This is my Birthday Month, and I am celebrating with some good poems about this season and the Autumnal period of my own life. I’ll be Seventy-four on August 27.
While I was looking for information on an art exhibit, I decided to type in my name on the google search engine. Yes, indeed, I found MYSELF!
It’s always a good idea to put your BEST work on your blogs and pages. Now that I see what is there that I wrote, I am satisfied that the 17 pages are positive ones. It’s good to know how your postings come back to haunt you sometimes. Make sure you put your best thought out there for the world to view. You know what “they say” – you only have one chance to make a good impression.
My 17 best posts.
Photo above appeared in the Ellwood City Ledger web site, Saturday July 29, 2017.
High humidity and stifling heat on this July afternoon begins to urge me to dream of the month ahead. I admit it! I love late August days even more because they signify the approaching end of summer.
When nights become cooler I’ll begin to forget the predictable, unrelenting steamy days and nights of July. Temperature readings by mid-August will drop down into the 50s. I’ll open the windows; feel the cool breeze move through the familiar old house. July’s humidity and stuffiness will be swept away from the house and my thoughts when I begin to sense the shift of a quickly approaching change of seasons. My senses begin to stir my imagination today. There is something brewing in the atmosphere as I stand in the mid-day sunshine and look at the landscape all around me. I see every imaginable hue of green. Is it a sort of nervousness and anticipation for…what? I cannot readily say. But I get excited and anxious for the coming of August every year.
Last night I lay in my bed, listening to the soothing insect sounds drifting upwards to my open window. Unseen creatures sounded like the tuxedo-clad musicians I have listened to as they tuned their instruments before the concert began to play. Right now, it is night songs that I hear coming from below the window. The sounds blend into a nocturnal symphony, a cacophony of a summer serenade. In my meandering thoughts, I wonder if perhaps it was on a night like this one that Mozart had the first inklings of a tune that would become “Eine Kleine Nauchtmusik.” I paused for a moment and shifted my thoughts to the sounds of that familiar music.
Our century-old home is located on a ridge overlooking an ancient, winding creek that meanders for fifty miles through western Pennsylvania. People from this area call it “The Connie.” Its actual name is the Connoquenessing creek. The arrival of people, who settled eventually in the Village of Wurtemburg, began arriving in America in the early 1700s. That is the time period when settlers from this area traveled to Germanic lands to recruit artisans to come to America and settle here. They needed skilled workers for the settlements and for over one-hundred years Germans were recruited to come to Pennsylvania. Skilled crafts and tradesmen were necessary for the survival of the settlements. My own ancestors were recruited during that one-hundred year period and arrived on ships that landed in Philadelphia. When descendants of the first Germanic people begin to do research they are often quite surprised to discover some of their ancestors married Indians who were already living in this area during the 18th Century. The Connie has been an axis of our own community history for generations. As is true for all people, we are forever tinged with history and that history is a part of our present day lives. The Connie is part of our shared communal memoir.
In the summer time, the Connie comes alive with the voices and sounds of the local “Crick Culture.” That’s what Western Pennsylvania people call it. We find that different activities take place during each season along The Connie. And here is where my own life story converges with the flowing waters of The Connie.
Kayaking begins in earnest in late winter as soon as the ice begins to dissipate. Hearty enthusiasts will continue to ride the rapids through the summer days in into the fall season. The Connie’s whitewater rapids provide the perfect setting for a swift course for kayakers to perfect their skills. Often, a slollum line will be threaded back and forth across the creek and the brave kayakers will spend the weekend honing skills when the water is high and fast. Here is where they can learn how to avoid rocks and dangerous areas to complete the course. Later, they will move on to the most dangerous waters of West Virginia.
