Profile in courage

"Artists are like creatures who swallow themselves.
We process our lives into what we make."

Frank Schaeffer, Crazy for God

Three! Three! Three sons in one!

Over at photographer Doug's blog, there appeared this picture of this son we're so proud of. He's the baby. The youngest. The most easy-going, it's all good, roll with the punches of the three offspring. The bearded young giant with the funkiest beard.


He's kinda cute, idn he?

Then, there was also this picture of the version of this son who scares me a little bit with the intensity of his talent, his focus, and his drive. It takes my breath away sometimes that sunshiny Steve has turned into such a force of nature.

And then there's THIS guy.
HOW many tattoos are there on this arm???

This test's harder

You don't have to get 100% on this one - and I'll give you extra credit for any spelling rule you know for determining your choice.

Your Spelling is Perfect

You got 10/10 correct. Your spelling is excellent. You also have a great memory and eye for detail.

How's Your Spelling?

Is Happy Stupid?

This is a blog about questions and clarity, and I have a question.

WHY, I'd like to know, do we think it's "smart" or "savvy" or "caring" or "knowing what's really going on" when we're doom-saying? Why is happiness stupid? Is happiness stupid?

I'm sure you've seen the bumper sticker But is this any way to go through life? Blind to the blessings and opportunities and joys and pleasures because the bad stuff is, you've decided, what's "really" going on? Why isn't the good stuff what's really going on? Why isn't it "if you're not GRATEFUL you're not paying attention"?

Especially here, in the pampered, spoiled West! Why do we, of all people, find bad news easier to believe than good news? What is it confirming for us?

And howcome the people with the most blessings are the ones doing the most complaining about the state of the world? Do they think they made things safe and happy before? Do they think it's their job to do that now? Do they think it's even possible to make everything in the circumstances of the world safe and happy?

I fought this battle and had this debate and sorted this whole thing out for myself when I was a teenager. There was just too much doom saying for it all to be true. And I'm sorry, but if you're a high schooler, and "this is the best time of your life," then just shoot yourself after graduation. If it doesn't get better after high school, then we can just all give up now. "Shoulda taken a rock and killed myself years ago." (Cher, in Moonstruck -- "is that all I'm ever gonna have? Bad luck?")

But it's NOT TRUE. Life didn't get worse after high school! For cryin out loud! The whole world of opportunity opened up after graduation. Okay, okay, I tanked my wide world down the hole of an unaccredited fundamentalist college, but even that was a wider world than high school.

Maybe that's what it is. Maybe it's the wideness of the world that bugs people. Old people get like that sometimes. Crochety. Unwilling to take in any more information. Like Bertie Wooster, it seems they "can't do with any more education. I was full up years ago," they say. So instead of finding all the reasons change is good, we doomsay. We whine. We cope with an ever-changing world by noting all the bad stuff we can find, and declaring that we have thereby found "proof" that the world is worse than it used to be, back when we were happy. Back when we didn't have to deal with all "this." (Never mind that all "this" was around back then too -- never mind history -- I didn't see it -- so it wasn't there.) We seem to think that the "wise" part of the three wise monkeys was in their refusal to take in any new information at all.

Well, phooey! I still come to the same conclusions I came to as a teenager.

Yes, there's bad stuff. Yes, there IS a very real and very heart-breaking "anguish of the world" I want God to heal. I ask Him to. I know it's there. When I find it in my path, I take action to alleviate the pain.

But I also know a whole bunch of other stuff.

I know that heroes large and small wage war against this anguish, and that their heroism is a grand and glorious thing. Heroes make my tears flow - in the glorious grandeur of their fight. In the joy of it.

I know that after the dormant, frozen bleakness of bare branches and after the stillness of the wintry mornings, spring comes again. I've seen 47 of these springs now. I've learned my lesson. Yes, there's winter. And then there's spring. That's what I insist on saying as the end of the sentence. There is spring. Today, I can almost hear things growing out there -- I can almost hear the sound of all the budding branches, and the reaching toward the teasing and occasionally visible sun.

I know that a child's baby teeth fall out. Right now, I know a little girl who is currently growing in EIGHT of her front teeth! All at the same time! She's not crying over the loss of those baby teeth. Her mom might've. Her mom might be noting the passage of time and the temporary and quickly passing innocent years of childhood. But the kid knows the truth! Eight missing front teeth means she's getting bigger. And bigger kids can do all kinds of stuff that the babies can't do.

Yes, there is darkness in the world. Of course there is. We can all see it.

But there is Light. And there's no such thing as a darkness so strong that even the smallest light is extinguished by it. And Light is good. Yes, there is darkness. But there is Light. And the darkness is not more real. Love is stronger than Hate. Life is stronger than Death. Light is stronger than the Dark. Today, I can almost hear the budding branches sing the ancient song of praise to the Light.

More Memling

You might need to click on the image to really see its parts. It will also help if your screen is about 4 feet by 6 feet in size! What a breathtaking painting! For the sheer number of images and complication of various narratives, it's a stunner. Now that I've seen several of these Hans Memling paintings, I'm considering getting a few copies or prints or something for my own walls. This is imagery. This is iconography. This is a picture worth a few thousand words, and the contemplation that ensues can be as deep as the human soul and as high as heaven.

Holy Week began yesterday for the western church.

Think of Kenneth Branagh's Much Ado About Nothing. Remember the horror of grief that consumes the character Claudio when he finds that his jumping to uncharitable conclusions has caused the death of his beloved Hero. Remember the funeral procession? The steady, steady drum beat of movement toward the burial place? The certainty and finality of the tomb?

That is how Holy Week feels to the traditionalist. Participating in the rites and ceremonies of the ancient Faith of the Church brings us, one beat at a time, step, step, step, to the foot of the cross "whereon was hung the world's salvation." We feel again the outrage and injustice which now satisfies the great Justice and Love of God. We long to beat back the soldiers with our own fists and we know with the thief on the cross that He has not deserved this agony. He does not hang in agony because of his own doings. We know "mine is the guilt, but thine the righteousness." We know He hangs and bleeds and dies for us. For me.

And we weep.

I weep.

We also know how the story ends, of course. We know that, in the words of Sister Elaine of All Saints, "For the Christian there is always a resurrection." We know that our grief is deserved but also that the God who dies for us will live for us too. We know this.

But this week, we weep.