My Gardens, Uncategorized

Another End of the Growing Season

Flowers from my gardens around the house.


A Little Monastery, Monasticism

Death in the Little Monastery

Last week we lost our pet hamster, Everest.  She was our youngest daughter’s friend, and she’s passed on to the big hamster wheel in the sky, so to speak.

We found her dead in her cage while our daughter Miss Bouncy was finishing up with bath time, so I made a coffin out of half of a toothpaste box, filled it with pretty gift tissue paper, and wrapped it with white paper.  After bath-time Miss Bouncy came out and we had to explain to her that Everest had died and that she needed to say her goodbye.  So, she drew a nice picture of her and Everest on the coffin, and the other children wrote their names on the base of it, and we let her hold Everest’s body for a little while and then placed Everest in her resting place and closed the lid.  Miss Bouncy didn’t want to bury her just yet, so we let her sleep with Everest next to her bed and then buried her the next day next to our Japanese Maple tree, at the Easter edge of our property.  Everyone agreed it was a good spot.  So, I said a couple of words, Miss Bouncy said a couple of words, and then we placed Everest in the hole and covered her up and that was that.


Patron Ragamuffins

Rich Mullins, d. September 19th, 1997


Today is the 20th anniversary of Rich Mullins untimely death.  I never got to see Rich perform, but I’ve listened to enough of his music and read enough of his writings to feel like I knew him, at least a little bit.

To this day I struggle with the darkness, I struggle to find peace.  I don’t know how to think about the idea of God loving me.  I don’t know what that experience looks like.  But in Rich I have someone who did, so I try to learn from him as I learn what God’s love is.

There’s a wideness in God’s mercy
I cannot find in my own
And He keeps His fire burning
To melt this heart of stone
Keeps me aching with a yearning
Keeps me glad to have been caught
In the reckless raging fury
That they call the love of God

He is one of my Patron Ragamuffins, and he is sorely missed.


The Difficulty of Belief

Faith has never been easy for me.  Even as a child, I seemed to have more doubts and questions as is normal for a snot-nosed little sprite.

Growing up in a reformed baptist church, though, I was required to attempt to develop a rock-solid certainty in the veracity and infallibility of Scripture, in the complete sovereignty of God, in the five-fold Doctrines of Grace, as well as a host of other and sundry doctrines, dogmas, and certitudes.

Finally, when I left the church it was in the midst of a true “Crisis of Faith”.  I had begun to see through the veneer of the serious, forced facade to the devilish interior of the people and the system I grew up in and as I did I was faced with a series of three seemingly simple choices:

1.) There is no god

2.) What I was taught about God was completely true

3.) What I was taught about God was in some sense partially or completely false

As for the first choice, its quite possible that there is no god, but its never been something that I’ve been able to every put any kind of moral or cognitive weight behind.  One way or the other, it seems to me that there must be SOMETHING out there, beyond us, and beyond the realm of the material.  The concept and idea of the “Spiritual” has always carried clout with me.  It seems quite plausible to me that there are multiple gods, or else a god who’s different from the Christian God, but I don’t know that I can ever be an atheist.

As an aside, I feel that I must say something about this.  As a younger man I thought that Atheists and Agnostics were engaged in the worst sort of intellectual and spiritual laziness, to the point where it was hard for me to even Hear them.  Now though?  I get it.  I understand why someone would ditch the faith and conclude that not only is God a colossal motherfucker, but that he doesn’t exist, nor do any other number of gods in any number of collective pantheons throughout the course of human history.  I cannot conclude that myself, but I do understand.

Secondly the thought that what I was taught is completely true is something that I seriously considered, but in the negative.  In other words, if what I was taught was completely true, then God could go fuck himself, which meant that I was subsequently done with Him.  Even if it meant my soul.  I just couldn’t do it anymore.  I couldn’t serve a god like that.  Whatever part of my mind that had housed those families of concepts was burnt up in the fire and the land had been salted and made dead.  As I said elsewhere, “If there’s a god who seeks to sling some holy-fucking wrath, he’s dead to me“.

So, I couldn’t NOT believe in God, or at least a concept of God (an agnostic possibility), and I couldn’t believe in a God that was as intent on wrath and hatred as the god I was taught.  So, that left me with finding a way to believe in God (or to put in more generically, The Divine) in a way that I could live with.

And although this might be a topic for a different post, I have decided that some of the concepts/tenets of Christianity (an attempt at explaining the reality of evil in the world and in man, the notion of Grace, and the person of Jesus) is compelling enough for me to retain the “title” (while groaning inwardly at the word) of Christian.

Still.  I believe, but am so very full of unbelief.  Belief has never come easy to me.  Certainty is an illusion that I cannot help but seek, but which is foreign to me and forever beyond my grasp.  I say the Creed every week in Morning Prayer, but often have a hard time claiming it for myself.  I pray the prayers, but my heart is most often not in it.  I persist in claiming faith for myself, when I live in the land of darkness and doubts.

I feel myself to be a laughing stock, an unbelieving believer, or perhaps a believing unbeliever.  I don’t really know.  I hope, I suppose; and I hope that that’s enough.

(featured image: “Doubt” by Alicechan on DeviantArt)

Sunday is for Art

Sunday is for Art – Colin Anderson

From his website:

Canadian born Colin Anderson, moved to Australia with his parents at the age of 14, later studying advertising and design at a Melbourne University.

He went on to work as a art director at an advertising/design agency before leaving to pursue a career as a photographer. While Colin remains based in Australia, he still has clients from all over the world who seek him out for his unique approach to the creation of imagery.

Considered a generalist, Colin’s work is stylistic, conceptual and often narrative based.



Painting, Sunday is for Art

Conor Walton

Conor Walton – Irish figurative painter.

From his Facebook profile:

Born in Dublin in 1970, Conor Walton studied painting at the National College of Art and Design, graduating in 1993. After further studies in Britain and Italy, Conor returned to full-time painting in Ireland in 1996. Five successful solo-exhibitions followed with Jorgensen Fine Art in Dublin. Conor now exhibits widely outside of Ireland, with recent solo exhibitions in Britain, Denmark and Norway. Future solo exhibitions are planned for Dublin (Nov. 2013) and San Francisco (Sept. 2014).