A Perspective on Art

When I sit on the couch in my living room I can gaze out triple windows into the backyard and watch the birds flitting between the tree and the several feeders, one on the window itself.
Or, I can gaze at the fairly large oil (acrylic) painting on the wall, to the left of those windows. Either view gives me great pleasure.

The painting, done in bold shades of purple and magenta and blues, is signed across nearly the bottom fourth of the picture with rather large letters - “ETHAN”.

Gazing at the painting gives me double pleasure because it was not only done by Ethan himself, but he was assisted and guided by his Aunt Deb, an artist in her own right. It was our Christmas gift and will forever be greatly treasured.

We frequently have guests in our home and no one, NO ONE, has ever commented on the skill, the choice of colors, the rendering of the subject matter (it is, in fact, rather abstract) or anything else about the painting, not even the large signature. I suppose this would leave me to believe that this painting may never win any awards. In fact, it reinforces the age old idea that “beauty is in the eye of the beholder”. To me, the painting is beautiful.


But so is the quilt that hangs on the opposite wall. It depicts in fabric our goldfish pond with the fish swimming in the water. It was also a gift, this one from our daughter Deb.

But I also like to frequently look at the collage of photographs artfully enhanced by several hours in PhotoShop by my husband Bill. And I thoroughly enjoy our coffee table which is made from recycled barn wood. And…

Our home, after 45 years of marriage, is filled with “art” from friends, family, and purchased from artists across the country on our travels. I supposed the whole collection might not even be “worth” $1000.00, but to me it is priceless.

Recently Bill and I drove about 20 miles to have coffee at the Sweet Spot, and so we could see the Visionary Artists Group Spring Exhibit and our friend Barb’s work.

As soon as we had placed our order for lattes we headed to the adjoining room where there is a fireplace with a mantle. On the mantle sits a pitcher with an arrangement of sunflowers and decorative twigs and pods.

Above the mantle is an arrangement of 5 paintings. One is quite large, one is rather small, three are medium sized. Each is a rendering of the flower arrangement on the mantle. They are in different media, from oil or acrylic to watercolor and one that looks like a line drawing with just a hint of color. Each rendering is unique. In one the pitcher is quite blue, in another it is stark white. In several the sunflowers are bursting with color but no two color choices are exactly the same.

Bill and I gazed at the 5 renderings and each thought about which one we liked best. If we had been bold enough we could have polled everyone in the coffee shop that day and probably gotten a different answer from each person on which rendering they liked best and why.

After sipping our lattes for a few minutes we moved to another wall and gazed at another grouping of 5 paintings, this time of a couple sitting in the window of the Sweet Spot, cups on the table in front of them, a newspaper spread out between them. Once again the renderings were each different. Their sizes were different, the colors were different, and, most interesting to me, was how the depiction of the light pole outside the window varied from painting to painting. In one it was absent entirely. In another it was quite prominent, not overpowering, but definitely there. In another it was almost lost in a mist outside the window.

We then looked at another grouping each called “Sweet Spot at Night”. Here the contrast in styles and moods was most apparent. In one picture, the building was shrouded in dark with sewn on buttons, perhaps to represent spots of light. In another the building was lit up from within and in a different rendering the exterior was bathed in light as at sunset.

We carried our lattes around the room and studied other works of these five artists along with several other conributors. No doubt an expert could have looked at the various works of art and identified the artist without even looking at the cards on the wall.

I am sure everyone entering that room fairly quickly decides what they like and what does not appeal to them. Some bold people might even declare which paintings are “good” and which are “bad” and then tell the rest of us why.

I know what I like and that is what I attempt to surround myself with. I really don’t care if the art in question meets an expert’s requirements. I enjoy art (and crafts) because of the way each item resonates with some inner part of me.

