At 6:00 a.m. the birds twitter The sun creeps o’er the earth And dark night once again Gives way to sunlight’s mirth
I stepped outside briefly this morning when I saw those first glimmers of sun spreading in the east. The birds were, indeed, a-twitterin’, the most cheerful sound you can hear on a cold spring morning.
Recovery from knee replacement surgery has been a long night, but I see glimmers of sun in the east.
Praise God from whom all blessings flow.
The dark night of this post will give way to sunlight’s mirth in the morning.
Our last writing assignment for the class was to write a poem inspired by the book The Magician’s Nephew. I chose to write one from the viewpoint of the jackdaw, featured in the glorious creation scene in the book. You might not “get” this poem if you haven’t read the book, but I hope you enjoy it anyway (and please do read all the Chronicles of Narnia). It felt incomplete without an illustration so I did a quick sketch for the occasion.
Darkness, then light Stillness, then flight The Singer makes, The world awakes. Sweetest singing Sends me winging I am Jackdaw Hear me caw!
His nose to my beak He is all that I seek All eyes now on him We leave our own kin.
His eyes steady burn Our hearts strangely warm Then breath like a fire Soars ever higher
“You trees, be walking! You beasts, be talking! All Narnia is yours, Seas, woods and stars. I give you yourselves; I give you myself.
“But on this bright morning I give you clear warning, The beasts who don’t speak You must love and well treat. Never walk in their ways Lest your talking shall cease, And your minds are undone; You’ll be once again Dumb.”
“Hail Aslan, our King,” We creatures all sing. “We hear and obey,” We gratefully say. “And when you say ‘don’t’ We will not, we won’t.”
Perky with cheer I sing out, “No fear!” At the top of my voice. (Unfortunate choice.) Embarrassment deep, I pretend I’m asleep. While the others soon after Erupt into laughter.
But joy upon joys Aslan blesses the noise. Humor’s divine, So jokes are just fine.
I made the first joke! I’m that kind of bloke! Oh the stories they’ll tell (I’ll be known quite well).
But wait, it gets better, Hold on to your feathers, For don’t you see? The first joke was me!
The first joke was me! I’m filled with glee, I fall off the horse But have wings, of course. I’m flying, I’m happy I’m funny, I’m flappy I am Aslan’s Jackdaw Just hear me caw!
I’ll probably wait for the caw of the jackdaw to delete this…in the morning.
We went forth early this morning in a dark, dense and mysterious fog. After a night of interrupted sleep coupled with obsessive dreams about the caramel pecan rolls I was bringing to Bible Breakfast, the fog felt just right. We kept our eyes peeled for deer that might decide that this was the perfect morning to jump in front of a car, and when I felt fears creeping in, I prayed, “Lord protect us from deer jumping in front of our car.” I don’t think the Lord needs flowery prayers at a time like that, do you? On the way home, it was still so foggy, we drove right past our house.
Every once in a while I go through my “Books to Read” list on Goodreads and order a slew of them from the library. I’m not sure why I don’t take a more tempered approach, like perhaps one or two at a time. This is apparently not my way. I have a stack of five in front of me that just came and I’m wondering if this is too many. I’m also in the middle of six or seven books at home. Wait, I just counted them – it’s eight. I got a phone call this morning from the library and there’s one more waiting for me there. Could this be some form of insanity? Inquiring minds want to know.
This morning I put Jeeves to work sweeping and mopping the dining room. I was listening to some orchestral music by Sir Edward Elgar and watching Jeeves go back and forth in front of me. Suddenly I realized I was watching a ballet with Jeeves gliding along the smooth hardwood floor putting in an occasional pirouette as he switched directions in time with the music. This just goes to prove that an imagination can make anything epic.
