Holy Week and Easter Bonnets

Google Reader - Linda's shared items

Sunday's can be slow drip days, but for me they are delicious yet dangerous for the feisty artist in me. Remembering that the muse visits the moving hand, I try to keep my hand and heart at rest - like the way God did back in the Day. I try to mimic Him, well sort of, and rest and allow the majesty of the Sabbath to help me surrender to a holy down time.
Just today, I tried to nap and lounge only to feel a creative nudge from my Angelic Muse. I always know it's Her because she has such a kind voice and gentle touch. She's one fun angel and knows all about my bent for all things artful. So, tried hard to be good and slide onto my studio's rocker to obey God's mandate to rest on the Sabbath. There, near the chair was my sturdy easel with my latest not-yet-finished painting. "I'll just redo thepale sky," I whispered to my Golden Retriever, now nestled near my feet. I picked up my paint brush and twisted off the top to my crimson oil tube. That was the moment I had tried to resist. I hoped that heaven was looking the other way - at least for an hour or so. " Sorry God, I'll nap next week!"

MAKING ART AT MIDNIGHT

Jay Leno was making his closing jokes and I had an idea, more of an urge to create something, something smashing, something that just might bless my world and me as well. Like a burst of lightening, I walked to my antique cabinet where I keep my treasures, treasures like new tablets, bulging journals, sharpened charcoals, paint pens and my oh-so-beloved scissor collection. I reached for my new drawing pad. I ran my hand across its cover and flipped it open. Hmmm. Twenty empty pages stared back at me. yet spoke volumes to my eager and readied heart, one bent on all things artful.

I strummed the pages and let them fall through my fingers like gently shuffling a deck of cards. Hmmm. I had been saving the pristine tablet for a "just the right moment" and it seemed the time had slipped up on me like a surprise party. Yes, a party, kind of an arty party and I knew the minute I caressed the pages , I would be hooked, hooked all night. My addiction for making spontaneous shapes and images took over. So I made a pot of green tea and reached for my Pitt artist pens. I readjusted my pharmacy lamp, pulled on my around-the-house socks and propped up my feet on the nearby sofa. Though the morning stars would find me glassy eyed, I smiled at the moment, so right, so good, so welcomed.

Wild Goose Chase

The Celtics named God's Holy Spirit the Wild Goose. I, perhaps, may have named Him the Human Whisperer, the Good One and Only, but the Wild Goose? Oh my! Now, that I know Him well, I call Him Father. Yet, as I consider the term Wild Goose, I somehow understand the creative Celtics. After all, I must chase something to make my mark on this side of heaven. A sit-down faith remains lame. A wild goose is impossible to catch and keeps its chasers in full forward motion. The Wild Goose of the Celtics was high energy, high wisdom, the example of risk and abandonment. A wild goose has fun and never harms its followers - it just passionately flies ahead and never gives up. I like that.

Song of the Spring Bird

The sounds and scents of Spring reminds us
that there's a reason to sit and watch for the
Spring Bird and hear its tender song

We must, we must
wait and smile and look up
For when the rose buds unfold atop their thorns
A trio of the rose and robin and the dove in the air
Prepare us for new beginnings
And cultivated miracles lain dormant in the ice of winter's blast.

What if the rose bud froze and the Spring Bird stayed lame in its nest?
And what if we forgot to sing to the sky and
twirl and sway with the winds of grace

Then, the Hands of God, would surely embrace
and harken our hearts and awaken the Spring bird
and place song in its throat
to bring
Love to us again, then we, too, shall sing . . . with the Spring Bird again and again.
The Songs of the Silent Spring Symphony

MSN.com by Lenovo

MSN.com by Lenovo

Daffodils and Daydreams

Spring, one of Mother Nature's kids, flirts with our afternoons. Yea, we say. Wintry thoughts must go; warm hours invite us to our porches. Perennials play with our moods and remind us how dependable they are. Is there anything better than feeling the full peace and pleasures of a Spring morning? There answered prayers fill the baskets of our hearts. There, new prayers tossed heavenward find their way to the heart of our High Father, the Master Gardener, the Maker of Daydreams . . . and daffodils.