Over the years my appreciation of various styles has grown, has changed, has (I like to think) matured. One thing has strongly impacted my “values” for art and that is getting to know the artist and the “story” behind their art. A painting, a quilt, a garden, a culinary dish takes on a whole new perspective when you understand the artist and some of what shaped the creative process. I have grown in my appreciation of art and as a result my life has become richer.

As I looked at Barb’s painting and then the other paintings grouped with hers, each so different from the others, it struck me that this is a small picture (no pun intended) of how we view God. Each of us see Him slightly differently from the person standing right next to us. Different aspects of God appeal to us more than others because of where we might be at in life. And our perspective changes over time. Hopefully we see Him more clearly as we mature, as we grow in our understanding of not only Him, but of ourselves and as we experience the creative process within us.

And none of us, NONE of us, can say “your perspective is wrong, you need to see this my way”. Perhaps, perhaps, we can say, “Here is another perspective and this is why it is important to me”. If we do that, we also must listen to the other person’s viewpoint and, more importantly, why. I have no doubt that when we do that we grow When we share with otherswho God is to us, with one another, we have the opportunity to all enlarge our perspective, our understanding of who He is and who we are. And our life becomes richer.

Now, if only that flower on the left was a little more…..

Can We be Raccoons?

“Grandma, can we be raccoons?” Ethan asked, as we headed down the stairs to the finished part of the basement. That’s where we store the toys and other treasures that five-year-old boys seem to enjoy.

“Sure.” I answered, knowing what this would involve, or at least what it had involved during many other visits.

Ethan flipped off the light switch at the bottom or the stairs informing me that we needed to save the environment by turning off all lights that we were not using. “Ah,” I thought to myself, “I know what he has been learning in school this past week.” The basement was plunged into a gloomy darkness, perfect for our game of Raccoons.

We half stooped and ran around the basement gathering up “food” for our “nest” in our “cave” and soon the futon was covered with his artificial fruit, blocks of wood that had turned into other kinds of food, and all sorts of other toys that were now imaginary food for raccoons. Fortunately raccoons have quite a varied diet.

We also spent part of our time “killing” things to add to our diet. I was told that we had become evil raccoons and so we killed things for our food.

I debated then about squashing this boy’s vivid imagination and wondered how his mother would feel about this more aggressive behavior. Well, I was pretty sure I knew how she would feel. We raised two girls so I am not always certain how to respond to this grandson’s more obviously boy behavior. My own opinion is that boys need to release some of that aggression while being taught the correct ways to channel it into productive activity, but I wasn’t quite sure how Becki (and John) felt.

Eventually the grandmother raccoon was tired from all that food hunting and she was allowed to rest in one of the raccoon chairs. We have a very nicely furnished cave! The other raccoon continued to run around the cave and down the hallway into the grandfather raccoon’s room doing raccoony things.

All of a sudden the small raccoon collapsed onto the floor near the foot of the chair where (I) the older raccoon was still resting.

“What’s wrong, Ethan?” I asked, with a bit of concern.

“I am dead.” he announced.

“You be dead, too, Grandma.” So I eased my raccoony body (I don’t just collapse anymore) onto the floor and we lay there “dead”. I wondered in my grandmother raccoon head what was going on now. We had never died before.

Before I could even inquire Ethan sprung up from the floor, did some raccoony stretching and announced, with great joy, “we are alive again, we have been resurrected!”

I sprang up also (well, o.k. I eased myself up off the floor) and we ran around the basement joyously.

“Now we are good raccoons!” Ethan announced. “We don’t kill things anymore!”

“How come?”, I asked.

“Because, we are resurrected!” Ethan looked at me as though I should have known that. “When we are resurrected we can only be good raccoons.”

We continued to hunt for food. Actually we put all the “food” away so we could hunt for it all over again, but this time we only collected fruits and vegetables, and only ones that are good for us, because we were resurrected raccoons.

This all took place the week before Easter and reflected what Ethan had been learning in Sunday School (where Becki is one of his teachers) and from conversations at home.

