I bought a book with the sole purpose of ruining It

There's a part of me that yearns to be an artist. To make something beautiful, imaginative, unique. So I've decided to unleash my creativity. I bought this book:

Here's a photo of the title page:


Inside, the pages offer simple instructions.
Tame ones, such as:
* Add your own page numbers,
* Poke holes in this page using a pencil,
* Draw fat lines and thin,
* Press leaves and other found things, and
* Do some rubbings with a pencil.
And wilder ones, such as:
* Burn this page, and
* Eat some colorful candy and lick this page (um, excuse me, not so sure).

I'm not sure I ever could have allowed myself to buy this book, if not for the love (a.k.a. Amazon gift card) of a friend. And I still worry that it's a frivolous way to spend my time. (Responsibilities, you know.) But the longing to create is powerful and compelling.

So I remind myself that the Ultimate Creator made me in His very own image, and my creating can bring Him honor, if only in its representation of his Nature. So I'm allowing myself a few minutes every day to, ahem, WRECK this journal.

My hope is that I'll begin to see the world -- His world -- in new ways. And that somehow, that will translate itself into artistic abandon.

I'll keep you posted.

God woos

I wish I could say I live this life of faith heroically. I don't.

Often, the struggle far outweighs the faith. I wrestle with God.

Usually, it's when I'm at this hard place, in the midst of the fight, that He offers the strongest glimpses of Himself.

Grace, that's what it is. Grace, that He would love me enough to woo me back into His presence.

Last Friday, I did some wrestling with God. Angry, bitter and confused. The boil of unbelief was festering into a wretched, sickening wound. And I was weeping and wailing and (yes) wrestling. Until I walked outside and saw this:

And this:

And this:

The world all around had a golden cast. It was glowing.

The sky was positively radiant. It was breathtaking.

And I was stunned. Awed by a glimpse, given by grace.

The heavens declare the glory of God, the skies proclaim the works of His hands. Psalm 19: 1

New favorite quote

"Call it romantic nonsense if you will,

but there are epiphany moments, in which new revelations

seem to summon us from a contentment with who we are

to new spiritual adventures.

These epiphanies enable us to cast off our dull

religious comforts

in favor of a riskier pilgrimage."

Calvin Miller, The Path of Celtic Prayer

Praise God for epiphany moments.

Philadelphia Museum of Art: photos, trivia and a question for you

Finally, I've taken time to add images of the fabuloso paintings we saw up close and in person when we went to Philadelphia. Over the past several years, I've taught homeschooled junior-high and high-school students who attended my Art Infatuation class about every artist represented here (with the exception of the unknown one at the end). And in most cases, we studied these exact paintings! Joy!

A bit of trivia:

The Toulousse-Lautrec was the first one I saw that I recognized when we entered the galleries.

A print of the Renoir has hung in my bedroom for the last 15 years. It can't begin to compare with the original!

I was most surprised by the Rousseau. Strikingly beautiful.

I hyperventilated when I walked around a corner and came upon Picasso's Three Musicians. How many times have I exposed students to this painting, and I never knew how LARGE it was (not as big as the Cezanne, but almost).

The Leger made me think of Connie Skellie.

Every painting by Degas was hung in a dark room. Hence, no photos.

There were many Cassatts, but the colors were stunning in the one featured here.

I still don't understand the popularity of Mondrian. (I'm sure it had SOMETHING to do with the art climate of the time -- contemporary, cutting-edge, graphic art-ish, etc.)

I do undertand the popularity of the Rothko. Plain, but captivating.

A bit of a challenge:

In the movie Notting Hill, Julia Roberts gave Hugh Grant a painting by one of the artists featured in this slideshow. Any guess which artist? (Come on now -- no cheating!! Don't look it up on the Internet. If you remember off the top of your head, I'll be SOOOO impressed!)

Awe, and surrender

Awe
Look among the nations, and see;
wonder and be astounded.
For I am doing a work in your days
that you would not believe if told.