On summer nights I can hear people laughing from down below the ridge. People arrive at the “crick” in the late evening, in the twilight, just before it gets dark. They park their cars or trucks under the old trees. Generations of local people come to spend the night fishing. I often watch as they pull out their gear. They bring coolers and jugs, flashlights, buckets of worms, fishing poles, nets, and blankets. Most of them wear baseball caps. One by one, they quietly scramble down the steep, rocky path that leads to the deep water below. This is the place where another creek, the Slippery Rock Creek, converges with The Connie. We local folks refer to this part of the creek as, “the point.” Many myths are perpetuated about the depth of the waters at the Point, and the terrible whirlpools that lie hidden beneath the placid surface. It is here at the Point, where the night time fishermen like to come to spend the night in hopes of taking home fresh fish for breakfast. On a still night, I hear them talking softly off in the distance. Their voices merge with the insect concert.
In childhood memories my father and I are in the back yard behind our home in the foothills. I still live in the valley between the steep hills. Like most of the steelworkers in our village, my father loved to go fishing in the Connie. In the darkness of a sweltering summer night, I helped him find earth worms. His steelworker’s helmet had a strange yellow light on the front of it. I smelled the acrid smoke, heard it sizzle and sputter as we bent over the dark ground. We poured mustard water down into the little tunnels where the earthworms lived. In just a few seconds, a worm came to the surface seeking fresh air and we grabbed that earthworm, dipped it into a bucket of clean, warm water to rinse the mustard off of it. Finally, we put our captured worms into Dad’s metal pail with the holes in the sides. He had put dirt into the pail before we went searching for the worms. We turned over rocks and found creepy creatures hiding under them. Dad called them helgramites and they made me shiver when I looked at them.
Throughout my childhood, The Connie was the place where we went swimming as soon as spring arrived. But, The Connie can be treacherous after a day of rainfall. On such a spring day in early May, I ventured into the raging water in a swimming place called, “Mitchell’s.” I only had to take a couple of strokes to reach the big rock and that was my intention when I plunged into the water. Instantly, I was swept away from the big rock. An older boy was at the creek swimming that day and he was a lifeguard. Somehow, he grabbed my hair and pulled me to the rocky shore. There is no doubt in my mind that my life would have ended in The Connie that day if the other swimmer had not been there. I, too, would have been one of the unfortunate victims of The Connie. While The Connie is beautiful and refreshing, she is also vicious and raging at times.
Nearly every summer there have been accidents on the banks of the Connie near my home. We know when we hear the ambulance arriving in this area, they are most likely going to find that someone has drowned in The Connie, or at least been injured. I often wonder how many people have lost their lives in The Connie and I say a prayer of “thanks” for my own rescue when I was fifteen years old.
Our children grew up beside The Connie, too. In their adult years they often relate stories of their own experiences and mishaps and they usually have many tales to reminisce about their childhood swimming and floating excursions in inner tubes down the creek on hot days.
Not only was The Connie my favorite place to explore in warm weather, it was also my first encounter with ice skating. We carried a broom to the creek and swept off a large area to remove the snow from the icy surface. Even with such careful preparations, it was a rough and uneven place to skate. That never mattered though, and there were many winter days when we walked on the ice for miles. The Connie snapped and crackled as we walked on her surface but we never even considered that we might fall into the water or even something worse.
By the end of June, the banks along The Connie are changing rapidly in their appearance. Early July is when the foliage looks soft and fragile looking with the first blooms of the Queen Anne’s lace and some varieties of sweetly scented bushes with tender little white flowers.
I stop to take a deep breath, smell those flowers, and watch the tiny bees gathering all around them. It’s like looking at a whole world of mysteries, to look into those delicate flowers. The most elegant flower gardens in this world are the ones planted by the birds and bees, and growing wild and free along the roadsides and meadows. Here is where we find the glory of nature. This, surely, is what the first inhabitants in the Garden of Eden must have experienced. Breathtaking beauty!
M y favorite sight in August is the Queen Ann Lace mingled with the periwinkle blue flowers of Chicory. The two wild flowers grow together along all the roads in early August. I take my camera outside so I can capture the beauty of these disorderly flowers. I remember the fields of these uncultivated flowers long after they disappear for the winter.
