10 years ago
08 November 2010
07 November 2010
20 Days of Thanks: Day 2
It is expected, yet I am grateful for the extra hour of sleep allotted each autumn as we "fall back"...
06 November 2010
20 Days of Thanks: Day 1
20 Days of Thanks is a project I found through Facebook which encourages people from today to Thanksgiving to post one photo per day of something they are grateful for. You can learn more about the project here.
The arrival of fall always makes me happy for trees and chill, but today I am especially grateful for the joy of seasonal baking. Here's a photo of a batch of pumpkin muffins I just pulled out of the oven:
The arrival of fall always makes me happy for trees and chill, but today I am especially grateful for the joy of seasonal baking. Here's a photo of a batch of pumpkin muffins I just pulled out of the oven:
30 January 2010
The Ache of Lost Prophets
Thursday was a sad day as I was informed of the passing of JD Salinger. A good friend called me at work and the sinking feeling that prevailed in the wake of the news was almost too much to bear.
It isn't that his is an untimely death - the man was 91 - but that it marks yet another loss in the artistic community. In fact, my emotions on Thursday and the days that followed have been reminiscent of similar losses. Less like David Foster Wallace or Jeff Buckley, more like Madeleine L'Engle or Kurt Vonnegut.
I'm reminded of Reva's lecture, what's now so long ago, and her grief after Vonnegut. Upon hearing of his death, she lamented to her husband of all the prophets dying off - the world barren of truth tellers. Wisely he replied that others would surface. Indeed the world waits for a new generation of prophets.
Why is it that we ache for them? Continue to recognize our need? I believe they are vital because they continue to paint the ways we can redeem the world. Art is a form of redemption, no matter its form, and when another craftsman leaves us, the vacancy is felt with such weight, and it is difficult to hope for the void to be filled again.
Indeed with all the technological advances shoving us away from traditional means in which to make art (it's somewhat miraculous any of us commits real pen to real paper anymore) we wonder, if not publicly, in our own heads, if we are the last ones who will continue the tradition. Will the prophets, the artists, eventually die out?
Coming to this question, or this realization, does more than sober, it terrifies. Art is a shining light in a world so often dimmed by fads and frequencies, vapid entertainment distracting us from the true, the whole, the beautiful.
For today, the gift of the prophets, the storytellers, the artists, is still with us. Recognition and gratitude are how I choose to respond, even in my grieving the loss of another.
It isn't that his is an untimely death - the man was 91 - but that it marks yet another loss in the artistic community. In fact, my emotions on Thursday and the days that followed have been reminiscent of similar losses. Less like David Foster Wallace or Jeff Buckley, more like Madeleine L'Engle or Kurt Vonnegut.
I'm reminded of Reva's lecture, what's now so long ago, and her grief after Vonnegut. Upon hearing of his death, she lamented to her husband of all the prophets dying off - the world barren of truth tellers. Wisely he replied that others would surface. Indeed the world waits for a new generation of prophets.
Why is it that we ache for them? Continue to recognize our need? I believe they are vital because they continue to paint the ways we can redeem the world. Art is a form of redemption, no matter its form, and when another craftsman leaves us, the vacancy is felt with such weight, and it is difficult to hope for the void to be filled again.
Indeed with all the technological advances shoving us away from traditional means in which to make art (it's somewhat miraculous any of us commits real pen to real paper anymore) we wonder, if not publicly, in our own heads, if we are the last ones who will continue the tradition. Will the prophets, the artists, eventually die out?
Coming to this question, or this realization, does more than sober, it terrifies. Art is a shining light in a world so often dimmed by fads and frequencies, vapid entertainment distracting us from the true, the whole, the beautiful.
For today, the gift of the prophets, the storytellers, the artists, is still with us. Recognition and gratitude are how I choose to respond, even in my grieving the loss of another.
23 January 2010
Amen & Amen
This week has been spent fasting and praying. Spurred on by a collective community believing for incredible things for this year, I have devoted these seven days to pressing in and listening hard.
Today, as I was reading and meditating, I came across this beautiful prayer written by a notable monk who served in New York City in the early twentieth century. During his ministry, he wrote:
“My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going.
I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end.
Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think I am following Your will does not mean that I am actually doing so.
But I believe that the desire to please You does in fact please You.
I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire.
And I know that if I do this, You will lead me by the right road, though I may know nothing about it.
Therefore, I will trust You always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for You are ever with me, and You will never leave me to face my perils alone.“
- Thomas Merton, Thoughts In Silence
Today, as I was reading and meditating, I came across this beautiful prayer written by a notable monk who served in New York City in the early twentieth century. During his ministry, he wrote:
“My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going.
I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end.
Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think I am following Your will does not mean that I am actually doing so.
But I believe that the desire to please You does in fact please You.
I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire.
And I know that if I do this, You will lead me by the right road, though I may know nothing about it.
Therefore, I will trust You always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for You are ever with me, and You will never leave me to face my perils alone.“
- Thomas Merton, Thoughts In Silence
16 January 2010
Lookin' Forward
The new year is upon us and it seems everyone I talk to has grand expectations for this annual change. It’s incredible to hear them discuss how horrible the past years have been. While my natural pessimism has me tending to agree, I also see many good things that occurred from 2000-2009. I could diatribe regarding those years, but I’ll refrain, simply outlining the year we’ve just completed.
For me, 2009 was a tribute to patience - a season of cultivated anticipation. A year of sitting crossed-legged in life’s waiting room, looking toward something, but not yet equipped enough to walk in its direction.
As my gaze shifts to the new year, the new decade, I am full of hope. I have begun to reassess the facts, and, taking Berry’s advice, choosing joy despite them. I sense change is on its way, and that my direction will finally be forward motion.
And so my hope for this new year is that all-consuming desire of open-handed contentment, to live cognizant of the fact that I am not entitled to any of the gifts I have been given. I am unimaginably blessed to exist - no, thrive - in one of my favorite places. I’m also a part of an incomparable community, and the growth that occurs by engaging close friends is immeasurable.
These are some of the reminders I need to give myself from time to time when I’m straying from gratitude. When I feel inclined to complain. When I feel overwrought with expectations that have once again fallen short.
So I’m looking forward to looking back, well aware that this year will bring a smattering of good, terrible, joyous, and frustrating experiences and emotions. Yet, this is the course of every year we live out. Gracefully, we’ve been given one more.
For me, 2009 was a tribute to patience - a season of cultivated anticipation. A year of sitting crossed-legged in life’s waiting room, looking toward something, but not yet equipped enough to walk in its direction.
As my gaze shifts to the new year, the new decade, I am full of hope. I have begun to reassess the facts, and, taking Berry’s advice, choosing joy despite them. I sense change is on its way, and that my direction will finally be forward motion.
And so my hope for this new year is that all-consuming desire of open-handed contentment, to live cognizant of the fact that I am not entitled to any of the gifts I have been given. I am unimaginably blessed to exist - no, thrive - in one of my favorite places. I’m also a part of an incomparable community, and the growth that occurs by engaging close friends is immeasurable.
These are some of the reminders I need to give myself from time to time when I’m straying from gratitude. When I feel inclined to complain. When I feel overwrought with expectations that have once again fallen short.
So I’m looking forward to looking back, well aware that this year will bring a smattering of good, terrible, joyous, and frustrating experiences and emotions. Yet, this is the course of every year we live out. Gracefully, we’ve been given one more.
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