If Only

If you could only see me from the inside out...running in a field of flowers amid the morning dew...Supping white wine inside my thoughts...if only

Monday, December 31, 2012


Night falls on the closing of 2012. I look around to observe a myriad of changes, but my heart is not silent as I see the windows that continue to close on God and all that he is to America. I think about Sandy Hook Elementary School. Christmas, birthdays, unwrapped toys lying in the corner. The parents’ hearts are wrapped in sorrow and grief. God alone can unwrap the upcoming years with healing to the broken. What has happened in this world? Think of the young girl in India who was recently raped and tortured in such a horrendous manner. Why didn’t someone help? Is this another one of those thoughts in today’s new world? "Oh, please, I don’t wish to be involved in this, so I will look the other way while someone else does something." Yes, we are too busy even if it means someone is murdered. What happened to the Biblical teaching of going the extra mile (Matthew 5:41-42)? Could that pertain in this case? The saddest part of all is that we’ve become complacent and have taken up the adage of the in crowd: "Anything goes, and don’t get involved." After all, this is a new generation of people; things have changed since the old days. We are said to be living in the dark ages if we live by the principals that our parents lived by (and taught us). You know some of those. A hand shake is our bond or do unto others... If your brother needs help, give your all including the shirt off your back. Our conscience is seared and split by whatever feels good to us. Well, the New Year is upon us and it's bound to be different, isn’t it? Thank God for his mercy and grace. It never changes from year to year. I am thankful for my mother being with us at Christmas, and my niece was here limping, but smiling. Wait upon the Lord and he will renew your strength God bless you all this upcoming year. December 31, 2012

Thursday, December 27, 2012

The Artists' Image

I oft times ponder the eye gate of an artist, his heart, and his subject. Does his painting project what he feels thru his own imbued emotions - paintings, possibly created by number? This would indicate the number of women, if he painted women, that meant something to him or subjected him to great vexation or happiness. Whatever the image from his mind to paint brush… albeit, mother, wife, girlfriend, lover? Who knows? Point being made, the facial expressions in paintings are what the artist mirrors about the subject, be it woman or man. Famous faces on an easel will be sold for millions of dollars. People stop to ponder what they see in the art gallery. After deciding what they think (and who makes them an authority?), they create that person’s life experience within their own metaphoric chambers. Do they know? Maybe so…. I think of Marilyn Monroe, Joan of Arc, Lady Godiva and Jacqueline Kennedy, just to name a few. They all looked fairly content with only a hint of sadness, didn’t they? After their passing, we learned of turmoil that seemed to be kept in the lower chambers of their heart where fragile lies the face therein. Does an artist see this through his own pain and suffering? I wonder……

Saturday, December 8, 2012

The Broken Window
"May I come in, he said as he peered through the broken window at her. The wood that divided the panes resembled a cross that seemed to illuminate the sadness etched across her face. Could the sun be drawing its own image of her, he wondered? Pensively, she stared at him for a few seconds before answering. “Dreams that have been deferred by life and its valleys, have left me broken, she said as she gazed at the wooden floor. The cold winters hovered in her bosom like suspicions that could not thaw in a world that held no promise. He walked closer to the broken window and spoke softly to her. “Please, my beautiful one, don’t let my love for you turn to dust inside your wintered soul.” She lifted her eyes to meet his stare as tears traced her face with their own stories. “My Sir, she spoke in a soft voice that reflected her love for him; “the mirror no longer stares back at me with hope.” He heard the sunset-ring in her voice as he felt the tears brimming up in his own eyes. “My dearest Missy Green Eyes, don’t you realize that a woman like you makes me hunger deep within my tomorrows?” The cross shadowed her face as the sun continued its drawing. “Look at me”, he said to her with the eyes of a mighty hunter. “Hell will not stop me now nor the demons therein.” “I shall come for you in the summer of our time.” He turned and walked toward the setting sun like a cowboy of yesteryear…She walked closer to the broken window placing her hand on the sun-drawn cross. She knew he would return to take her away. She knew she would go. She loved him…..The hunter had found her waiting….. waiting in her new white dress