They Carry Our Children

I recently sent a copy of "Mayday! Mayday!" to my talented friend Phil Bogle. Phil has a wonderful gift of writing, and a unique way of seeing the world. He has been an inspiration to Alan and me, many times over the years.

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When Phil viewed the photo, he wrote, I just get an entirely different thought process when I see the one you entitled "Mayday! Mayday!" I think of the MAF pilots...flying the missionaries into the jungle. Taking the dear workers of God into the jaws of death and attacks by Satan. The little David, against the roaring lion, delivering hope and the Gospel. My son goes into the jungle frequently and I worry often. The MAF was the only way my kids and grand kids got to their home in Mulia, New Guinea. Now they are in a different place called Cannibal Valley (not one bit more comforting). But knowing that MAF pilots do their job, so Ben and others can do their jobs, is the image I get from your piece.

Phil's description of these brave pilots, and the inspiring poem he wrote, deeply touched my heart. Please be praying for the courageous men and women who risk their lives to bring hope to those who have never heard.

Icy Lace

The cold beauty of our first winter snow is especially lovely as you see it here--captured in the icy lace of the curly willow trees near our home.

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A few hours after I shot this photo, the silver thaw began in earnest, covering everything with nearly an inch of ice.

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We heard burdened trees and branches breaking, popping and crashing all around us. One big oak tree lost a huge limb, which fell onto a nearby home, crushing down through the roof into the room below. Thank God no one was hurt.

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I had a bad fall myself. I accidentally stepped onto an invisible patch of ice on the cement steps of our front porch. I have been very sore since I fell, but that doesn't matter as much as the fact that my beloved camera broke. I would appreciate your prayers. It is silly, but when the camera broke, I felt like I had lost a part of myself.

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Next week, I will see how much it will cost to either fix or replace my camera. Though truthfully, right now we cannot afford to do either.

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However, though I grieve over the loss of my camera, I am also grateful for the wonderful photos I was able to shoot before I broke it. I haven't looked at all of the pictures I took yet. In fact, the photo you see here is one of the first I've seen--I am so excited to discover what other imaginative images I was able to catch.

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The truth is, if one looks hard enough, even when bad things happen, there is always something for which to be thankful.

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Happy New Year, and God bless you dear friends.

My Paintbrush--Dance of Brush and Page

I love the feel of the worn smoothness of my beloved paintbrush. I balance its span in my fingers--Ah, fits perfectly. I slide one side of feathery brush ends into red acrylic, the other into blue. What picture will be born from my thoughts?

It is a mystery for now.
I begin with small hushed strokes. The paint sweetens my empty canvas with color. Red and blue sweep into soft purple.

Rinse, swirling colors into water. Clean brush snaps into yellow and green. Small motions, growing larger with the painting's message. Then delicate spatters of pink and white spit from my brush onto the canvas.

Swish swirl, then there is brown. Dashes of red ferment the mix. Long thin brush, tiny lines form details and outlines. Harsh fissured faces warm with smiles, emerge from trunks of trees splendid with purple, blue and rose blossoms...

Tis a springtime forest, peopled with trees.