Love is Patient

Recently I was asked to read I Corinthians chapter 13 as a part of the worship service. Most of us are familiar with this chapter from weddings, it is often called “The Love Chapter”. I have read it dozens of times.

Here are verses 4 through 13 of that chapter:
Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when perfection comes, the imperfect disappears. When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me. Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.
And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.
As I practiced it aloud in preparation for reading it in front of the congregation, I was struck in a new way what Paul was talking about. And I was convicted of my failure to live out these verses. Jesus told us that loving one another as we love ourselves is half of all we need to do to keep God’s commandments. We forget what love means but Paul spells it out for us.

This has been a hard winter for many in our country, and as a result many of us have forgotten what love means. We grumble about the economy and joblessness and loss of lifestyle. We point fingers and blame and critique every move of everyone in government and big business.

I fear that as a society we are slipping further away from really living out a lifestyle of loving one another.

Paul begins with “love is patient”. We need, I need, to remember to be patient with others. Patient with the car ahead of me that is moving a bit too slowly. Patient with the older person with their cart parked in the aisle while they ponder the shelves. Patient with that child that is too tired to behave the way we think they should. Patient with an economy that is slower to recover than I want it to.

Maybe if we/I practice patience my world will become a more happy place, maybe it won’t matter quite so much because I will be happier.

Maybe, just maybe, the idea of patience would be good for our society, our world.

and it's a hole-in-one!

Two weeks ago we had our 4th annual Family Reunion at our usual place up near the Dells in central Wisconsin. This was the best one yet. For a few hours we had the whole family together but for most of 4 days it was Ethan and his parents and Bill and me.

Despite the forecast at the beginning of that week, the weather was beautiful so we got to do hiking every day; Ethan did LOTS of “harvesting” and collecting with each one in the family. We went to the indoor water park several times and we took advantage of the new and improved miniature golf course.

Since it was November, and threatening rain, and just a bit windy, we ended up with the mini-golf course all to ourselves. That meant we could take our time and “golf” at our own pace.

Ethan was eager to begin and barely waiting for Daddy’s instructions, hit the ball on Hole One. It landed too far from the cup so, as he has done since he was eighteen months old, he picked up his ball and moved it closer to the cup and then shoved it in using his golf club like a croquet mallet.

John decided this was a good time to teach Ethan a few of the finer points of mini-golf and some of the rules of golfing with a group. Being only 5, Ethan was a bit impatient with his father’s instructions and wanted to just get on with the game. But John was incredibly patient and gently instructed Ethan on how to hold his golf club to get the most accuracy from his hit. John also patiently reminded Ethan that he couldn’t just pick the ball up and move it, nor could he dribble it down the green like a soccer ball (he had played soccer most of the summer).

When Ethan seemed to be at the end of his patience and beginning to be too frustrated, John relaxed and let him dribble the ball into the cup. John achieved a wonderful balance of instruction and insistence on following the rules with letting Ethan be the little kid that he really is.

Much to our mutual surprise and delight, Ethan quickly developed a surprising accuracy, especially with his first whack of the ball. Inevitably his ball went right through the hazard, or over the moguls; he avoided the “water hazards” and the “sand traps”. In fact, he hit a Hole-In-One on about the 6th or 7th hole. We were astounded and Ethan was overjoyed. Suddenly miniature golf was more fun than he thought.

Eventually we each had a hole-in-one (John had two). By the time we finished the (most difficult of them all) eighteenth hole, Ethan insisted that we “high-five” each other after running around the green.

By now the wind had really picked up and rain was spitting on the parking lot as we walked back to the car. But none of us minded; we had an inner glow that kept us warm.

Bill and I feel ever blessed to have the family God has given us. Our family retreats are a great joy to us. We rejoice that our girls want to spend this time with us and are willing to sacrifice their schedules to participate. It is ever a delight that our grandson crows with joy at the thought of going to “the cabin” again. And how can we even begin to explain to others the delight we find in our son-in-law. He and Becki have worked out a wonderful relationship in the midst of their stress-filled world. As the stay-at-home (he runs his business out of their home) parent, we could not be more blessed.

John’s desire for Ethan to become all that he is capable of, combined with a patience and gentleness is a gift beyond any of our expectations.

