Showing posts with label earth crammed with heaven. Show all posts
Showing posts with label earth crammed with heaven. Show all posts
Saturday, April 21, 2012
Sunday, January 01, 2012
2011- A Year of Blessed
I have a stack of unwritten-upon Christmas cards coupled with equally blank mailing envelopes. I may or may not ever get them sent this year. Instead I offer you our New Year's family newsletter (via photos). This exercise of looking backward in preparation for looking forward never fails to humble me, fill me with hope and a sense of counting the cost for new days, dreams and sacrifices ahead.
Glory be to Father, Son and Spirit for all.
From our family to yours, a holler of thanksgiving for 2011 and a whisper of hope for 2012.
Comfort & Joy,
Tamara (for all)
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Music & photo credits:
Words to Build A Life On by Mike Crawford and His Secret Siblings (I blogged about this song here).
*note: I accidentally uploaded three songs for this smilebox before I made my final decision. If you just can't get enough of our family slideshow you'll hear two more songs: Home by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros and Hunting Song by Where's Ulysses.(I blogged about this album here.)
Also, so many of the photos I chose were shared with us by friends and family. Two of the photos came from strangers and I want to include credit. Unfortunately, I've lost track of the news media site that provided the photo of President Obama greeting the House pages at last year's State of the Union address; please forgive me unknown photographer! The photo of the wooden figure of Christ carrying his cross comes from Ann Voskamp's site. (I've blogged about the Cradle to Cross wreath we've purchased from her family here.)
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Friday, December 09, 2011
Austin, Nice to Meet You: San Antonio day trips
We went to San Antonio twice the week of Thanksgiving. It just sort of worked out that way. First, Brian and I went for a short overnight anniversary trip. We found an amazing deal on Priceline.com for the Saint Anthony Hotel a few blocks from the Riverwalk. The hotel was dated in an elegant sense, and completely adequate for a resting place in between seeing the city. We mostly walked the lovely pathways around the San Antonio river, took a tour boat ride, ate at the yummy German Schilo's Diner (deviled eggs for a side dish...yes, please!) and then gelato and milkshakes for dessert from Cafe Di Giusto on the riverwalk.
We went back to San Antonio on Sunday afternoon. We'd intended to go the day after Thanksgiving but learned that the city holds a huge parade lighting up the riverwalk and we didn't want to join the mob. Then we meant to go on Saturday, but it was raining here in central Texas (can you belive it?!?). Since almost everything we wanted to do for the day was outside we waited until Sunday afternoon. Still, it was quite windy and cool for this part of the country, but it gave us a good excuse to break out our scarves and hats.
1. The Alamo (of course)
So, I'd had a bit of a heads up that this was smaller than I'd expect. We walked in a sort of back entrance or something, right smack into the gift shop which was definitely underwhelming. The further into the compound we went, the better it got. I'm sure we'd have benefited by watching the movie shown at the next-door IMAX theater for a bit more context. Still, it's one of those locations you need to visit to know a bit about our history.
That being said, the kids seemed more engaged with the koi than the old guns and documents inside the Alamo.
2. The Riverwalk (naturally!)
Somehow San Antonio has managed to commercialize a natural beauty without wrecking it. Not only that, but they've managed to cultivate a tourist attraction involving water, stone bridges and boat traffic without cluttering the whole thing up with multitudinous safety warning signs, unseemly ropes, barricades, orange cones or grumpy security officers. I don't know how they've done it, but they've even managed to protect us all from the worst and most ubitiquous public offender, muzak.
It took me several hours our first trip down to figure out why I was enjoying the experience so much when I'm typically quite skittish about tourist traps. "There's no artificial noise!" Lovely.
Lovely added to lovely when dusk fell and the entire stretch lit up. I read that Austin no longer has a light display because tax payers complained it was a "frivolous" expenditure. All I can say is "huh?" Of all the frivolities we as a society commit this time of year, creating a magical wonderland of light among the branches of Texas' twisty live oaks should not be lumped into the rest of the tinsely atrocities.
Austin, I'm surprised of you....
Speaking of frivolities, we didn't get too far into the mall, set up on the man-made end of the Riverwalk. We managed to squeeze into a Starbucks and take the escalator to the third-floor cinema for a showing of The Muppets without getting too much commercialism on us.
All in all, a perfect tourist-y kind of day.
