It’s time for another inside post, which is to say that I didn’t feel like going out today to take photos due to my aversion to freezing rain.

When I was around 15-16 years old, one of the neighborhood boys, Brian, took up the guitar and within an absurdly short amount of time learned how to play the song “Stairway to Heaven” by Led Zeppelin. When he played it for us, I had an epiphany in three parts: 1. This was pure magic. 2. If Brian could do this, couldn’t I? and 3. I NEED A GUITAR.

This was before the days of Facebook Marketplace and Craig’s List. I couldn’t afford a new one, so I looked in the want ads in the newspaper and found a guy who was selling his Yamaha FG180 in St. Paul. What did I know about guitars? And how on earth was I supposed to get to St. Paul?

I talked my older brother, David, into biking out there with me from where we lived in south Minneapolis – quite a trek. David came as my resident expert, meaning he knew more about guitars than I did. We came, we saw, we conquered. And then we rode home in triumph – I’m pretty sure David had to carry the guitar on his back while biking. What a nice guy. In the photo below, he’s on the left, I’m in the middle, our dad is on the right.

Oh, how I loved that guitar! I learned some chords on my own and found out that pain was involved in developing calluses. No matter – I was committed. I played and sang every free moment I had. By golly, I even learned how to play “Stairway to Heaven!” The summer after I graduated from high school, a friend of mine and I decided to take a guitar class to bump us up to the next level of mastery.

Our teacher was a young college student named Bart – cute as all get-out and really skilled on the guitar. Unfortunately, he was also prone to drinking and would sometimes come drunk, late or not at all. I still remember him teaching us how to correctly play a G chord so we could hammer on extra notes – a really cool trick. He also taught us a charming little song called “The Last Thing On My Mind” and we learned a specific way to pick the strings that I still use. So in spite of the fact that he was a bit of a flake, it was worth it.

All through college, married life and raising kids, I played that old guitar. I never got more than passably skilled at it, but since I played it just to accompany my singing, it didn’t really matter. Eventually, my husband bought me a nicer guitar and I retired the Yamaha.

I don’t play much anymore. I got a bad case of tendinitis back in 2010 that made guitar playing difficult. And once you lose your calluses, it’s hard to get them back unless you can play consistently. More than once, I’ve thought about selling or giving away my guitar, but I just haven’t been able to make myself get rid of it.

I got it out tonight to record a Michael Card lullaby for my granddaughter and had an epiphany in three parts: 1. It’s still pure magic. 2. It’s like riding a bike, and 3. My fingertips really hurt.

I’m not sure if I’ll continue playing enough to develop those calluses, but now that I’ve gotten my old companion out of the case and dusted it off, I might try to keep it up. I’ve long since forgotten how to play “Stairway to Heaven,” though, and don’t anticipate adding that one back into my repertoire, just in case you were thinking of requesting it.

Thanks for listening!

I’ll probably delete this in the morning.

I had to get way down low to get these photographs. Sometimes it’s nice to get a different perspective on the world and to see things from a different angle. I’m a fairly self-conscious person and this was along a somewhat busy road, so I kept waiting for there to be no cars coming either way before I laid down on the ground to get these shots. Self-conscious people always think that everyone is looking at them, when in reality, nobody really cares that someone is lying on their stomach on the grass with a camera taking photos of feathers and old dandelions. Actually, I think that might get my attention if I were driving by.

My favorite is the top one. You could almost imagine that the background is a wide expanse of gray sea and yellowish sky. It was the road, which is considerably less interesting, not to mention less romantic.

Here are a couple more photos from the same day, ones that I was able to take while standing up and not drawing undue attention to myself.

“…and I think to myself
what a wonderful world.”

Yes, indeedy!

I’ll probably delete this in the morning, or at the very least, wish I’d come up with more to say. Still, if I’ve left you singing a song, that’s not bad for a day’s work.

I tell a tale this morning
of a Sunday morning bird,
a Sunday morning sunrise
and a Sunday morning Word

The day starts with a glimmer
of sunlight o’er the trees,
The smell of morning coffee
The taste of morning tea

There’s a sweet anticipation
of hearts by worship stirred,
and our Sunday morning drive
past the Sunday morning bird

It waits there nonchalantly,
Wearing a gown of white
Prepared for Sunday morning
And a Sunday morning flight.

As we drive past the river
Toward our Sunday morning pew
I hear the weekly quip,
“Egrets, I’ve had a few.”

And onward our car takes us
To sing a song of ascent
At the Sunday morning feast
of Word and sacrament.

Amen.
Amen.
Amen.

This bit of Sunday morning whimsy is brought to you by Lynniebeemuseoday, who forgot to post on Friday. You’re welcome.

I’ll probably delete this..

Summer’s at an end
Fields are shorn; all is stubble
Tractors sit empty.

I’ll probably…you know.

These photos were taken at the much-vaunted “golden hour” of photography – when the sun is low and casts a warm glow over everything. How many times have I walked by these gems without noticing them, hidden in plain sight because of their ordinariness? We live in a culture that extols the extraordinary and reveres the radical. And all the while we live right in the midst of the most exquisite simplicities exuding a quiet radiance.

It’s true about people, too. What would we see in others if we could put a golden-hour filter over our eyes? Those quiet ones, hidden in plain sight, ordinary… Perhaps we would find beauty where we least expect it, but where it has always been. The image of God.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning when the sun is creeping over the horizon, casting a lovely glow o’er the world.

Election days come and go. Earthly rulers come and go. Here’s some truth that’ll stick to your ribs, though – read it out loud and let it resound in the place of your habitation. Sing it, if you dare. And smile. This is the right stuff.

Praise the LORD!
Praise the LORD, O my soul!
I will praise the LORD as long as I live;
I will sing praises to my God while I have my being.

Put not your trust in princes, in a son of man, in whom there is no salvation.
When his breath departs, he returns to the earth; on that very day his plans perish.
Blessed is he whose help is the God of Jacob, whose hope is in the LORD his God,
who made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that is in them, who keeps faith forever;
who executes justice for the oppressed, who gives food to the hungry.

The LORD sets the prisoners free;
the LORD opens the eyes of the blind.
The LORD lifts up those who are bowed down;
the LORD loves the righteous.
The LORD watches over the sojourners;
he upholds the widow and the fatherless, but the way of the wicked he brings to ruin.

The LORD will reign forever, your God, O Zion, to all generations.
Praise the LORD! –
Psalms 146

It’s best to keep things in perspective.

Can I get an “Amen?”

I’ll probably delete this in the morning.