John isn’t perfect ( he is a human being after all) but this past weekend he kept reminding me of my heavenly father. God wants us to learn the rules, he wants us to develop the skills he gave us, he wants us to become all that he designed us to be, but he is ever the patient and loving one who waits for us to be ready to grow in the fits and spurts that characterize most of our lives.

And once in a while, we get a Hole-in-One!

I Want to Learn, Learn, Learn…

We met them, Ethan and his Mom and Dad, in Elkhorn for lunch. As soon as the last bite was swallowed we were out the door and headed to the Apple Barn Orchard and a day of harvesting and other adventures yet to unfold.

Ethan was so excited he could hardly keep his feet on the ground.

We drove down the long country road and up ahead we could see the trees planted in careful rows and bent sometimes to the ground with red orbs of fruit. By now Ethan was bouncing with excitement – a good time to remind him of the rules of apple picking in an orchard. Then we drove past the pumpkin patch and his excitement overflowed until all of us were caught up in anticipation of the activities ahead.

Even though the day was overcast and threatening rain, the parking lot was fairly crowded as we made our way carefully between family groups and kids pulling wagons loaded with produce. Ethan crowed with delight when he saw two kids sitting on huge pumpkins in a wagon pulled by their grandfather.

We purchased the largest bag available for apple harvesting and made our way into the orchard. “Where are the apples we want to pick?” Ethan wanted to know. Becki pointed out that each row was marked by a clear sign telling the type of apple trees planted in that row. As a further reinforcement, Becki made Ethan read the sign of rules before we began, he read without hesitation. We made our way to the Ida Red row and tried to decide with which tree to begin. The trees loaded with ripe red fruit beckoned with promises of pies, and sauce, and apple-crisp, and dried apples and…

Ethan’s first attempt at picking resulted in harvesting twin apples and he held them as he would some precious treasure. Soon, however, the bag was full and we debated about purchasing a second bag, but Becki knew it would take her awhile just to deal with the harvest we had.


We took our loaded bag back to the car and returned to select a few pumpkins. The patch held an overwhelming number of orange and green fruits of every size and shape imaginable. It took us quite awhile to find one giant specimen that fit Ethan’s needs for carving and then a smaller one for decoration. We lugged these two orange beauties back to the stand and Grandma picked out a warty pumpkin for herself from the wagon.

It was time for a treat break so with cups of hot cider and a bag of apple donuts we headed to one of the picnic tables. We watched as dark clouds scudded across the sky. Refortified with the treats we went into the barn and looked at the numerous apple and pumpkin related crafts and products available. Ethan walked out with a jar of calico popping corn and Grandma had a jug of cider.

The dark clouds continued to pile up, but we decided we could risk a hay ride, especially since the wagon had a roof over the hale bales. Two trips around the orchard was a delightful amount of rest and gave us an overview of at least a part of the orchard.

Grandma was dropped at home to begin supper while the rest of the gang went to see the “Squash Guy” here in Janesville. Supper was just about ready when the gang returned loaded down with squash and gourds of every shape and size imaginable. Aunt Deb and the two dogs arrived soon after and we gathered around the table to enjoy a hot meal and recount the delights of the day. While the rest of the gang cleaned up after the meal, Ethan and I went downstairs to raid Grandma’s “Fall Box”. Ethan chose a number of dried seed pods, nuts and other decorations some of which he would take home, the rest to “play” with then. We carried his bounty upstairs and soon he had rows of “harvest” laid out on the living room floor. As he displayed them in rows of like items, he named them using all the different names of squash he knew. When he ran out of names he knew, he made up likely sounding names based on seed catalogs, identifying books, visits to the Farmers Market (in both Janesville and Chicago).

Ethan loves to know the names of things. He wants to know the name of all the flowers in any garden he sees. He wanted to know the names of all the apples, all the squash, all the gourds, all the… He is enchanted when he finds a new book at the library that helps him identify the names of any number of things (shells, leaves, trees, flowers, insects, reptiles…well, you get the idea). He not only wants to know the common names, but he loves knowing the Latin names. He is unaware that quoting Latin might sound precocious and even arrogant he just wants to know.

He went off to kindergarten this year, after 3+years of preschool, and we all held our breath. We called him when he got home from his first day and he excitedly told us that he was learning Spanish, had Art, had Phy Ed. and… The only reason he is able to have all these different classes is the parents in their neighborhood in Chicago raised enough money on their own to pay for the extra teachers. We (his parents, grandparents and aunts) wonder what will happen when Ethan knows more than his teachers, but we will cross that bridge when it happens.

