I’ll probably delete this in the morning.
Having trouble with my arm (tendinitis – I’ve had it for 7 years), which makes typing painful, so I’m going to keep the chatter short this week and post on here some of my instagram posts from this year. I was experimenting with simple watercolor paintings or primitive sketches along with pithy commentary. I didn’t make up the “stay long, talk much, laugh often” part – but it came to me after I painted the cheery little house. Hospitality goals.
I’ll probably delete this in the morning.
We once listened to a Redwall audiobook narrated by Brian Jacques himself. It turns out he has a quaint Liverpudlian accent, which rendered the word “squirrel” more like “squittel.” Ah, those Brits – they make everything sound better. Back to the topic at hand. When I was a young lass, I had delusions of grandeur about becoming the neighborhood “Dickon,” able to tame critters and have them follow me around. My first attempt was with a baby squirrel. I patiently held food in my hand while the little guy got closer and closer, skittering back now and again in fear, but generally moving in the right direction. Closer, closer…I urged silently. Finally my patience was rewarded. He overcame his fear and began to eat food right out of my hand. Just as I was congratulating myself, he relapsed into fear mode and sank his teeth into my thumb. I yelped in pain and flung my hand out, effectively throwing him across the driveway. My delusions of grandeur had not allowed for the possibility of pain and setbacks (the word “delusions” is instructive here). I was done.
Instinctual fear is hard to overcome – don’t I know it. Although the Bible is sprinkled liberally with “Fear not,” I often relapse into fear mode. I attribute it to delusions of control.
I’ll probably delete this in the morning.
I feel a bond of fellowship with this cattail, which barely resembles what it was in the bloom of its youth. No longer sleek and thin, it has become rather bulgy and seems to have really let itself go. This sort of “going to seed” happens to us all, whether we like it or not. It’s called “aging,” and our culture spends a great deal of time, energy and money in an effort to thwart it, or at least disguise it. Somehow, what should be viewed as a triumph is seen as tragedy. What do you think is going on here, anyway? The whole point of this fluffy expansion is to disperse seed, and if that isn’t a jolly bit of business worthy of some disfigurement, I don’t know what is. So here I am – I’ve already cast my seed into the world (six of them!) and by golly, I’m going to welcome these fluffy years (sounds better than the empty nest, doesn’t it?). Bring it on.
I’ll probably delete this in the morning.
It was a spectacular fall. The dilapidated home across the street from us had been used for training exercises for fire fighters and when they were done, they burned the whole structure – razed it to the ground. The last thing standing was the brick chimney, tall and regal, doing its job until the very end. One was reminded of the sea captain, the last man to abandon ship when all hope is lost. Finally, even the chimney toppled with a satisfyingly loud crash, sending ash and smoke into the air all around it. Brick and mortar, sturdy and dependable…fallen. Whatever we build will eventually be undone; that is the way of things. Only souls last forever.
We went over the next day to survey the carnage and take photos. A place that was once someone’s home and that held countless memories had become just a pile of rubble. I thought of those words at the end of Shelley’s poem Ozymandias: “Round the decay of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare, the lone and level sands stretch far away.” When the mighty have fallen, the hubris is gone. Just a hint of sadness was in the air.
I’ll probably delete this in the morning.
Using the telephoto lens again, this time from the kitchen window. Most of the shots weren’t that great, but I really like this one. I was pretty enthusiastic about it until I started zooming in on it so I could see the chickadee’s face. Then I realized it didn’t have one. I’m not kidding! It’s just a ball of fluff, feathers and legs. I find it hard to believe that my new camera failed to notice such an important thing as a beak and two little beady eyes when it was doing its autofocus thing. Of all the features on a creature (including a human), the face is the part you want to see the most, isn’t it? Faces tell us that we are beholding a creaturely thing. I don’t want to live in a world where chickadees don’t have faces. Better to let the camera be a liar. Let God be true and every man a liar, as the Apostle Paul said. That chickadee’s face is true.
I’ll probably delete this in the morning.
We saw a documentary a couple weeks ago called ‘The Riot and the Dance,” a glorious celebration of beauty and chaos in this created world – starting in the narrator’s “back yard” in Idaho and eventually going all the way to Sri Lanka to see what wonders God has wrought. And I thought, “Hey, what about my back yard? We have wonders here, too, right?” Both my husband and I have found that when we go forth with cameras, we see more. It seems a little more challenging when the going forth is on a cold day and brown is still the reigning color. There is a lot more death (riot) than life (dance) in our world right now. Still, our eyes were opened and oh, what wonders we saw! 
Is this not charming? (I had to get my knees wet for this photo, by the way – all for the sake of art. As you can tell, I’m not one to suffer in silence.)