Later, as I was telling the Grandfather raccoon about our play in “the cave” I could hardly keep the tears from flowing. A prayer went up from my heart that Ethan will continue to find great joy and excitement about the resurrection and a growing understanding of what that means for us.

He may not have all the concepts quite right, but we are now “good” because of Christ’s resurrection – his victory over death, the price for our sins. Like this little “raccoon” we should all be running around with great joy and jubilation hunting for the treasures hidden in life around us by our resurrected king.

Let Me Tell You About my Garden!

“I like the way you have it decorated for Easter”, Ethan commented as he dashed from room to room examining the several bunnies, chicks and, best of all, real eggs I had put around to help us celebrate the most joyous of holidays coming up in one week.

Ethan and his mom, Becki, had been able to free up 3 days from their busy spring break week. And they would spend them with us.

Ethan likes all the “real” things that Grandma usually decorates with and he always races from room to room when he first arrives to see what is on display. He likes to look at the real birds’ nests and the real eggs that I have found over the years and tucked into them, while not necessarily the nest they came out of. He likes the shells, pine cones and other seed pods and so on.

We have a container of toys, a basket of books and a modest collection of puzzles, play dough, etc. but this 5 year-old would rather play with “real” stuff most of the time.

He gets very excited in the summer when we can go to the local farmers’ market and he gets to play with the real fruits and veggies that are in season. To substitute for when the season isn’t right, I have found, over several years, a number of pretty realistic artificial fruits and veggies, but nothing is as good as “real”.

On this week before Easter, after looking through the box of shells, Ethan rejected that idea and asked if we could get down some of Grandma’s rather extensive collection of artificial flowers. “Sure”, I said, a bit puzzled, and we headed to the shelves where most of my seasonal flowers are stored. Soon we were heading up to the living room with armloads of blossoms. In fact, it took us about four trips to get them all upstairs.

“We are going to make a potpourri garden”, Ethan announced to Mom and Grandpa and, with permission, began to stick the various stems into the crevice between the couch cushions and the back, as well as into all the chairs in the room and into several baskets. He spent a happy hour carefully arranging the stems of flowers by size, color, and fullness -- all the while extolling their value as an eventual part of a variety of potpourri mixes.

Soon there was no place to safely sit in the living room and we had to move the dining table chairs into position so visitors to the garden could sit and gaze at the breathtaking beauty before us. Every adult who entered the room was subjected to an informative lecture on the variety of blooms before them and which potpourri they would be good for.

At one point an AT&T man arrived to check some wiring and he got the full lecture. Well, as much as he was willing to stand still for.

When bedtime came on Sunday evening Grandma got to read The Potpourri Garden to Ethan as his bedtime story. Now the obsession with flowers became clear. As always, I was amazed at how much of the information in the book Ethan had retained and could recite back to anyone who would listen.

The next day we drove about 45 min from our house to spend the day with Aunt Deb. Our route takes us past an outlet mall and Becki wanted to stop and pick up a few new garments for Ethan. While he was once delighted to go shopping with his mom, he is quickly becoming a typical boy about looking at clothes. He wanted to know if Carter’s sold silk flowers because we needed a few more for our garden.

When he was told that Carter’s probably didn’t sell flowers of any kind, he didn’t want to even stop at the mall, but he was somewhat appeased when I told him I thought we might find silk flowers at one or two of the other stores.

Unfortunately the store I thought would be the best possibility has closed and is no more. And the other store we tried had nothing that would be suitable for our garden. Needless to say the five-year-old gardener was very disappointed.

Then I thought of Michaels.

Grandpa agreed that we could stop at the Michaels near our house on the way home and, when Becki was done her shopping, we headed south. Ethan had been a bit impatient getting to Aunt Deb’s, now he could hardly wait for every mile to pass. I began to worry about What if….

We parked close to the entrance and kept the eager gardener in check while we crossed the drive lane. I suspect most Michaels are laid out the same way - the bulk of the artificial flowers are just inside the front door.