To our mutual delight Ethan wants to learn!

He has a thirst for knowledge, to know the names of things, to know how to grow things, how to cook things, how to play certain games, how to…

Bill and I get immense joy participating in contributing to his knowledge. What a privilege we have!

Hopefully some day Ethan will also have a great thirst to know more and more about God, about being his child, about how it works to be a Christian in this crazy world we live in.

As I get older, my thirst to know God seems to grow instead of diminishing. The more I learn, the more I want to know, to understand, to figure out. I can’t seem to get enough. My favorite kind of friend is one who will discuss with me, debate with me, share with me about their own knowledge of God and themselves and how it all fits together. I am blessed beyond words that my husband and my family fill this role, and God has given me many friends besides.

There are days when it seems like Ethan would rather learn, and revel in his knowing, than play with the fabulous toys that are available for kids these days.

Oh that each of us would thirst so to know God, and find it more satisfying that the most elaborate entertainment that man can devise. The Psalmist says, “Oh taste and see that the Lord is GOOD, His love endures forever.”

It Takes a Village….

“I’m so excited! I have never been this excited in my whole life!”

And so began a recent visit with Ethan.

We had driven down to Chicago to pick him up for four whole days all by himself with Grandma and Grandpa.

I worried just a bit that we would not be able to live up to his expectations - that he would go home from this visit disappointed and not want to come back again. Becki assured me that he was excited about being with Grandma and Grandpa! The weather was not looking as promising as it had several days earlier so some of our planned activities were not going to happen; I worried again.

Our first stop, on the way to Wisconsin, was the Oasis over the Tollway. Ethan loves eating at the oasis, and it works well for Bill and me because we can each get what we want, even if it is from different vendors. We like to sit in the windows above the highway and wonder about the number of trucks both going and coming. Sometimes we can see what they are carrying, but most of the time we have to guess. We were amazed at how well Ethan could read the messages on the sides of many of the trucks. Only certain cursive fonts seemed to stump him.

We got home and after unloading the car and inspecting his bedroom, Ethan and Grandma went outside to inspect the flower beds and the fish pond. Grandpa went to take a nap, a bit worn out after 5 plus hours of driving.

Ethan had a great time “harvesting” the several seed pods I had left in place for just that purpose. He snipped a few things that needed trimming and pointed out several weeds that he instructed Grandma to pull. Then, oh joy of joys, I allowed him to walk into the soybean field behind our house and “harvest” four beans. This was better than all the seed pods in the garden – maybe because this was real harvesting!

Grandpa was still resting so we grabbed a collecting bucket and a pair of clippers and headed to the Ice Age Trail. Ethan was in his element as we hiked and I allowed him to “harvest” flower heads, seed pods, crab apples, and grapes (including some that were now raisins). We talked about the importance of knowing what you were collecting before you touched it and I pointed out the Wild Parsnip, Deadly Nightshade, Stinging Nettles and several other known poisonous plants. We talked about the importance of NOT harvesting protected plants and making sure there were plenty of each plant left behind to reseed the earth. Everything we collected was growing in abundance and is a common plant.

Our bucket was full when we trekked back to the house. We spent a joyous half hour showing Grandpa the results of Ethan’s “harvesting” and then packaged it all to take back to Chicago.

After a “snack” supper (we had had a pretty full meal at the Oasis) we gathered up the now empty collecting bucket, the shears, our sunglasses and this time drove to a different section of the Ice Age Trail.

This time, oh joy and delight, we found several different flowers, some (wormy) apples and two walnuts. We also saw cicadas emerging from their shells and were able to collect a small container full of the discarded shells.

By the time we got home, we were all tired and after reading just a few pages of Ethan’s favorite Shell Guide book, he fell asleep and we followed soon after.

Saturday dawned cloudy, a bit too cool and not very promising, but we headed to the Farmers Market in spite of the weather. It is amazing to watch how vendors respond to an enthusiastic (and knowledgeable) 5-year-old. He picked out a number of items (at my request) and paid for them, engaging each vendor in conversation, collecting a handful of fallen beans in the process. At the end of our hike up and down the several blocks of produce, we turned back to find a “sweet treat”. We were right by the “bakery lady” and she engaged Ethan in conversation. Soon she was asking him if he would like a cookie and she began unwrapping a big M&M cookie. When Bill said those were his favorite, she handed him the other cookie from the two-pack. I reached into my purse to pay for these “purchases” but she waved me away with, “I’m a grandma too!”