One last thought. We were telling our son recently about how we got rid of two large metal desks by putting them out on the curb on a nice sunny day with a “FREE” sign. We didn’t actually see who picked them up, but they were gone within a day. Our son suggested that maybe no one had picked them up. “Perhaps,” he said, “they took off for some wooded area nearby and have gone feral.” Doesn’t that idea just cry out for a whimsical poem? I’m giving it some thought.
Whimsically, Me
This post will be obscured by a dark, dense and mysterious fog in the morning.
Continuing on with my project of imitating some of the masters in painting, I tackled a painting called “General Washington on a White Charger.” The copy I have doesn’t attribute it to a particular painter, just “American School,” which is unhelpful.
I had to do some research on this, but the internet was very coy and not forthcoming on the topic. Nobody seemed willing to commit on what the American School was or who its painters were. I finally found one site that definitively attributed the painting to Nathaniel Currier, he of Currier and Ives fame. He lived from 1813 to 1888 and supposedly did this oil painting in 1845. His training was as a lithographer. Other tidbits: he served as a volunteer fireman in New York City, was a Unitarian, and a personal friend of P.T. Barnum (yes, the circus guy).
This was a really difficult painting! The original was oil, very detailed, and quite a bit larger in real life. My watercolor rendition is a lot messier. It looks better the farther away you are from it, but in case you want to get a better idea of the things I fudged on:
My purpose for copying paintings, however, was to learn as I go. I learned from this one that a lot of exquisite detail in a small space takes more talent than I’ve got. Having said that, I ended up being happy with the horse’s legs, his eye, and Washington’s pant leg. My Washington has a wry half-smile, as opposed to the more serious look in the original, but mine is rather more like an emoji face than I think is appropriate.
I’m going to give myself a little break and work on this painting by Joan Miro next week:
Maybe it will be a lot harder than I think.
Time to take off on the blog charger in the morning.
I don’t think we have a speck of Irish in our ancestry, but that does not keep us from observing the day with some corned beef and cabbage. If good Saint Patrick knew what the day commemorating his death turned out to be, he’d want to start banishing snakes again.
And now, for some quotes to feed your souls:
God alone spreads out the heavens, and treads on the waves of the sea. Job 9:8
I’ve been reading through Job again; it’s a very poetic book filled with little jewels like that one.
In the absence of any other truth, the thumb alone would convince me of God’s existence. Sir Isaac Newton
And Newton was no slouch when it came to scientific thought. Consider the design and utility of your thumb and praise the One who made it.
Imagination bodies forth the forms of things unknown, the poet’s pen turns them into shapes and gives to airy nothing a local habitation and a name. William Shakespeare
Just look at what Tolkien did in creating the world of Middle Earth and its inhabitants and languages. From airy nothing, he gave us hobbits, the Mines of Moria, Gandalf and Frodo.
A house with daffodils in it is a house lit up, whether or not the sun be shining outside. A.A. Milne
There were small bunches of daffodils on sale at the grocery store this morning. I looked at them and thought about getting some but did not. Today would have been a good day to have a house lit up by daffodils. So ours got lit up by carrots instead:
Faith and begorrah, I might have to delete this in the morn!
This another writing assignment for the class I’m taking on The Habit (Writing with Digory). The assignment was to portray characters that are seeing something they don’t have a context for and are therefore confused.
I actually wrote this story for the grands a few months ago, but shortened it for the purposes of the assignment. The main character, Frilly, is a beanie baby that is a favorite of our granddaughter’s, so she often asks me to tell her “Frilly Stories.” Now you know!
Mr. and Mrs. StrongHorse took their filly, Frilly, to the fair, along with Frilly’s baboon friend, Cheeks. They spent a pleasant morning riding the carousel, watching Mr. StrongHorse run races, getting groomed, and eating fair food.
After lunch they strolled around the fairgrounds for a little while, enjoying the sights together. As they passed one building, they heard terrible cries and screams coming from inside. Frilly and Cheeks were frightened, but Mr. StrongHorse said, “Oh, that’s just the Hall of Tantrums – there’s nothing to fear there. Would you like to go inside? We’ll stay with you, and you’ll see some things that are very interesting.” Frilly and Cheeks were as curious as you should be.
