Loretta

Up until I took this photo, I thought this little thing was a snail - and I've had it for probably 20 years or more.  Funny how you can own something and never really have looked at it. This was a gift from a friend who lives in Poland, but I think she bought it when she was doing a short-term missions project in Yugoslavia (back when it was Yugoslavia).  Does this explain the "YU" on the back?  The reptilian neck and the patterns on the skin are what convinced me that this was no snail.  With the fashionable flowered hat and the pretty blue sunglasses, I'll go even further and postulate that this is a female snake.  As to why she's rolled up in such a fashion or why her skin is so flat, your guess is as good as mine.  I shall call her Loretta.

If you turn Loretta upside down, you see the letters "PKS," and it is here that my imagination is captured.  Somewhere in Yugoslavia, the artisan PKS carefully crafted this whimsical little snake out of clay, rolled it up, made the tiny hat and sunglasses and then with a brush, painted on various colors of glaze and fired it up in a kiln.  How old was PKS when she did this?  Was PKS a man?  Was the making of trinkets like this a big part of PKS's income?  The day came when Loretta was finished: fired, cooled and ready to go.  She sat out in a stall with many others just like her while tourists went by, barely giving her a glance.  An American named Lisa stopped at the shop, looking for something to bring home and give to one of her supporters.  She spoke to PKS in halting Serbian, picking up Loretta, who at that time was not covered with the grime and dust of years (let's use the word "patina" instead - so artsy!).  "How much?"  Not one to haggle, she paid PKS the asking price and brought Loretta back to the United States with her.  And now, through Loretta, I have this thin, trailing connection to Yugoslavia, to an artist there, whose hands have traveled the world.  PKS, I salute you!

Do you see a man skilled in his work?
He will stand before kings;

He will not stand before obscure men.

Proverbs 22:29

Floating Cats

Floating Cats I

Cats appear to float
A slight breeze keeps them moving
They make me happy.

Floating Cats II

For weeks at a time
I don't see them, these 5 little cats
And then, an invisible current of air
Swirls around, moves them gently
And as peripheral vision catches it,
I give them my undivided attention.
This little bit of whimsy and beauty
Makes me happy.

Floating Cats III

They sat in a box, neglected and broken,
My mom couldn't throw them away.
Their silent mews to me were spoken-
I tell you I heard them that day!

I rescued them with a bit of string
I set things all aright.
To balance them was a tricky thing,
But eventually they took flight

And when in airy stillness they float
I blow and make them dance
A simple pleasure, a quiet note,
My life has been enhanced.

God’s in His heaven,

All’s right with the world.

Robert Browning

Writing Prompts - The Korean Artifact

Wow - only 2 blog posts in 2016...you'd think I don't really like to write.  It turns out that I enjoy writing, but only when it comes to letters, notes and journals.  Kris has been encouraging me to write more - he has this idea that I should write a book, but I'm not sure I've got it in me.  So this year, I'm going to do something a little different with this blog (like actually write in it - that would be different).  I'm going to take photos of everyday objects in my life and use them as writing prompts.  It might be a fiction piece, it might be poetry, or it might be reminiscences of how that object came to be in my life.  Ideally, I'd be doing this weekly, but keep in mind that if I only do 3 in 2017, it will be more than I did in 2016.  Let us begin...

He had looked everywhere for this little treasure.  In fact, it had been his one defining obsession since Jack died and left him with so many questions.  He'd known it had existed - he'd been with Jack in South Korea when they had been following a lead on a case and it had mysteriously appeared in Jack's bag after a long train trip.  At the time, Jack had been surprisingly cagey, examining it furtively and then pocketing it without much explanation.  When Doug had questioned him about it, he'd shrugged and said it was a gift from a secret admirer and they'd laughed it off.  Shortly before Jack was killed, however, he mentioned it in an email to Doug, saying,

"Remember that little gift from my secret admirer in South Korea?  I've been doing some research and it appears that it may be quite valuable, or at least valuable to certain people.  It has unusual properties, quite fascinating.  Someone has contacted me via third party about acquiring it, but I'm not sure I'm ready to part with it yet.  I'd like to explore its capabilities some more before I let it go.  I'll show it to you the next time we have a case together.  Until then, I'll probably err on the side of caution and keep it hidden."