We spent the rest of the day playing in the raccoon cave (our basement). Bill and Ethan watched several train videos while Grandma napped, until Ethan asked Grandpa if he could have some “quiet time” in his room. He was sound asleep in minutes – shopping for produce and playing raccoon is hard work!

Sunday it was off to church. Ethan was rewarded for his good behavior with treats after church. Being the pastor’s grandson brings Ethan lots of attention and he always rises to the occasion and engages a great number of people in conversation.

We changed clothes and then headed up to Aunt Deb’s house. Ethan was excited to see Aunt Deb and to see her two dogs again. After joyous greeting with Ethan and two dogs tearing around Aunt Deb’s yard and the flower beds that we had all worked on two months earlier (which were now a riot of color) we headed to a buffet restaurant where, once again, we could each pick what we wanted to eat and try.

We spent most of the afternoon on a nature reserve island near Deb’s house. The giant oaks on the island were dropping their nuts and soon Ethan’s pockets were filled with oversized acorns. Bill and I ambled the quiet, shady paths and rejoiced as our grandson trooped ahead holding his aunt’s hand, joyously exploring various paths, narrating to her the whole time.

Back at Deb’s house, Ethan traipsed around after her examining all her treasures, flower beds, the dogs and cats and their places in the house. They kept up a running conversation and I soaked up some of Deb’s technique with this inquisitive 5 year old. Her training as a child care worker and years of experience with both children and older adults displays itself in a wisdom I envy.

There was a sense of regret when it was time, after supper, to head back to Janesville. Ethan kept himself awake during the hour ride home looking for trains, animals, and was rewarded with a glimpse of Sand Hill Cranes, Blue and White Herons, and other water fowl.

Monday dawned all too soon, and with mutual regret we packed up all the “harvest” and other stuff necessary for a 5 year-old’s visit and headed back down the Tollway to Chicago. Several times on the trip home Ethan wished aloud that he could have stayed at our house longer – after all, we could have done much more harvesting. So we talked about future visits, and future trips we can take together and soon we were all looking forward to whatever adventure is next.

So, what is the theology from this visit? I could certainly talk about “harvesting”. That was Ethan’s focus for this visit. But for me the lesson was more about community – the community it takes to raise a child. It usually takes both Bill and me to keep this energetic child occupied. We are fortunate that we each have interests that Ethan enthusiastically embraces and so he is happy to be with both of us, or one of us at a time.

It is a delight when we go anywhere (in this case the Farmer’s Market and church) that Ethan easily engages with other adults (and children) and they contribute to his knowledge and well-being.

In times past family often lived within “shoutin” distance of one another and a child could go from extended family member to family member. Bill and I each have such fond memories of a grandparent(s) who was so important during our growing up years. Now we are one or several hours away from each other. We cherish the times we are able to get together with Deb and to watch and enjoy her interaction with her nephew. We could entertain Ethan without her, but we are all the richer when we have time with her. It takes all of us to really do a good job raising Ethan to be a healthy, well-rounded, contributing adult.

It takes many people in my life to make/keep me as a healthy, well-rounded, contributing Christian. Bill and I have a wonderful interactive discussion life about many things. But I also cherish the several Bible study groups (each so different from the others) that contribute to my stretching and growing as a Christian. In fact, every time I interact with another person about my faith (Deb, my sister, perhaps you) I grow just a bit, and sometimes more than a bit.

Books are great, and study of God’s Word is essential, but I would not be whole without the input of many people in my life.

It takes a village to grow a child; it takes a village to grow a Christian.



9/09

Fireworks!

This was to be Ethan’s first real, up close and personal experience with fireworks and his folks wanted it to be both memorable and convenient. So we gathered at Aunt Deb’s.

We all arrived, from points south, just as the morning’s parade was finishing up. After all the greetings (including the dogs) were done, and Ethan had inspected both his bedroom for the night, and Aunt Deb’s new flower beds, we all hiked over to the park. The park was part of the reason this location was chosen for this first fireworks event.

There was a small carnival set up at the park and Ethan had a great time riding the three “kiddie rides”. I sighed deeply to myself, realizing that this is probably the last summer he will be content with just the kiddie rides.

