It's late . . .

It's late . . . the office is stuffy and I need to take a break . . . I've a few more hours work ahead of me still.

I've a lifetime of work ahead of me. It's quiet by this lake. Looking out the windows all I can see it my reflection on the glass - blurry and indistinct. Filed some paper work earlier this week - I can now take a test in October. I'm planing on an adventure of sorts if I pass. Either India or Ireland. Just my camera, a duffel and a journal. Flying solo. Traveling solo. Traveling light.

Filing some paperwork Monday - to get my passport.

Why do you do what you do?

Would you do it again?

Do you plan what you want to do, or record what you've done?

It's not tomorrow, or the day after - or the 50 years after that which find me thinking, if thinking is what that is, rather more a silent still deep awareness - that I have each moment only once. I make each choice only once.

This miry Slough is such a place as cannot be mended; it must be abandoned - it must be traveled thru.

And for what a treasure, bright days and happy smiles. Persevere - every pain, every heart ache draws you closer to the end. Remember the sun. Remember the Son. Journeys end so that others may begin. It's not what might have been - it's what is, and what may yet be. Want to hear the end of the story? Keep reading, keep striving, keep keeping. Preserve - help the hurting, share the comfort you've received - and find yourself marveling at the magnitude of what you've been given.

I waxed my car last week - it lost it's dingy look. Only - that's not the whole story. No, now I see every ding in the paint, I can see every ripple in the metal. Defects hidden by fading, and flaking paint now stand out in stark relief. You have to get close to see them - and they are clearly there.

People are like that car. I am like that car. I feel like I've been cleaned up - only to see the sin in my life stand out all the more. But you've got to clean the wound before it will heal.

Cleaning cuts always hurts more than not - pulling raw flesh apart - flushing and digging out dirt and debris. Then you seal it - stitches - change the bandage, but don't pick at it. Time and diligence will heal this - scarring may be minimal.

Living things heal.

And today I feel very alive.


. . . . .

Memories fade and almost wink out.
Forgotten and still - the distant past.

Seem's not so distant now.
Sudden and abrupt.
Sharp - like a unexpected surge of icy water in the shower.

Already - and not yet.

Here and gone.

What does tomorrow hold, and who will be there with us?

Who will remain here - in what is now only a memory?

Who's travels have ended?

I will sing and smile when it is time, I will cry and grieve in season.

Who's laughter will I never hear again?
Who's hand will I never shake?

What have I lost? What have I held on to?

I am changed.

Grief is such an odd thing - a strange mix of love, pain, and selfishness - no not selfishness . . . but maybe, perhaps rather an acute awareness of your own selfhood.

There is one less.

I will tell of you.


Moscow and Lewis

" . . . But how? Please, Aslan! Am I not to know?"

"To know what would have happened, child?" said Aslan.
"No. Nobody is ever told that."

"Oh dear," said Lucy.

"But anyone can find out what will happen," said Aslan.
". . . what will happen? There is only one way of finding out."


There is news at the bottom . . .

~ ~ ~

Twice in as many weeks the same something has been said.

Several nights ago I sat across from three men.

Again the same something was mentioned by a different someone now.

Spoken. In passing. Quietly. And I think he, I think they, may be onto something.

It was a tangent, had nothing to do with why we were gathered .

A quiet, off topic,sentence.

I need to think about it, cause I think they may be right. I really do.

The meanings are tremendous, it changes how I will live - right now - what I will strive after today.

Mentioned. Quietly.

~ ~ ~

This morning I caught myself asking to be taught something I already knew how to do.

Do you ever do this? Do you ever ask someone to show you how do something so that you won't have to do it? Do you ever ask someone to teach you something that you are unwilling to learn?

I find myself doing this to God.

I'll ask to be taught how to do things that I don't do, pretending that I would do them if I only knew how.

I ask to be taught things that I'm unwilling to learn.

As if knowledge was a good as action. The things I know . . . why are they not the things I do?

So often what I mean when I say "teach me" - is "Why is this hard? This should not be hard - make this not hard - show me some way to make it easy"

And so I pray for patience,

"Father - please teach me, show me how to be more patient."


" . . . . . . . . . . . . Ha . . . very funny . . ."

Striving is hard.

Growth is hard.

Learning is easy - changing is hard.

The reward for a good thing is often a harder better thing.

We want to be done, we want to stop - to rest.

Forgetting that we rest so that we can work. Not the other way round.

~ ~ ~

And it works!

But still . . . I do wonder if welding rod is foodsafe - Jonny? Reba? Lorna? You've my food science people? Any ideas??

~ ~ ~

Jake & Debbie

I told Jake and Debbie that I was rusty and needed a chance to go and do photo stuff - they very nicely obliged. I gave Jake a pair of chucks that were too small for me - little do they know that next time I will use them and their chucks to recreate one of my favorite shots.


I'm working on a book

and this is post 201

I went thru and found some old
posts that were written but never posted
you'll have to explore if you want to find them



Each shot - every face - has a story



Be Caref l

Some days I explore, some days I drift and call it exploring.

Don't lie to yourself - what are you building? What will be here in 50 years? What will be here in 100 years?

Your house will fall, your line will dry up. And your legacy just might be flowers in abandoned tick filled fields.

And here is an interesting thing about life, you don't get to know your legacy, not in full, not here. The countless interactions you have with the world around are changing you, and you are changing it.

And every now and then you stumble across a random, unexpected, and out of place wildflower. Someone walks by seeing you admire the thing, seeing you puzzled, wondering why and how it got here. They smile because they know - they know you helped plant it, they smile because you have no idea.

Maybe they tell you - maybe they don't.

Life is like that, random wildflowers that persist, that grow and are more beautiful than what you are striving for.

You house will fall, you line will dry up, and there will still be wild flowers.

Come thou fount of every blessing, Tune my heart to sing Thy grace;
Streams of mercy never ceasing call for songs of loudest praise.
Teach me some melodious sonnet, Sung by flaming tongues above;
Praise the mount-I'm fixed upon it-Mount of Thy redeeming love.

Here I raise my Ebenezer; Hither by Thy help I come;
And I hope, by Thy good pleasure, Safely to arrive at home.
Jesus sought me when a stranger, Wandering from the fold of God;
He, to rescue me from danger, Interposed His precious blood.

Oh to Grace how great a debtor Daily I'm constrained to be!
Let Thy goodness, like a fetter, Bind my wandering heart to Thee:
Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it , Prone to leave the God I love;
Here's my heart, O take and seal it; Seal it for Thy courts above.