"All ceremony depends on symbol; and al symbols have been vulgarized and made stale by the commercial conditions of our time...Of all these faded and falsified symbols, the most melancholy example is the ancient symbol of the flame. In every civilized age and country, it has been a natural thing to talk of some great festival on which "the town was illuminated." There is no meaning nowadays in saying the town was illuminated...The whole town is illuminated already, but not for noble things. It is illuminated solely to insist on the immense importance of trivial and material things, blazoned from motives entirely mercenary...It has not destroyed the difference between light and darkness, but it has allowed the lesser light to put out the greater...Our streets are in a permanent dazzle, and our minds in a permanent darkness."
-- G.K. Chesteron, "The Rituals of Christmas," The Illustrated London News, December 24, 1927
Tuesday, November 08, 2011
Monday Mix Tape on Tuesday: fall cleaning!
Welcome to Monday Mix Tape, in which I pretend I'm Ira Glass. You know, I choose a theme and share with you several variations on the theme from the worlds of art, faith and culture. To keep up the fun little facade of making a weekly mix tape, I label each of these finds as "track 1". "track 2" and so on (and just like the stack of mixtapes you've got hidden in a box in your attic, you never know when you might see some love song from Journey or Lionel Richie show up here).
This week I'm doing some fall cleaning. Advent is in the air...can you feel it? Or maybe it feels like Thanksgiving to you? What -- you say Christmas? Yikes! Either way I'm feeling like I've got piles of stuff drowning out my house, my desk, my inbox and, most definitely, my head. In the spirit of making room for the coming season, this week's mix tape is all about cleaning out my draft folders, my link lists, my to-blog-about-someday files. Hope you enjoy!
track 1: visual art
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| seed meditation 5, resin, texas laurel seeds on panel, 8x8 Mayme Kratz via oh, what a world, what a world |
I love, love, love this work. If I could, I'd buy it and hang it in my living room. Or bedroom. I didn't even realize it was made of Texas laurel seeds until today when I'm adding the photo here. Gorgeous. Also, it makes me think of this artist and this artist. You see the resemblance too?
Utter loveliness all around.
track 2: music
I'm really enjoying the new release, Gather & Build: A Collection, from old favorite Jars of Clay. I haven't quite figured out in this new era of music distribution how these guys sustain themselves with free music downloads so tip 'em well, will you? (for what it's worth, I may be in love with "Closer"; it just makes me happy!)
track 3: poetry
The cure for writer's block (via T.S. Poetry Press)
is laundry.Cram both arms with dirty clothes and
stuff them in the washer.
Brim the detergent, vinegar, bleach, if you dare.
Sit back down.
Write a bit more.
In thirty minutes or an hour, the dinger will ding.
Heap the wet mess into the dryer,
but wait.
The dryer is already packed because you forgot
to fold the last load. Divest the dryer.
Fold the clean clothes, arranging them into piles:
one for him, with you beside him (where you always are),
one for the son, one for the daughter —
the closest they will ever be is these towering piles
of bras, boxers, T-shirts, jeans, uniforms.
Now the dryer is void. Fill it.
Sit down again.
Write.
When the dinger dings, ignore it.
Write on.
Forget to clear the dryer.
— Megan Willome, blogs at Sabbath Says
I am suffering a nasty bout of writer's block for the Advent devotional journal Christ Church is putting together. I'm going to try channeling Megan's tips here and see what happens. Worst case is my laundry pile will go away, right?
track 4: creative spaces & places
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| City Museum, St. Louis Read this fun post from a museum appreciator at the Cardus blog. |
track 5: links
- House of Fifty (ideas for inspired living): I've just developed a crush on this online magazine. Also, don't miss their super fun free playlist!
- just little things: A blog my daughter shared with me; simple reminders for gratitude in even the tiniest glimpses of grace we receive each day.
Linking today:
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
from the book pile, 2011: A Timbered Choir by Wendell Berry
When I first started this blog in 2006 one of my goals was to nurture a forum that kept me accountable for the cultural goods I consume. Of course, I didn't really know then to articulate the goal in those terms. The truth dawns gradually: as in in worship so as in culture -- I did not make it, but it is making me.
Having also gotten quite clear with the truth that I will never be a professional book reviewer, I've let myself off the hook and changed up the way I document my reading. Hope you enjoy!