Three rides don’t take very long, so we also spent time playing at the awesome playground just across from where the carnival was set up. One cotton candy later and it was time to hike back to Aunt Deb’s for our cookout, a time for bubble blowing and more just visiting. Ethan also helped Aunt Deb with a bit of weeding. In fact, he was a bit frustrated that she didn’t have more gardening for him to do.

We waited as long as we could but finally, around 8:15, we packed up chairs, blankets, bug spray and Grandma’s sparklers and headed back to the park. It wasn’t quite time, but we couldn’t wait any longer to be where they would shoot off the fireworks. The excitement was just too great.

On the mile-and-a-half hike over to the park we could see backyard fireworks going off all around us. Some were quite impressive and we wondered that people could spend so much money in these days of economic uncertainty. Judging by Ethan’s enchantment, the day will come when he will want to shoot off their own fireworks too.

We were nearly to the park when the sun neared its approach to the horizon. Suddenly the sky to the west turned orange and the whispy clouds strewn across the canopy turned pink slowly fading to lavender.

“Look, Grandma, there are fireworks in the sky - God’s fireworks!” I grinned at Ethan and we stopped to watch the color sweep further and further along the horizon. Suddenly the backyard fireworks were insignificant as we watched blue sky turn pink, then purple, then blue gray.

It was done by the time we got settled on the hillside overlooking the ball field where the canisters of fireworks were set up and guarded by firemen.

We again turned our attention to the backyard displays and then the more spectacular display of the next town to the north.

Before it got too dark, Ethan, John, Becki and I had great fun lighting the sparklers I had brought for the occasion. I remembered, with delight, my own youth and the enchantment of lit sparklers. Ethan seemed enchanted as well. But soon the sparklers were gone and John gathered up the spent wires and disposed of them in a trash can. I promised to buy more for next year.

We again climbed the hill and waited impatiently for the “real” fireworks to begin. The backyard displays were rapidly losing their enchantment and the display from Juneau was too far away.

I had about run out of distracting conversation when we heard the characteristic pop and the sky above our heads lit up with color.

Soon burst after burst filled the sky and we oooed and ahhed along with everyone else as one burst open before the previous one had finished cascading to the ground.

Ethan gave me a running commentary throughout the whole show. But it was o.k. We were getting to enjoy them together and with the whole family.

And then there was a pause and the ground erupted with color and fountains of light and sparklers larger than if we had lit all my six boxes at once. Rockets burst out of the fountains of sparks and soared to burst in the sky, so fast that our eyes could not take it all in.

The display seemed to go on forever and then, suddenly, it was over. For several moments there was silence, and then the crowd erupted with applause and cheers. We stood en masse and began to gather up our blankets, chairs, water bottles and trekked back down the hill and along the road to Aunt Deb’s house.

Another 4th of July was over.

A quick kiss good bye and Bill and I headed back south to our own bed. It will be a while before the family is able to all get together again.

But, once again, I have lasting memories of a day together. Ethan’s joy in the simple carnival rides, and no less joy with a well-designed play ground; our mutual pleasure at all being together for a few hours; the excitement and wonder of the fireworks bursting right over our heads – what a day! But, best of all for me, the awesome display of God’s fireworks which needs no holiday to repeat itself over and over.

A Light in the City

We recently drove into the city of Chicago to see Ethan. He and his mom and dad had recently returned from a camping trip and he needed to tell us all the stories and show us some of his treasures.

Chicago holds a special place in our hearts. It is where we lived right after Bill finished his undergrad work in Arkansas; where he had his first “real” job.

Chicago is the city where both our girls were born and we explored many of its free and nearly free delights when they were small children.

Chicago is the place where our faith journey made a hard left turn, where we made close friends who not only shared our struggling place in life, but our faith stance, and, in the late 60s, our socio/political outlook.

Plus, Chicago has always had many, MANY wonderful places to eat.

So we made the familiar trek down the interstate and into the heart of the city. There is an energy that begins to grip people as they enter the city. There is a sense of purpose, of drive, sometimes even franticness. There is a sense of life-in-the-moment, almost as if when you pause to take a breath, you will miss that moment.

But there is also a darkness. As we drive down Irving Park Drive we become conscious of the empty buildings, of neighborhoods struggling not to fall further into decay. We are more conscious of potential crime just beyond the sidewalks. All of that is present in smaller cities and towns as well, but when it rolls on for block after block, you are more aware of that darker presence.