We walked in the door and Ethan exclaimed, loud enough for everyone in the store to hear, “Mom, look at all the flowers!” He grabbed my hand and steered me over to them, his face effused with joy.

Becki gave him some money to spend and then went off to do her own shopping in a quieter corner of the store.

Ethan gets an allowance and is beginning to understand the concepts of price and expenditure. We spent several minutes pulling stems from containers, examining the price tag and then adding that amount to what he already clutched. It soon became evident that he would only be able to purchase a few stems with the money he had stuffed into his pocket. Grandma began the internal debate about how much she should add to his fund.

Then I spied the seasonal aisle and suggested that those flowers might be on sale. Sure enough! Most things were half price or ever better. Soon Ethan was clutching a giant bouquet of daffodils, iris and small bunches of four other flowers. He was filled with joy.

Now we were racing through the store, flowers bobbing in hand, to find Mom and show her what we had found for his money.

Like most exuberant 5-year-olds, Ethan cannot contain his joy. As soon as he saw Becki he yelled, “Mom, look what we found.” I watched as heads turned and people either smiled, or frowned.

On our way back to the check-out several people commented on “that little boy holding all the flowers.” Whenever they were close by Ethan would joyously explain to them that we needed these for our potpourri garden. Either Becki or I would follow up by explaining that our living room was a riot of flowers. I suspect only a few folks had any idea what we were talking about.

At the check-out he carefully counted out the money Becki had given him and the clerk dutifully exclaimed over his choices. She also got the full explanation of what the flowers were for. The woman behind Becki in line seemed rather enchanted with this excited little boy who would rather play with flowers than… As we exited the store together she asked if her kids could come over and play with Ethan, maybe something would rub off. “Sure”, I said.

On Tuesday I joined the ladies of one of my discussion groups and could hardly wait to tell them about Ethan and the potpourri garden. I guess I was almost as excited as he was.

Bill took a bunch of pictures which we emailed to family and I posted on my Facebook page.

I shared the story with a group at church. Ethan told Daddy all about it over the phone and not only told Aunt Deb about his garden, but gave her advice on replanting her garden (at her invitation). Her comment was that she was now going to have to rip up her whole garden and start over.

If I could pick only one word to describe our three days together, I would choose “Excitement”.

Excitement: enthusiasm, joy, exuberance that could not be contained. It had to be shared with whoever would listen. Some people listened patiently, some joined in the excitement, even when they didn’t fully understand what it was all about, some turned away because, perhaps, they believe that children should be seen, but not heard.

I have to admit that I added my own joy to Ethan’s. It is wonderful to have a grandchild who shares one’s passions. And I did my own share of exuberant telling, with similar reactions to those Ethan got.

One of the things that Ethan has yet to learn, and perhaps I am still learning, is how to judge who wants to hear what he has to say, and who would be better just left alone.

It is often like that when we are sharing our faith. Sometimes we are so filled with joy at what we are discovering about God that we just can’t contain it. Our excited sharing seems to spill out to everyone we encounter. And we get the same reactions that Ethan got; some people listen patiently, some join in the excitement, even when they didn’t fully understand what it is all about, while some turn away wishing you would just be quiet.

I hope as Ethan matures that he NEVER loses his ability to express his joy. I know he will need to learn to judge whom to share with and how to share that enthusiasm, but may he never be so rebuffed that he stops sharing with anyone.

And I pray that we will never lose our joy in our discovery of who Christ is and who we are in relation to Him. May we always find someone with whom we can let that joy spill over, even when they might not fully understand, they will just accept us, even feel some of our joy themselves.

Let’s Pretend

Roar !

Growl !

Woof woof !

Howl !

Scream !

I was glad that our house is as well insulated as it is. Not just to keep the cold out and keep the heat in, but also to help with the soundproofing. Otherwise a neighbor might be tempted to call 911 about the terrifying noises next door.

