One day last winter, I stopped and took a photo of neighboring cows. The scene caught my attention because in a landscape of bare winter trees, the cows were resting contently on the verdant green grass; lush grass that seemed out of place in winter on the Blackland Prairie soil.
“He makes me lie down in green pastures…” Are there times when God does help us slow down, stop, or lie down long enough to look at the green pastures of provision he gives amidst the harshness of life? Maybe so.
“He makes me lie down in green pastures, He leads me beside quiet waters, He restores my soul.” Psalm 23. Surely, He does, … with goodness and mercy.
This old barn is deserted, but still standing, beside County Line Road #939, near Mart, Texas. It grabs my attention each time I travel by. With the goal of painting its stately beauty, I stopped recently for a few photos in good light.
The gambrel style shape of the rusted tin roof may be the first thing that caught my attention. It’s red patina is smooth and beautiful, against a blue sky. But, the unique advantage of being able to see light coming through a window on the back side of the barn captured my emotion. The left side of the barn is whole, complete with a closed door. When one walks to the other side, the open wall reveals the darkness of the hollowed out void inside the deserted barn. Weathered wood and weeds winding inward guard the edges. Yet, there is that small window of hope where the light of the sky enters and shines through to the front.
And somehow, I identify. We have sides of us that are protected, closed up to risks and leery of dangers. But, every now and then, someone walks around to the other side and sees our soul; bare, raw, and open, allowing light to enter and come through the hollow spaces. There is beauty in aging gracefully against the wind. And strength in allowing light to shine through.
I have struggled with this painting for a few weeks in my studio. There were moments when I thought I was finished. And I let it rest… only to come back to it a few days later, pick up the brush, and continue to struggle with it more.
It was a peaceful painting when I began. The hay bales at rest in the freshly cut field, the soft clouds floating along with a breeze, and the muted colors described the peace I wanted to convey. But, then those Caracaras floated by… They are also called Mexican Eagles. Beautiful as they are, there is something foreboding about their presence. They are predators (for which I am grateful, for they eat the field mice). Yet, something about that one sitting on the hay bale, as if he rules the roost, just added a touch of unrest to my painting that brought the struggle.
Then, I began to see the message. The Rest and Unrest of Our World these days is the topic we can’t ignore. We are divided on opinions. We struggle with what is true. We are encouraged one minute and disappointed the next. The peace that we know is invaded by predators that we are not sure about.
I decided to leave the Yin and Yang feeling in my painting. I can’t ignore it in reality. I have to learn to make peace with it, just as I have learned to make peace with my environment. My peace comes from an eternal God who reaches down and offers his Peace to us through accepting that Jesus is our Savior from this fallen world. God’s Peace is bigger, brighter, and more lasting than the predators of this world. I will continue to rest in that thought. (And I’m laying down the paintbrush on this one.)
On a day when I feel the particular sadness of this 2021 World so heavy in my soul, I happen to be painting the barbed wire of a fence. This fence is overgrown with vines, choking and holding something in or out, dividing the acreage by imposing restrictions on its natural order. It is an image that contrasts against the beauty and freedom of the vast sky behind it. The painting was started days ago without any of these thoughts. I’m getting back to it on this day, just when I need the revelation it brings.
I am downcast, carrying pain, both the deep pains I feel for others, and concerns of my own. I know that pain and worry need to be cast away. Some days it is difficult to shake off. Some days it seems I am begging God all day in my prayers. Sometimes I think I empathize too much.
But today, as I paint, my Creator God reminds me that He is there in the beauty of the background. He is always there in power and strength, always offering His Spirit to guide, always providing assurance of life that cannot be choked out by the evil in this world. His love, given through Jesus Christ, can never be choked out.
In this politically divided climate of 2021, my soul longs for a way for us all to reconcile and live in peace with each other, agreeing to disagree, respecting opinions as opinions. That is what freedom in America has looked like in my lifetime. I’m still hopeful. But, if it doesn’t look that way anymore, I can cling to the freedom I have in heaven.