The building inside was a hallway of videos on the wall. The sounds of screaming, wailing, crying and whining were coming from all around them, but as they stopped in front of each video, the other videos silenced automatically. The first one showed a little girl sobbing hysterically, her little face red and her eyes shut tight. “NOOOOOOO!” She was screaming. “I WANTED THE YELLOW CUP, NOT THE BLUE ONE!” And she said this over and over.
“Is she hurt?” Cheeks asked with some concern.
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” chuckled Mr. StrongHorse. “No, she’s upset because someone gave her some water in a cup that she didn’t want.”
Frilly and Cheeks watched in fascination. “So, she’s not hurt at all,” said Frilly, just to make sure.
“Oh, no, she’s perfectly fine!” explained Mrs. StrongHorse.
“But what difference does it make what color the cup is?” Cheeks couldn’t help asking.
“None at all! That’s what makes it sad and a little funny at the same time,” said Mr. StrongHorse.
“Let’s keep going,” said Frilly, quite interested now to see what was on the other videos.
The next one showed a little boy who had been using a crayon when it broke. His mother offered him a different one, but he threw it across the room in a fit, wailing “IT’S ALL RUINED! I CAN’T DO IT NOW!” and with that, he swept his hands across the table throwing everything on the floor. “RUINED!” And this scene played over and over as well.
Frilly and Cheeks spent a little too much time watching that one – each time the crayon broke and the boy threw a fit, they couldn’t help giggling. They started chanting “RUINED! RUINED!” until Mr. and Mrs. StrongHorse shushed them.
As they approached the next one, they heard the most awful noise – it made them want to cover their ears! Two little ponies had been told it was time to go to bed. They stomped their hoofs and shook their heads, all the while neighing and whining “IDONWANNA IDONWANNA IDONWANNA! IDONWANNA!” The noise was so annoying that the four of them moved quickly onward. Cheeks kept elbowing Frilly and whispering, “Those ponies looked a lot like you – ha ha!”
The next video was the last one in the hallway. Two young monkeys were each given a banana. The first monkey cried, “I WANTED THAT ONE! WHY DID SHE GET IT? HERS LOOKS BETTER THAN MINE! I WANT IT! I WANT IT!” And with that, he threw his perfectly good banana on the ground and stomped on it. Frilly and Cheeks were particularly interested in the way the banana squirted out of the skin when he stomped on it. Cheeks said, “Let’s watch it again- I can’t see any difference between the bananas, can you?” But there was no difference. Frilly couldn’t resist nudging Cheeks, saying, “That monkey looks a lot like you!”
They left the Hall of Tantrums and it was time to go home. Mr. and Mrs. StrongHorse trotted ahead of the two young ones, but could still hear them laughing and shouting, “RUINED!”
The alarm went off at the wrong time this morning. Technically, it’s been going off at the wrong time ever since last Sunday, the Day that We Wrenched an Hour out of our Lives.
Went to 7:00 a.m. Bible study this morning and discussed various things having to do with a few verses in John 12. We traipsed merrily around the Bible to look at related passages. My brain felt impaired, but fortunately I kept my mouth shut and didn’t advertise the fact. The sky was dark when we left home, but the sun had risen by the time we left the church.
At home we’re reading in Job and Romans now. Meaty stuff. I got to a chapter in Job where he starts rolling out the sarcasm toward his “friends,” always an entertaining part.
Spent almost four hours writing a poem inspired by the book “The Magician’s Nephew” by C.S. Lewis. The poem was a writing assignment. I filled a page of scratch paper with rhyming words, 90% of which I did not use.
Forced myself to get out of the chair (the Sticky Chair, as I often think of it) to get my body moving. Physical therapy, stationary biking, getting more steps in, working in the kitchen.