Roar !!

Scream !!

Uproarious laughter!!

We were playing one of Ethan’s favorite games, “Let’s pretend…” “Let’s pretend we are raccoons, Grandma…” “Let’s pretend we are sharks, Grandma…”

On the way to our house he asked if we could pretend that we were all adults and talk like we were adults. Bill and I barely suppressed our laughter as we agreed to this request.

Now we were down in the basement pretending that we were dogs (specifically Teddy and Mia, imagined after Aunt Deb’s dogs) and the dogcatcher was chasing us.

For awhile we were running all over the basement while the dog catcher (Grandma) was trying to catch Teddy (Ethan) in a net (a sheet). When she was able to catch Teddy she was supposed to throw him into a cage (a swivel rocker) and lock him in place (with the sheet tucked over and around him). The problem was that Teddy kept escaping and the dogcatcher could only keep up that pace for a short time.

When Teddy realized that the dog catcher had run out of energy (although he still abounded with the stuff – why can we bottle and sell it???) she was allowed to stand in one place in a matador stance while Teddy charged and ran past the outstretched sheet.

We were having an uproarious (literally) time and were only willing to slow down when the dog catcher suggested we go upstairs for a snack of fruit to refuel our energy.

Later in the weekend we were playing some other pretend game which also involved Grandpa and making noises. At one point Grandpa turned to me and whispered, “I didn’t even know I could make those noises.” Bill was too busy trying to go to school and teach at the same time when the girls were Ethan’s age so he missed most of this fun earlier. He is making up for lost time now with his grandson.

Child psychologists would tell us that “Let’s Pretend” is a child’s way of practicing; trying out what is like to behave as an adult. Perhaps it is practice, but they sure have fun doing it and they love it when we play the game with them.

I suppose that these same psychologists would say that this also allows the child to be in charge of the adults. And that is certainly true. Ethan loves it best when he is in charge, when he is telling us how the game is to be played, even if those rules change frequently throughout the game.

The game is only really fun if we participate. Children can certainly pretend on their own. They can easily pretend with other children. I remember the hours my sister and I played “dress-ups” when we were kids. But kids seem to thoroughly relish when adults pretend with them, when adults enter their pretend world.

This weekend Ethan was having fun because Grandma and Grandpa, and later in the weekend, Aunt Deb, were coming down to his level. We were entering his world and playing in his game.

In some ways, for us adults, playing “Let’s Pretend” was exhausting. It also meant, for a brief time, we were setting aside our adultness and becoming like Ethan. It meant shedding some of our inhibitions and making strange noises, running around the basement, waving our arms and sometimes collapsing on the floor (or when we could get away with it, the futon) not like an adult, but like a child.

Is this perhaps, a bit what it was like for Christ, as a part of the trinity of God Himself, to become one of us? To set aside his godness and become human? How limiting must it have been to “run” around as a human, to limit his language to ours, to diminish all of his creative energy to move solely in the realm of the created ones?

Unlike my time with Ethan, Jesus becoming man was not a game, it was deadly serious. But like my time with Ethan, he chose to do it. He did not have to become a man. God surly could have found another way to redeem us. When Jesus chose to become a human, he limited himself to our level, that he might enter our experience, that he might relate to us on our level, in order that we might move toward his level.

Ethan will not fully appreciate “the sacrifice” adults make to become a child like him until he is an adult and his own joints are growing stiff and his own sense of what is appropriate, mature adult behavior has developed. Hopefully he will remember and hopefully it will encourage him to do the same with his kids and grandkids.

I know I don’t begin to appreciate what Christ has done for us, but after this weekend I have a little better idea of what it means to limit oneself. I am struck anew with the wonder that God Himself became human for me.

What Are You Thankful For?

“Ethan, what are you thankful for this day?” The question was met with complete silence.

We were seated around the dinner table and, following the routine set a couple of years ago, we were going around the table and saying what we were thankful for that day, before we began eating.

