A Work-filled, Lazy Saturday

Do the words "work-filled" and "lazy" seem like an oxymoron to you?

Then I invite you to explore the Christian faith further, or for the first time.

Because work is the Original Design for humans.

The Original Artist made man in His image (and P.S. "His image" is plural.  I would go deep with that, but it's a Saturday and I give you permission to not listen to my hermeneutical studies of Genesis chapter 1.  You're welcome.) and God loves the work of His hands.  Behold, it is very good, still yet.

God placed man in the precise habitat, perfect for his flourishing:  a garden.  God gave man a gift precisely suited for his flourishing:  work to do.

Work is our happy place, when we approach it with a renewed mind...which can involve listening to my hermeneutical studies of Genesis chapter 1, but I digress.

So here I am.  In front of a ginormous Mac screen ("Oh Mac, how I love thee...let me count the ways...") doing a different kind of creating.  I'm engaging a different side of my brain, and a different sort of artistry.  When I am done here, I will head to the studio and break out the paints and inks yet again.  These things, because they are so inherently creative, feel like a combination of really-really hard work and really-really intense play.

And I over-use the hyphen, and this is my confession.

Not going to lie:  later, I will have to fold laundry and clean floors.  Genesis 1 and hermeneutics notwithstanding, that's gonna feel like slave labor.

I'm not functioning in my full sainthood capacity yet.  Give me some time.

(just a fun, so-not-serious slice-of-life of my work-filled, lazy, hyphenated Saturday...)

I Am The Number 50

A day in the Smokies always fixes whatever is mis-aligned in me.  My thoughts tumble over the river-rocks of my problems, and begin to run clear, cool, and compelling.  Paint, prose, and poetry happen easily up there.

After all, I can travel to all the places.  All the magic, artful places.  But my life won't become artful until I become artful.  

And the art is found in the attention I pay to what is.

In that primitive and special mountain spot, I remember that I have the capacity to turn ordinary occasions into living portraiture, simply by the focus of my attention.  When I choose the all-there moment, I know I've put myself in that space where "art is inevitable", and poems too.

I know for sure things like "poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance."

So there I was, night before last, light-speckled and paint-stained, and completely content to simply be.  I'm always in imminent danger of writing poetry on days like that.

I Am The Number 50

I am the number 50
A good way from the beginning and
A good way from the end
I am silver dandelion fluff
Scattering seed
Remembering truth
Forgetting facts
And believing
For the first time
That there was
Good music in the 80's

*thank you to my daughter Hannah McConnell for this poignant capture...I still say you are a photographer in the making.