By the time we turn off Irving Park Drive, and get to Becki and John’s house, just a couple of blocks away, I am feeling a bit oppressed.

On this particular day, as we drove up to their house, we could hear Ethan through the closed windows of the car, “They are here! Grandma and Grandpa are here!”

He burst through the front door with John just a few steps behind.

Grandpa was out of the car first and Ethan grabbed his free hand and pulled him toward the flower beds that lie between the sidewalk and the curbing.

Without taking a breath, Ethan began to recite to Grandpa the names of the various plants and exclaiming over the ones that had flowered since he had last checked, just a few hours earlier. Then Ethan spied a weed.

He bent at the waist and, as his mother had taught him, he grasped the offending weed down at the ground and pulled it from the soil. Then he saw another, and another.

Soon Grandpa was trailing after the 5 year old gardener carrying a plastic bag to receive all the weeds Ethan could find. It was nearly half full before Ethan stood to survey his work and we all entered the house.

We traipsed up the stairs to Ethan’s room so he could show us some of his treasures that he had hidden away in the corners of the room. More importantly he had to show us the several books he had acquired in the state park gift shop where they had camped, and the several books he had borrowed from the library. As usual these books were field guides to plants, trees, animals etc. We weren’t done hearing all the stories, but it was time for lunch.

The plan had been that Bill and I would take Ethan out for lunch and entertain him somewhere while John got some work done.

Ethan decided he did not want to go out for lunch, but wanted a PBJ sandwich. John found a pizza for us three adults (Becki was at work) and we enjoyed more lively conversation.

At five, Ethan no longer takes a nap every day. Some days he needs an adult to tell him a nap is a good thing. But occasionally he decides on his own. This day he decided that he needed a nap. He also decided that Grandpa should sleep in his room and Grandma should sleep in the guest room that shares a common wall with his bedroom. That way, when he was ready to get up, “I can just knock on the wall and you will know it is time to get up.” And so we went to our appointed places.

Bill was greatly amused that while he “napped” in his chair, Ethan’s head kept popping up over the side of his bunk bed to peer at Grandpa to see if he was asleep. As you would guess, neither of them slept, but I, in the guest room, actually dozed a bit before I heard the knock on the wall.

By then John was very busy fielding phone calls from several clients and trying to get some work done in his office area so Bill and I reverted to a modified version of our original plan and we suggested that we three go check the flowers in the back yard. Ethan whopped with joy at the idea and led us on a charge down the stairs and out the back door.

Bill sank onto one of the comfortable chairs under the gazebo tent armed with his camera while, this time, Grandma followed the gardener around the perimeter of the yard examining the blooming and about-to-be blooming flowers, checking the status of the ripening strawberries and the growth of the pea vines.

Ethan kept commenting on the number of flowers that needed to be dead-headed until he couldn’t stand it anymore. He enlisted Grandma’s help to retrieve a sharp pair of garden scissors and began expertly snipping the spent flowers around the yard.

There was an empty flower pot sitting near the patio table and soon it was nearly filled with spent flowers and beginning seed pods. They were transformed into “exotic spices” to flavor “the soup” Ethan was making as he continued to dead head the flower beds.

Bill and I sat, thoroughly enjoying our grandson’s ability to manicure the flower beds; he has been well taught by his mother. We drank in the beauty, and the peace, of this oasis in the midst of the city.

Birds chirped from every leafy branch, an occasional bee buzzed the flowers looking for nectar. A small fountain burbled against the garage wall. Neighbors walked by and greeted Ethan, admiring his work on the flowers; only the uninitiated were amazed at his ability to know what to snip and what to leave alone.

In the distant background you could hear the steady growl of the traffic on Irving Park. You were vaguely aware of the city out there, but in this lovely haven that Becki, with Ethan’s and John’s help, has created, it disappeared and was replaced with a place of peace and calm and light.

Bill’s shutter clicked, Ethan’s happy voice rose and fell, and I drank in the beauty of God’s bit of creation - a place of peace in the midst of the pressure and decay and self-centeredness that we seem to think is normal life.

Many of us try to create such places in our lives – places of retreat and peace. Once in a while we even find a person who is such a place, in whose presence we find that same sense of peace and contentment.

I came home from the city more resolved to try harder to be that kind of person for others. I am enjoying my own place of retreat more and hope that not only our home, but also our presence will be a light in people’s lives.

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…..