It was the day after Christmas and Ethan had received his share of wonderful and thoughtful gifts, several of which met the requests stated in his letter to Santa. He had just been with his father’s family, where he is loved and gets lots of attention. Now he was with his mother’s family, where he is loved and gets lots of attention. In front of each of us sat plates filled with some of our favorite foods of the season; second helpings waited on the buffet.

“Can’t you think of anything to be thankful for?” Again, complete silence, this time accompanied by a stubborn look that told the rest of us, he was NOT going to respond. I don’t know where he gets that streak of stubbornness. Certainly NO ONE in OUR family has that tendency!

His grandmother (me) found the incident just a bit amusing. His grandfather’s look said ‘let’s just move on.’ His father was a bit disconcerted that his son could think of nothing to be thankful for in the midst of such plenty. His mother’s look told me she knew he was a bit tired from several days of high energy.

And still there was silence.

Sometimes, I have to admit, I feel a bit like Ethan. I try to start each day with some time talking to my heavenly Father. I have an ever changing list of things I talk to Him about concerning many of my friends, my family, and my own personal list.

But there are some mornings when I just don’t feel like praying.

Some days the list feels overwhelming.

Some days the list feels so repetitive. I have a friend who sometimes begins his prayer with, “God, you must get tired of hearing the same requests time after time.”

And once in awhile, I am just feeling stubborn and I just don’t want to talk to God.
The amazing thing is that He is ever patient with me. He waits until I am ready. God is ever ready, even if I am not. David tells us “Each morning you listen to my prayer, as I bring my requests to you and wait for your reply. “ Psalm 5:3
There was a pause as we waited for Ethan to respond. And that stubborn look became more and more pronounced.
Then someone else said what they were thankful for, and we went on around the table. There has been so much to be thankful for, in spite of the economic times. Perhaps we are more grateful because we are more conscious of our gifts during these tougher times.
Eventually we circled back around to Ethan and without a pause he joined us with his own list of things to be thankful for. We always end this time of spoken thankfulness with a hearty AMEN and then dig in to the food.
Like Ethan, sometimes I need to hear the thoughts of others before my heart is ready to chime in with my own list. Most of us can be feeling very sorry for ourselves…until we hear the troubles of others and then we have to send up a word of thanks that our own troubles are so small.
But also like Ethan, being in the presence of God’s people can often change my mood from one of stubbornness to one of rejoicing.
I believe that we were designed to “live in community” and when that community is functioning as it should, “loving one another as ourselves”, “in honor, preferring one another”, “rejoicing with those who rejoice and weeping with those who weep” it is a glorious experience and we can’t help but add our list of things to be thankful for.
In the presence of God’s people, especially when they are rejoicing from their heart, eventually my mood changes from one of stubbornness to one of thankfulness.

Ethan and I each have a lot to learn about being thankful; rehearsing around the table at least gets us started.

What are you thankful for this day?

Exuberant Joy

They arrived right from a 4 year-old birthday party in Chicago which might explain part of it, but Ethan was filled with exuberant joy almost his entire recent visit.

He was filled to overflowing with happiness; he was with four of his favorite adults. Of course, having four adults paying attention to you most of the time might have had something to do with it too.

There were moments when it seemed he couldn’t contain his joy and he would throw his head back, as only four year olds can do, and crow with happiness and excitement.

His joy filled me with happiness. I wanted to throw my head back and crow too. His energy, running all over the yard helping Grandma weed, or gathering grass and pine needles to “build us a nest” energized me as well.

It was about then that the other adults cautioned us to “settle down” and reprimanded Grandma for getting Ethan too excited.

One of the memories I want Ethan to have about coming to Grandma and Grandpa’s is that this is a place where he can be free to express himself with joy. I want him to be able to crow with excitement, but I also understand the need for boundaries.