I’m staring at the clock now and it’s staring back at me accusingly. Somehow I got lured into the Sticky Chair again. The kitchen is calling me and if I don’t respond, things will go all askew in our schedule.
For those of you just catching up, I’ve decided to spend a season imitating some of the masters of painting as a way to practice sketching and painting. I had a dream that I’d started with Albrecht Durer’s painting “Young Hare,” which made it a good place to start.
Albrecht Durer was born in Nuremberg, Germany in 1471 and died in 1528 at the age of 56. He gained an early reputation for his high quality woodcuts, and learned goldsmithing and drawing from his father. “Young Hare” was painted in watercolor and gouache in 1502. Another well-known painting by Durer is “Praying Hands.” In his later years, Durer was sympathetic to the teachings of Martin Luther. He wrote, “And God help me that I may go to Dr. Martin Luther; thus I intend to make a portrait of him with great care and engrave him on a copper plate to create a lasting memorial of the Christian man who helped me overcome so many difficulties.”
I shared last week my initial sketch and unfinished painting. This is how it turned out.
And here’s just my version:
I was particularly happy with the signature, which I also dreamed about. No one is going to mistake mine for the original (for one thing, my hare looks like it’s been on meager rations compared to Durer’s fat little buffer), but I was quite pleased with the way it turned out anyway.
Next week, I’ll be tackling this painting of George Washington by the American School:
Gulp. What was I thinking? This might be a short-lived experiment.
I’ll probably get rid of this hare-brained post in the morning.
Day three of adjusting to daylight savings time. I enjoy having the days be lighter later, but I have to work through the five stages of grieving over that missing hour.
On the plus side, I’ve had a tremendous break-through in trying to figure out how to print out a book using the “book fold” option in Microsoft Word. Since I am often an alien and stranger when it comes to journeys through the tech world, this is no small feat.
Let’s get to it, friends – the quotes for the week!
The truth has no defense against a fool determined to believe a lie. Mark Twain
For proof, just take a stroll through social media. There’s nothing new under the sun – this has been going on since Satan made a fool out of Eve. God’s grace is the only cure.
A seed hidden in the heart of an apple is an orchard invisible. Welsh Proverb
And if I may paraphrase, an embryo hidden in the heart of the womb is a person invisible.
Faith is the radar that sees through the fog. Corrie Ten Boom
There’s a lot of fog in this world. Praise God for giving us faith to see through it.
All knees shall bow to thee All wits shall rise And praise Him who did make and mend our eyes. George Herbert
Ah, I love that so much. He made our eyes and in Christ, He mends them.
It must be a great disappointment to God if we are not dazzled at least ten times a day. Mary Oliver
Don’t disappoint God today.
If you’re not dazzled by this post, out it goes in the morning.
Sometimes you get to the end of the jigsaw puzzle you’re working on, and find out that there’s a piece missing. While this isn’t nearly as catastrophic as reading a book and finding out that a page is missing, it’s still somewhat anticlimactic. The whole puzzle experience has been moving toward putting in that last piece, the moment of triumph!
I had borrowed this from friend Lori who had notated on the box cover where the missing piece was, so it wasn’t a cruel surprise. In case you can’t see it, the missing piece is in the red hat in the cat in the middle at the top.
Here’s what I discovered some years ago: you (yes, you!) can make your own puzzle piece to replace the lost one. Here’s what I do.
I put paper under the puzzle and pencil in the edges of the piece on it.
Then I glue the paper onto some cardboard that’s more or less the same size depth as the puzzle pieces:
When the glue is dry, I cut the piece out. This is actually not very easy – wish I could find a better way to do it. Then I make sure it fits:
Yay, it fits! After this I do my best to match the colors of the missing piece. I usually use colored pencils, but this time I wish I had used markers – it might have turned out better.
So, it’s not perfect, but it’s better than nothing, right?
This has been “Unusual Crafting with Lynniebee.”
The missing piece of this post will get fixed in the morning. Or not.
