... it should not be a part of my life.

I can imagine some people responding to that statement with, "That sounds pretty selfish." It isn’t. My spirit, like my body, needs food to survive and grow. The simple truth is, the more we are fed, the more there is within us to share and feed to others.

The Painting

In my last blog I spoke of the agony in painting and I figured it would be a good idea to show you the finished painting. It’s a 24x30 / 1.5 inch stretched canvas and was done in acrylics. After much discussion, the title is Making Choices.

I’ve been told...and I agree...it’s probably not something someone would want to hang on their living room wall and that’s okay but I’m interested in your responses.  Don't worry...a few people have already told me they don't like it and their reasons are valid.  You won't upset me or hurt my feelings.  A painting should provoke thought and/or emotion.  If it does that, I've done what I set out to do.

I have a couple more running around in my head...Just need to find the time to do them.

The Agony in Painting

I am in the process of doing a painting...one which I continually question myself about because it’s different from anything I’ve ever done. Quite a while ago a picture came into my mind consisting of both good and evil...God’s work versus the devil’s work. I wrote about it in my Journal and put it out of my mind. Recently, however, it came back into my consciousness and though I tried to talk myself out of it, I knew it was meant to be a painting.

There’s an evil side to this painting which, for reasons unknown...or reasons which will make themselves known... I feel has to be shown. I’ve been extremely affected by the evil in the world, the murders by ISIS, the bullying of children, spousal abuse, the selling of women and children into prostitution and slavery, companies taking advantage of people’s need to work and not paying them enough to live on... equivalent to slave labor. I’m upset about fracking...the raping of our planet...with those who will ignore natural power sources for the sake of greed. I’m upset about those wanting to run a pipeline through Native American lands, risking a legitimate Indian war.

I’m upset with those who twist God’s words, using them in such a way to raise themselves as false idols, greater than God. I’m upset with those who fight so hard to take God off our money, out of our pledge and out of our lives. I’m upset with those who use others for their own gain... who make money and worldly success their gods. I’m upset with those who ignore the starving on their doorsteps while their tables groan under the weight of abundance.

The thing about representing this evil in paint is, I have to feel it. In order for me to paint it, I have to feel the depression, the pain, the desolation, the greed, the disregard...and I do....until it becomes real enough to express visually. This was the main reason for my hesitation. I didn’t want to feel it.

Having to feel what I paint doesn’t just stay in the studio. The painting, until it’s finished, remains a part of me and has a definite effect on other parts of my life. My soul cries. My heart aches. The one redeeming factor is, once I can get back to finishing it, there is hope...and light... yet to be painted. I am not there yet but I can see it waiting for me.