Later that weekend we all went to the County Fair and watched the demolition derby. I don’t know why this so appeals to sedate, normally somewhat inhibited Bill and me, but we love to watch these old wrecks crash into each other. We yell ourselves hoarse, we laugh with uninhibited loudness right along with everyone else in the stands.

At first Ethan was worried that the drivers would get hurt, but after his daddy explained how the cars had been modified to make them safe, he yelled and laughed right along with the rest of us. Once again he was filled with joy.

When we left the stands later that day, we were tired but it was that good tired from freely expressing ourselves for a few hours.

I can’t help but contrast that day with one just a week or so earlier when Bill and I had gone to a Christian concert. I had anticipated an opportunity to express joy, to be able to let out my emotions without the usual restraint, but it never happened. The performers (usually exuberant) seemed to be too tired (perhaps too many days on the road) and the audience was quieter and more subdued than we expected. Oh some people tried to express themselves, but it seemed forced and artificial to me.

God created us with the full range of emotions and I suspect He longs for us to express them all. Some of my best “quiet times” with Him are when I let my emotions loose. Times when I can cry from either deep sorrow or deep joy. Times when I can laugh from deep within because I cannot contain my joy and delight. I think God even wants us to rage from time to time, and then be open to His teaching us the way out of our rage.

My times of uninhibited emotion with God are all too few. They can’t be artificial; God only wants the real thing. Too often I hear the voices telling me to “settle down”, to not get “too excited”. While there is certainly a time and a place for our free expression, I need to find those safe places where I can be alone with God and express myself, just to Him.

May all of you find a place of uninhibited joy this week.

Words, Words, Words...

“But, Mommy, you said I could….”

“Ethan, I want you to…”

“But, Mommy, that doesn’t make sense….”

I sat below the balcony of our time-share condo and listened as my four year old grandson argued using logic to convince his mother that he should not have to do what she wanted him to do.

“My word (pun intended)”, I thought, “if he can use words like he does now to try to persuade his parents to see things his way, what will he be like at 12?”

And then it struck me! I had a sudden flash, a snapshot of what the boy Jesus must have been like.

Remember the story in Luke of the 12 year old boy Jesus who stayed behind on the family’s annual trip to Jerusalem to discussing Scripture with the teachers? They were “amazed at his understanding and his answers”. I suspect the boy Jesus loved words as well.

Can you imagine being Jesus’ mother? I imagine that conversations with her son left her amazed and probably exhausted as well.

By the time the boy Jesus becomes a man, words become His trademark. Just as He did as a boy, He amazes all who listen to him. He speaks with wisdom, not as the scribes and Pharisees. He uses words to heal, words to teach about the kingdom, words to tell about His father.

Ethan loves words. Life with Ethan is a litany of non-stop words from the moment he awakens until he goes to bed at night, with a brief pause for a nap.

He loves the sound of new words, and he always wants to know their meaning… and then he tries them out. He loves the sound of words, but even more he loves the way he can use words to describe things, to define his conversation, to enhance his word pictures.

He comes by this interest naturally. Both his parents earn their living using words. His grandpa was/is a wordsmith. His aunt and his grandma use words pretty effectively as well.

Words - the use of words - is one of the things that separates us from all other forms of life. Many animals communicate with sound, but only humans have this breadth and depth of communication. We use words to describe, to define, to enhance.

Remember what John says when he introduces Jesus, the Christ? John calls Him the Word made flesh. Jesus is the Word of God.

Jesus is God defined. He is God articulated. He is the Word picture of God become man.

As we move through the Thanksgiving season we use words to express our thanks. Sometimes we don’t feel very thankful, but during this season most of us summon up the words to at least sound thankful. And sometimes the sound of our own words reminds us to really be thankful.

Soon we move into the season to anticipate and celebrate God become man. God articulated. The Word become flesh.

As we enter this season of celebration may we hear in a new way the words of God. May we come to understand better God described in the person of Jesus.