Three days later, Jack was found dead in an alley nearly 10 miles from his home.  He'd been tortured and then shot.  Doug was certain that the Korean artifact was key to solving Jack's murder and he was even more certain that the killer had not gotten it.  That was 8 months ago.  Jack had not made it easy to find this tiny casket; it had been well hidden indeed.  Following hunches, cryptic notes, half-baked guesses, and running into a myriad of dead ends, Doug had finally tracked it down, in an old ratty gym bag stuffed in a locker somewhere.  Doug set it down on his old, scratched desk, and realized upon closer inspection that with a little manipulation, the top was removable.  He looked inside.

-----

Me, again.  I feel pretty "meh" about that entry, but it's a start.  I received this little trinket many years ago from my brother-in-law who used to travel to far-off places for his job.  I think it came from Korea, but couldn't testify to it in a court of law with any certainty.

Behold, you desire truth in the inward parts,

And in the hidden part You will make me to know wisdom.

Psalm 51:6

Random

3-5-16

This is a blog post.  This is a blog post written by someone who, at the moment, has nothing to say.  Sometimes I wonder if my brain is just becoming more dull by the year.   Anyway, since I don't have a particular subject upon which to philosophize or pontificate, I'll just list some random thoughts.

1.  Trump.  No.  Just no.

2.  John Bunyan. I'm reading his spiritual autobiography (Grace Abounding to the Chief of Sinners) and I'm not sure I've ever seen such tortured mental anguish over perceived, but not actual, sin.  He went for a long time thinking he had committed the unpardonable sin and every time he tried to apply God's grace in the situation, he found ways to justify the fact that he had, indeed, committed it.  He was the master of introspection, that's for sure - makes me look like a rank amateur.  

3.  Kris just turned 55.  Here he is as a little boy:

What a cutie!  So now we are both eligible for the senior discount at most restaurants.  This seems odd, but oh well.

4.  Polaroid.  Ruth and I found a charming set of cards that were styled to look like old Polaroid shots, which got us thinking that we could do that ourselves.  Here are a couple of our efforts:

Ruth's

Mine

That's all for now, folks!

Messy

I didn't have much interest in keeping my room clean when I was growing up.  When we were young, Saturdays were the day we had to clean our rooms and I will admit that I gave as little effort to this as possible.  If I could stuff it under the bed, hide it in a closet, cram it into a drawer or in other creative ways hide my mess, that's what I did.  When I finally got my own room down the basement, the rules had become much more relaxed (i.e. we wore our parents down) and I could could neglect cleanliness to my heart's content.  You could say my parents gave me over to my slovenly tendencies.  I used to have a photo of my room from this period of time, which demonstrates the point, but I couldn't find it, so I'll have to use one of the top of my desk.  Just multiply the disarray on the desk and you'll have a good idea of what my room looked like.

I threw my dirty clothes on a heap in the corner on the tiled floor and occasionally put some of them in the washing machine.  One day, I decided I should pick all of them up to put them in the wash and found that at the bottom of the pile, some bugs had been happily eating away at my underwear.  This had an amazingly motivating effect on me.  Suddenly I had a reason to care about where I put my clothes.  This was exactly what Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle might have ordered for me, if she'd been consulted on my case.  My habits improved a little.  The next transformation occurred when I moved into an apartment during my college years.  During the interview for the apartment (currently inhabited by two other college students), my prospective roommates asked me about my general attitude toward cleanliness - it turned out that this was an important factor in the decision.  I assured them that I was quite neat (oh, the deceit of it all) and when they chose me to live there, I felt bound to keep up my end of the bargain.  Somewhere along the line, I realized that it was much more pleasant to live in a clean apartment, in spite of the draconian rules about cleaning out the tub after every use and wiping down the kitchen counter after making a meal.  My own room stayed rather rumpled, but I was in earnest about making sure my roommates had no reason to regret picking me.  

And so it has continued over the years, small moments of graceful transformation.  I will never be fastidiously neat, but I can no longer enjoy living in a mess.  The work involved in sanctifying my home has become less of a burden and more of a blessing.  

How very like what God does in our lives when He begins to sanctify our souls.  There's no hiding our mess from Him.  First, He illuminates our sin for us by allowing us to wallow in it; He gives us over to it and in His grace lets us truly taste the bitterness of our choices.  In a series of small graces, He transforms us over time, giving us hearts that long for righteousness and despise sin.  He is at work in us giving us the will to please Him and the ability to do the work that pleases Him.  He starts with messy souls, declares us clean in Christ, and then sets about making us clean indeed, teaching us how to keep our spiritual house clean and giving us joy in the process.  