(Habakkuk 1:5)

And Surrender
Though the fig tree should not blossom,
nor fruit be on the vines,
the produce of the olive fail
and the fields yield no food,
the flock be cut off from the fold
and there be no herd in the stalls,
yet I will rejoice in the LORD;
I will take joy in the God of my salvation.
GOD, the Lord, is my strength;
he makes my feet like the deer's;
he makes me tread on my high places.

(Habakkuk 3:17-19)

Thanks, Debbie Landry, for hugs and Habakkuk.

The Gospel, the call, and a plea

Isaiah 6:1-8
Holiness
1 In the year that King Uzziah died I saw the Lord sitting upon a throne, high and lifted up; and the train of his robe filled the temple. 2 Above him stood the seraphim. Each had six wings: with two he covered his face, and with two he covered his feet, and with two he flew. 3 And one called to another and said:

"Holy, holy, holy is the LORD of hosts; the whole earth is full of his glory!"

Sinfulness
4 And the foundations of the thresholds shook at the voice of him who called, and the house was filled with smoke. 5 And I said: "Woe is me! For I am lost; for I am a man of unclean lips, and I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips; for my eyes have seen the King, the LORD of hosts!"

Cleansing
6 Then one of the seraphim flew to me, having in his hand a burning coal that he had taken with tongs from the altar. 7 And he touched my mouth and said: "Behold, this has touched your lips; your guilt is taken away, and your sin atoned for."

A Call
8 And I heard the voice of the Lord saying, "Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?" Then I said, "Here am I! Send me."

And a Plea
Precious friends, I can tell this is going to be a long process, this journey to Ireland. I believe, and I fail to believe. Please pray that my heart will trust God in the midst of discouragements, and that I might be the aroma of Christ to the world.

Happy 13th Birthday, Eli

Eli wasn't supposed to be born on this day. But he was. And the story of his birth is one of my favorites, because it so well illustrates God's ability, His tendency, to take our best-laid plans, turn them upside-down (despite our groanings and lamentings), and delight us with something better.

Eli was supposed to be born on Aug. 2. Having delivered his older sister by c-section two years earlier, the doctors were watching me closely. I'm a small woman, and they could tell this was going to be a big baby. I wanted to deliver vaginally, not by another c-section, and the doctors were a little concerned by the baby's size. "Need to induce," said my hero-doctor Bill McKenzie, "not let this baby get any bigger." So plans were set in motion: Hospital pre-admitted me, and family scheduled the day off of work. For more than a week, we knew our baby would be born on Aug. 2.

I worked my final pre-natal day of work on Aug. 1, and arrived at my mother-in-law's home late that afternoon to pick up Emma, then 2. And that's where we received the call. At 4:30 p.m. the day before I was supposed to have this baby, my insurance company blocked my induction. Too late to appeal. We would not need to be at the hospital at 5:30 a.m. the next day; we would not be having a baby that day.

For three days we fought the insurance company. I begged them to let me talk with their doctors (they refused); my doctor pleaded my case (large baby, small woman, VBAC); BellSouth's vice president of benefits (who oversaw my communications department as well) even got involved. Finally, late Friday afternoon (three days later), Dr. Mc's office called. Now past my Aug. 4 due date, the insurance company had approved an induction for first thing Monday morning. I was to be at the hospital at 5 a.m. on Aug. 7.

Our plan had been to take Emma to my in-laws' house the night before, so we took her over on Sunday evening, dressed in her little pink pajamas, with her baby stroller and baby doll in hand. We returned home, got our things in order for the next morning, and went to bed. And can you guess what happened next? Just after midnight, I awoke, not experiencing contractions, but feeling rather funny. And then the contractions came. And God gave me the moment I had truly longed for, the moment of gently nudging my husband awake to tell him it was time.

We were at the hospital by about 2 a.m., and I received my epidural right about the time I'd been scheduled to arrive at the hospital for the induction. Eli came three hours later, just after 8 a.m.