I’m reminded of a song: “Gonna lay down my burdens, down by the riverside, down by the riverside, down by the riverside…and study war no more. Gonna lay down my sword and shield, down by the riverside…and study war no more.”
I pray for a healthy balance between fences and freedom for all of us.
Rainbows usually come as a surprise. Before the rainbow, comes the rain. And, at the end of a dreary day, often torrential and stormy, when we think the sun has vanished, it peeks through the clouds and a glorious burst of colors is displayed in a big way! We are surprised! Even though we know God has promised it. Even though we know that’s what happens when sun breaks through the wet sky. But we are surprised and delighted and reminded, once again, that God keeps his promises, in His time.
Gentle nudges, whispers of wind, light plays with shadow, fresh air inflates the lungs, sounds of birds are singing for miles, smells of spring grasses rise from the earth…breathe again.
It’s been a winter. A time of illness, sadness, cold. But with this painting, I feel the gentle nudges of a vast God, who reminds me that He is always there.
Recently, we stood outside, gazing up at the night sky, feeling the cold wind, sniffing the smells of the prairie as smoke wafted from the fire pit. We saw the brightest stars, the planet alignment, the bright lights of the city on the horizon. And we worshipped in our souls. We cried from weary places. We looked up and remembered. We bowed with humble hearts. A divine night.
O Holy Night – (a song by Placide Cappeau and Adolphe Adam)
O Holy night! The stars are brightly shining It is the night of our dear Savior’s birth Long lay the world in sin and error pining ‘Til He appears and the soul felt its worth A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn Fall on your knees; O hear the Angel voices! O night divine, O night when Christ was born O night, O Holy night, O night divine!
Winter blows in and the earth is enshrouded with a cloak of clouds, dropping temperatures to freezing points that hinder or stop all growth below. Colors cool, greens fade to pale, and hay grass gives in to the wind and falls softly in submission to the season.
The mighty winds are the only ones moving, as they howl and billow over the earth. Plants retreat into dormancy, creatures burrow down to hide from the cold.
And all the while, we watch and listen and wait and hope that life will be restored in the promise of spring.
Caught By Surprise 16×20 oil on gallery wrapped canvas $225
We hunt with cameras – my husband and I. (Not that we are against guns, or have not had venison in the freezer many times.) But, when we walk together, we hunt with cameras. One such adventure is the Story Behind the Painting, Caught By Surprise!
For several days we had spotted ducks in our pond, only to see them fly away before we got very close. Steve devised a plan to sneak up on them. The next morning, we left the path and swung wide to walk through high grass to the back side of the dam. Quietly making our way up the grassy hill to come out behind mesquite for camouflage, we peeked out to see, not 10 or 20, but 75 to 100 assorted types of ducks enjoying our pond! As the clicks of our cameras alerted them, they began leaving in groups, rising up over us in a swish of wind, wings and whistling sounds. It was a magical moment!
I watched them take flight. It seemed like chaos with their first lift-off, but they quickly retreated into line formations and soared in sync to the next body of water. Some small groups lingered a little longer in our waterhole, but then left together, following the path of the others. And then the pond was empty. The water stilled. The sky was open. And the moment was gone.
Photographs and Paintings — our way to hold on to the magical moment, just a little while longer!
I feel very small at times, living on this Texas Prairie. The skies, the clouds, the distant views, the ever-changing wind and even the tall windows in my home, take my line of vision upwards. In this world of big open space, I often feel small.
As I painted this skyscape, I was reminded of words from Isaiah 55:8 (I looked it up.) Basically, God tells us that his ways and thoughts are higher than ours, just like the heavens are higher than the earth. Whether or not it is figurative language, I think he means that there is no way I’m ever going to understand all His ways. And somehow that is comforting. It was always comforting in childhood to know that my parents knew things I didn’t, that they had my best interest in mind, that I didn’t have to worry about it. It’s kinda like that with God. His ways and thoughts are so beyond my finite mind.
When I think of God’s ways and thoughts compared to mine, again, I feel small. And I’m reminded that it’s not about me. But that the Heavenly Father, who loves me, has it under control.
“The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands. ” Psalm 19:1