 For I am confident of this very thing, 

that He who began a good work in you 

will perfect it until the day of Christ Jesus.

Philippians 1:6

Emeline

This is Emeline Ottaway Kemp, my great, great grandmother   If the photograph told the whole story, I would say that this was a severe woman, not given to frills or finery.  She seems to have no softness to her, all hard edges with an uncompromising glare.  She looks somewhat masculine and unfriendly, a no-nonsense kind of gal.  She probably had a switch and knew how to use it to good effect.

But that's not really fair, is it?  One photograph, one moment in time and space.  Early photographers didn't have the options that we have now; there were no massive photoshoots in which you could choose the best 100 out of 1000 shots.  It was a one-shot deal and you'd better sit still and for heaven's sake, don't smile!

Digging a little deeper into Emeline's life, I find that she was born in Smarden, England in 1832.  She was the oldest of six children (3 girls, 3 boys) born to John and Sarah (Sally) Ottaway.  Her parents came to Stockbridge, New York, in 1849 when Emeline was a mere slip of a girl, seventeen years old.  One year later, 18-year-old Emeline was joined in matrimony with Stephen Kemp, who was a worldly 29 years old and who also originally hailed from England (Kent).  These two lovebirds got busy and had 11 children, 6 of whom survived to adulthood:  Ada, Alice, Cynthia Rose, Annie, Nettie and George.  Here's the happy family around 1885 when Emeline would have been about 53:

 Back row (standing): Ada, George and Alice.  Front row: Annie, Cynthia Rosalia, Stephen, Emeline and Nettie.  Nettie was my great grandmother - quite a looker, I think, and a real fashion plate.  More on her in another blog, I guess.

So dear Emeline married at 18, bore 11 children, five of whom died young. The only one of those five that we know about is Abbie, born in 1871, died in 1872 when Emeline was 40 years old. Interestingly, little Abbie was born just one year after Emeline's youngest sister, Abbie, died at age seventeen.  Emeline shifted from one continent to another one year before marrying and then moved halfway across the U.S. to Wisconsin (Koshkonong) six years after marrying.  She died in 1907 at the age of 75, predeceasing her older husband by two years.

I wish I'd known Emeline - I'm sure there's much more to her story than these two photos can show us.  I'd like to think that in spite of the severe look to her face that she knew joy, as well as sorrow.

What do you do while you're waiting?

We had gone on a hike, the four of us.  The two young ones stopped to make their mark in the sandstone, while the older ones walked on ahead, having already made their mark by producing 6 sandstone carvers.  Eventually the tired one said, "Let's stop and wait for them - I don't want to end up on the other side of the nature center so that it takes forever for us to find each other again."  This was an agreeable suggestion to the other one and so we found some tree stumps that looked as if they had been cut down just to provide homely chairs for the weary.  The waiting began.  

Waiting for something will give you a good indication of your level of patience.  What do you do? One of us began to get restless with a desire to move on.  The other one gathered some fallen leaves and made a little order out of the chaos, imposing design in the wilderness.  Four leaves, four corners, nice and tidy.  But neither of us were content just to sit and do nothing.  

I read a book once about Corrie Ten Boom's silent years, written by the woman who took care of her for those years.  Corrie had a stroke that left her somewhat immobile and unable to speak.  This went on for 5 years until her death.  Five whole years...it staggers the mind.  Were those wasted years?   No, according to the author.  Corrie somehow managed to impart something of value during those silent years.  She waited with grace and patience for the day of deliverance, knowing that Jesus would not have left here here unless He still had work for her to do.  Corrie's assistant was deeply ministered to by her during these years of service.  Corrie Ten Boom knew how to wait.  

I am impatient.  I don't like waiting for anything, especially when the actual time of waiting is unknown (the "are-we-there-yet" mentality).  But when it comes down to it, we cannot avoid waiting. The only question that remains is what we will do with it.  I don't think waiting always means standing still - I think it's okay to keep moving while waiting.  I think it's okay to seek to be productive while waiting.  The key to good waiting is bearing up under it patiently without complaint, being confident that God's timing is perfect.

The two older ones eventually moved onward in trail ahead, having left the design of their waiting on the path for the next travelers to see.  When we got back to the car, the sandstone carvers were there. The waiting was over.

But if we hope for what we do not see, 

we wait for it with patience.

Romans 8:25