Or this. The graceful curl of the dried seed pod (milkweed?), the contrast in color between the underside and the coat – lovely! it doesn’t take much to amaze me, evidently. Go forth and see what He has made; be like the God Who Really Sees.
I’ll probably delete this in the morning.
Look ye upon this photo – really look at it. It’s not terribly appealing. If it were a hot summer day, this would also be covered with flies, and a nasty stench would be wafting up to greet the nostrils. There’s almost nothing beautiful about this, unless, like me, you find the collage of colors interesting. But I’ve told you the truth here. In this world, things die and decay, they smell bad. Can this ugly truth be beautiful? Can we look upon an innocent man beaten, bleeding and dying on a cross and see beauty? My friends, the answer is yes, if you know how to look beyond death and see resurrection. If you can look at this photo and see rich, dark soil being used to grow vegetables and flowers, you’ve learned the art of seeing the resurrection. “For though the outer man is decaying, yet the inner man is being renewed day by day.” Though the eggshells and red peppers are decaying, yet the soil is being renewed day by day. Don’t take my word for it – go start your own compost pile and see for yourself. Better yet, look upon the Man who wore the ugliness of death and then reversed it so that your ugly death could be reversed and the soil of your soul renewed to produce beautiful fruit. Until then, you’re just a pile of smelly compost that never changes.
I’ll probably delete this in the morning.
I realize that National Geographic will not be needing my photographic services any time soon, but I am so thrilled with this photo! This represents the true maiden voyage of the flagship Telephoto Lens. I’m not counting the photos I took of the tree on that first morning. This is actual Wildlife, doing Wild Things, like eating its Hapless Prey. I can almost hear Marlon Perkins narrating the dramatic action here as the robin ruthlessly tears into the tiny defenseless seed. It might have been even better had this robin been eating a worm, like a good robin should, but alas, I found a vegan robin and this will have to do. I’ve never looked this intently at a robin before, nor appreciated the craftsmanship of its design. Maybe this camera is giving me eyes to see. When I read “Great are the works of the LORD, studied by all who delight in them,” I have to admit I was thinking more on the lines of majestic mountains, stunning sunsets, that kind of thing. But it’s all here in this exquisite little robin. I’m definitely delighting.
I’ll probably delete this in the morning.
There’s no getting around it – when you sharpen a pencil, some of the good stuff has to go. It seems wasteful, but it’s part of the cost of getting a sharp point with which to draw and color (notice how I avoided leaving a dangling preposition there, and do likewise). It’s interesting how so many things have to be sharpened to be at their best: knives, arrows, scissors, people… Yes, I did that – I added people to the mix. As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another, said the Preacher. Being sharpened usually doesn’t feel good, but it equips us to be better tools for God’s service. Put me up against that whetstone; sharpen me like a pencil. The stuff that grinds off or peels away isn’t essential and I’m better off without it. Give me a nice, sharp point and set me loose.
I’ll probably delete this in the morning.
What I really appreciate about pistachios, aside from their charm, good looks and impeccable taste, is that you really have to work for all that goodness. By the time you’ve amassed a handful, there’s a certain amount of moral high ground you’ve reached in earning the luxury of eating them. Contrast this to what happens every year on Christmas Day when we go to my sister’s house for the extended family celebration. My sister and her husband are fabulous hosts, and one of the little extras they provide on that day are bowls full of pistachios without their protective armor. That’s right: bowls full. Every year on our way there, I tell myself firmly (very firmly) that I will not lose control with the pistachios, but each year the same, sad story plays out. It wouldn’t be so bad if I were able to forsake the Christmas cookies to make room for the pistachio gorging, but no. I hear a little voice in my head saying “YOLO” and off I go. Well, it’s only once a year…and YOLO.
When I buy them for our home, they come with protective gear and the seemingly impenetrable ones get left for last. By the time one of those bad boys gets cracked open, the last shreds of potential guilt have melted away and it’s smooth sailing right down the gullet. Amen.
I’ll probably delete this in the morning.
This seems unnecessarily complicated.
I’m switching to WordPress from Blogger to get access to the photos on my iPad (my blog there was called “Further Up and Further In,” a nod to C.S. Lewis). https://fari-blog.blogspot.com/
Now that it comes to it, I don’t have much to say about this photo, one of the first I took on my new Nikon D3400 camera with the nifty 70-300 lens that came with it.
I was in my bathrobe and slippers outside on a frosty cold morning when I took this, hoping to see birds in yonder tree, but had to be content with yonder tree against the dawn sky. The Psalmist said, “I will awaken the dawn.” Something tells me that I would have had to be awake before dawn to be able to use that quote accurately.
I’ll probably delete this blog entry later when I get this all figured out (this is somewhat akin to the Dread Pirate Roberts telling Westley everyday “I’ll probably kill you in the morning.”).
Lynniebeemuseoday 