Our writing assignment last week was to take a familiar story and write it from a different perspective. I struggled the whole week to come up with something, but eventually settled on the following. See Luke 8:40-56 for the inerrant version.
What was it like to be healthy, to be whole, to be accepted into society, to be clean? Mahlah could not remember anymore, it had been so long. The flow of blood that started twelve years ago had changed everything. She’d spent all that she had on physicians. They took her money and gave her medicines, but nothing changed. Friends and family gradually began to stay away, as if being with her would transfer her condition to them. Mahlah did not understand why the good God had appointed her to bear this affliction, but she knew He was a faithful God. She cried out to Him day and night to come and heal her, to lift this curse from her. At times, it was hard not to sink into despair, but the psalms were her comfort and hope. “Wait on the LORD; be of good courage, and He shall strengthen your heart; Wait, I say, on the LORD!” So she waited in hope.
The year Mahlah’s affliction began, Jairus and his wife had a child after many long years of waiting. Mahlah rejoiced with the rest of their village as the new parents showed off their tiny daughter, the only child that was given to them as it turned out. Mahlah felt that in some strange way their lives were bound together, as from a distance she watched the girl, Tabitha, growing up. “Tabitha is four years old now and I have been four years in this wilderness,” she would say to herself. Seeing the girl full of health and vitality was somehow a balm to her own soul. And in this way twelve years had gone by.
A multitude had gathered this day because Jesus had returned. Mahlah had heard of Jesus – who had not? There were stories of him performing miracles of healing. Many speculated that Jesus was the long-awaited Messiah, the promised One! Others were saying he was from the devil, but Mahlah had thought, “Why would the devil bring healing?” Normally Mahlah would stay on the fringes of any crowd, fearful of being recognized as unclean and sent away. But today her heart was lifted up in hope; she believed this man Jesus could heal her and she was determined to ask him.
Before she could make her way to him, a voice rang out, a voice of desperation. Even from where she was, Mahlah saw Jairus sink at Jesus’s feet. The crowd fell silent as Jairus begged Jesus to come to his house where his daughter was dying. Tabitha, dying! It cannot be! Mahlah was stunned by this news and watched as Jesus began to make his way to the house of Jairus. Mahlah could hardly see him now as the crowd hemmed him in on every side. “I will not stop him from going to Tabitha,” thought Mahlah, “It is enough if I can touch the hem of his garment as he goes by.” She pushed her way through to his side and while she still had the courage, she touched his robe at the very edge. Immediately she knew her flow of blood stopped; she had been made whole. With joy, she turned to push her way out of the crowd.
“Who touched me?” Jesus asked. Mahlah wanted to hide. “Somebody touched me, for I perceived power going out from me,” he continued and as he scanned the crowd, he caught her eye. For a moment, it was as if they were the only two people there. He knew it was her and she could see that there was no hiding from him, as if anyone could. She trembled and fell down before him, telling him why she had touched him and how she had been healed.
“Daughter, be of good cheer; your faith has made you well. Go in peace,” Jesus said. Just as Mahlah was marveling at this tremendous blessing, this gift of love, someone came to Jairus to tell him not to trouble the Teacher any longer, for his daughter was dead. Mahlah felt all her joy bleed back into sorrow as she thought of the delay she had caused Jesus. At that moment she would have gladly traded her healing to give Tabitha back her life. She looked back up into Jesus’s eyes, but his focus now was on Jairus.
“Do not be afraid,” he told Jairus, “only believe, and she will be made well.” With that Jesus resumed his walk toward Jairus’s house, the crowd still following. But Mahlah had heard everything she needed to hear. She did not need to follow the crowd to know that she would see Tabitha again, alive, whole and happy. Mahlah’s twelve years of affliction had ended, and Tabitha’s twelve years of life would be made new.
I’ll probably procrastinate and struggle to delete this in the morning.
Lynniebeemuseoday 