My chronically ill mother, the only one who had arrived at the hospital for what she thought was to be a 5:30 a.m. induction, was alone in the waiting room. She joined us just minutes after Eli's birth, the first family member to see him. And she saw the nurse measure and bathe and swaddle him. And it was the delight of her life.

We named Eli after my grandfather (Elliott) and after Steven (Gerald), but we called him the name we'd come to love because of a song sung by our favorite musical artist, Rich Mullins. Here's a link to the song. (Click on Play Song in the window where my link takes you.)

Happy birthday, son! I pray that the eyes of your heart shine bright with the hope to which you're called, And may you know with all the saints the height, the depth, the width, and the length of the love of God for you.

Milestones

Weeks go by. Always, they're busy. But often, also rather ordinary -- the routine playing-out of an existence where I can so easily be immune to the "otherworldness" of my days.

Not so right now. This week, I'm keenly aware of the passage of time. The need to LIVE each moment in "otherworldness" -- with a view toward the sacredness of it -- is penetratingly sharp to me.

Maybe that's because this week is so full of milestones for the Morgan family. I'll warn you; they're making me a little weepy.

Isabella Mae turned 6 on Friday. My baby. Six years old. I remember the day that happened to Maja; Annika celebrated her sixth birthday, and the realization that all of my dear friend's children were GROWING UP was etched in my memory forever. Now, I am that woman. All of my children are growing up. And the paradoxical reality is that even as the days DRAG ON sometimes, they are simultaneously speeding by. And there are only so many moments to love the children. Only so many moments to nurture and talk and cry and laugh. Only so many moments to point them to "the True Otherworldness."

Ah, Jesus. The one whom we seek to introduce to the world on this journey we make toward Ireland. Last night, we made our first "formal" support-raising presentation. We were with sweet friends -- church family who encouraged us not only to share our story and vision with them, but to treat them as guinea pigs for our formal presentation. It was too long. I fear we bored them. But we can now officially say that we're raising support to go to Ireland. I'm ecstatic. But also overwhelmed by the immensity of the venture.

Sandwiched between these events (Bella's birthday and the official start of support-raising), Bella started school. Not at home. Away. And she has a teacher. And her teacher's name is not "Mommy." Truly, there's a part of me that's sad about that. But I'm surprised (though I shouldn't be) and grateful at the grace God has given as we've taken this step. I didn't cry when I took her to school on Monday. I didn't even feel like crying. I prayed. I prayed for her. I prayed for her teacher (Mrs. Jennifer). And, praise God, I trusted that Valley View is the perfect place in God's perfect plan for Bella. An exciting milestone -- in her life and in our journey toward Ireland -- and one which, like the others this week, makes me keenly aware of the passage of time.

Did I tell you, Eli officially turns 13 tomorrow. Two teens in our home. (More of your Spirit, Lord. More of your Spirit.) I can understand now why tradition graduates 12-year-old males from a title of "master" to one of "mister." Eli has changed SO MUCH in the last year. He looks more like a man, sounds more like a man, and has strength more like a man. Again, keenly aware of the passage of time.

And keenly aware of my own inadequacy. I'm not sufficient to love, nurture, talk, cry and laugh enough. I'm not sufficient to point my children, or the world, to Jesus. I'm not sufficient to let go of life as I've known it. I'm not sufficient to parent two teens. Or AJ. Or Bella. Much less all four.

In the "Otherworldness" paradigm, though, in my place of weakness is exactly where I'm meant -- and privileged -- to be. Because that's where Jesus will be most real to me, and therefore most beautiful to my children and most captivating to the world.

"And He has said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for power is perfected in weakness.' Most gladly, therefore, I will rather boast about my weaknesses, that the power of Christ may dwell in me." 2 Cor. 12:9

Sugar and Spice

Happy, happy birthday, my beautiful six-year-old Bella Girl.