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Author: Wendell Berry
Genre: Poetry
Published: Counterpoint Press, 1998
General Impression: The word love is overused, but what do we have left trying to describe the deep affection I have for Wendell Berry's poems? Actually, I feel a bit twitterpated with every single thing I've ever read of Mr. Berry's: the essays I stumble on across the internet, his poetry, his fiction. Ironically, I almost never got to know the work of Wendell Berry. Several years ago, before I'd been properly introduced to his work, a friend who'd actually written her Ph.D. dissertation on the work of Wendell Berry described him to me as a contrarian. As it turned out that friendship took on a contrarian flavour all the way around and, sadly, that scared me away from Wendell Berry as guilty-by-association. Thankfully, I overcame all those negative presumptions and started reading. As grace often does, the more I became acquainted with Berry's writing, the more I forgave and enjoyed the memories of that ill-fated friendship as well.
From what I can understand, this collection of poems were written as a response to his practice of Sunday morning walking meditations over a period of two decades. In order to truly hear Mr. Berry in his poetry and his prayer, I read --out loud-- each poem as a chapter of a book. So for one evening, I read, for example, the six poems included from the 1990 collection. I do not know why the number of poems included from each year vary. For example, 1979 is made up of twelve poems and 1986 only one. Was Mr. Berry more prolific or more skilled in one particular year over another? Also, interesting were the themes that hid out like little secrets from one year to the next: mournful years where it seems many friends and neighbors passed away, angry year when war and technology butt up against the authors personal theology and sociology, pleasant years of farming and family fulfillment.
Ecclesiastes 3 as a framework for this collection of poetry:
To everything there is a season.
A time to be born... (The ewes crowd to the mangers; their bellies widen, sag.... 1991 II)
and a time to die...(Now you have slipped away...1996, I)
a time to plant...(The seed is in the ground...1991, V)
and a time to pluck up that which is planted (The summer ends...1984, IV)
A time to kill, (What hard travail God does in death...1980, I)
and a time to heal; (Great deathly powers have passed...1980, III)
a time to break down, (Who makes a clearing makes a work of art...1983, IV))
and a time to build up; (The crop must drink...1984, III)
A time to weep, (Now you know the worst...1995, V)
and a time to laugh; ("You see," my mother said, and laughed...1997, IV)
A time to mourn, (Not again in this flesh will I see...1985, I)
and a time to dance; (The year relents, and free...1983, II)
A time to seek, (One day I walked imagining...1989, VIII)
and a time to lose; (No, no there is no going back...1993, I)
A time to keep, (The sky bright after summer-ending reign...1989, VII)
and a time to cast away; (The fume and shock and uproar...1985, IV)
A time to tear apart, (We have walked so many times, my boy...1982, VI)
A time to tear apart, (We have walked so many times, my boy...1982, VI)
and a time to sew; (A gracious Sabbath stood here while they stood...1985, II)
A time to keep silence, (I go among trees and sit still... 1979, I)
and a time to speak; (They sit together on the porch...1994, IV)
A time to love, (Our household for the time made right...1982, VIII)
and a time to hate; (Hate has no world...1993, IV)
A time of war, (The year begins with war... 1991, I)
and a time of peace; (Cut off in front of the line...1990, VI)
From the work of one poet to another, the body of work surveys creation, fall, crucifixion, resurrection. This is work wholly written.
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The poem from which the title was drawn:
Slowly, slowly, they return
To the small woodland let alone:
Great trees, outspreading and upright,
Apostles of the living light.
Patient as stars, they build in air
Tier after tier a timbered choir,
Stout beams upholding weightless grace
Of song, a blessing on this place.
They stand in waiting all around,
Uprisings of their native ground,
Downcomings of the distant light;
They are the advent they await.
Receiving sun and giving shade,
Their life's a benefaction made,
And is a benediction said
Over the living and the dead.
In fall their brightened leaves, released,
Fly down the wind, and we are pleased
To walk on radiance, amazed.
O light come down to earth, be praised!
--1986, I
More Wendell Berry poems that have inspired me:
Wednesday, September 07, 2011
Wednesday Words: Tim Chester
"Communion should be a feast of friends shared with laughter, tears, prayers, and stories. We celebrate the community life that God gives us through the cross and in the Spirit. We can't celebrate it with heads bowed and eyes closed, alone in our private thoughts and strangely solitary even as we're surrounded by other people.
When we recapture the Lord's Supper as a feast of friends, celebrated as a meal in the presence of the Spirit, then it will become something we earnestly desire. It will become the high point of our life together as the people of God. In this sad and borken world, the Lord's Supper is a moment of joy, because it's a moment of the future."
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