Oh, I should let you know, Queen Ann Lace is my favorite flower because of the delicate tiny flowers clustered on thin, celadon green stems. The flowers seem to float in space and ride the soft wafts of the August breeze. Fragile lace blossoms dance in the fragrant afternoon air. The white blossoms of the Queen Ann Lace contrast with the sturdier chicory flowers. Chicory resembles a daisy with petals branching outward from around, dark, center. Each Chicory bloom has little oval petals that come to a tip that looks like someone snipped it off, flat, with zig-zag pinking shears. The brilliant blue color of the Chicory seems to pop out from among the white Queen Ann Lace in full bloom side by side with Chicory. When I see the Chicory begin to bloom, I know that the season will soon be changing to autumn.
And, it always seems that it won’t be long before I’ll be shuffling my feet through the colored leaves on my daily walks through the woods, along the Connie. My thoughts drift to the stories my father told me about his Indian grandmother. I stop and look around through the woods, and down to the white-water creek. Some days my spirit calls out to her as I look around in this same rural world that she lived in, too. Often, I have a keen insight while walking along The Connie. I step slowly over layers and generations of my family members. I ask myself, “Am I an overlay from past generations of people who lived in this place?” I realize their presence because they surround me. I can feel them. Today, I asked my grandmother, “Did your feet walk on this path, too?”
Copyright, July 9, 2016. Lynda McKinney Lambert. All rights reserved.
__________
Lynda’s Bio:
Lynda McKinney Lambert is a Christian author, blogger, visual artist. She is the author of the book of essays and poetry, “Concerti: Psalms for the Pilgrimage” by Kota Press. She is a retired Professor of Fine Arts and Humanities from Geneva College, Beaver Falls, Pennsylvania.
Lynda earned BFA and MFA degrees in Fine Arts; MA in English Literature. She has traveled and taught courses in writing and art, internationally.
Lynda specializes in writing poetry and creative non-fiction. Currently she has three books in development for publication in late-2016 and 2017. Her stories, essays and poems appear in many anthologies and literary magazines.
I am listening to Christmas music as I write. I love to listen to the great songs that are a celebration of a miraculous event – the birth of Jesus.
Christmas celebrations of past years linger in little snippets, layered and overlapped like Christmas melodies playing one by one. Each Christmas carol I listen to brings forth more memories and more pictures of a family member, friends, and neighbors. It also brings forth memories and pictures of our walk with the Lord over the years. The miracle of his coming into our own hearts as we turned around one day, and answered his call to “come.” I answered that call to come, forty-two years ago. My life turned around, never to be the same again. How about you?
Matthew 11:28-29New American Standard Bible (NASB)
28 “Come to Me, all [a]who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest.29 Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.”
“I Believe in Angels”
Folks often say Christmas is for children,
skating on ice, building castles of snow.
Oh, I believe Christmas is a holy birthday!
a time to sit by a warm fire, sing holiday songs.
I believe in shepherds! and angels!
and Three Kings who delivered priceless gifts.
It’s a joy to be with friends, to give gifts.
Adults once again become like children,
who look out the window to see the first snow.
The Ancients anticipated this birthday
the celebration that began with heavenly songs
when the birth of Messiah was announced by angels.
The holy birth was shared with shepherds and angels,
long before mass marketing, tinsel, and glitzy gifts,
The promised Child would heal earth’s children.
Perhaps the plains were deep with snow
on the night of His miraculous birth.
Yes, I believe in angel songs!
In the darkest winter night, listen for the songs
sung by a choir of angels.
The greatest heavenly gift
came to walk with earth’s children.
As I light the Advent wreath I look out at falling snow-
and remember the reason behind this ancient birthday.
On bleak December days, consider His birthday.
Listen in the quiet night for angel songs.
The birth of Messiah, announced by the angels,
is the reason for exchanging gifts.
I believe Christ’s birthday is truly for children
like me and you who walk in a world of wintry snow.
Every child knows the delight of playing in snow
the joy of receiving gifts in celebration of a birthday-
I believe in birthday songs!
I’m a child once again as I listen for angels
songs and remember the wise men who brought gifts.
the Anointed Gift from God – I believe in children!
*** by Lynda McKinney Lambert. Copyright 1991, 2015. All Rights Reserved.
I wrote the poem, “I Believe in Angels” during a difficult time in my life. I wrote it as a Christmas message and sent it out to friends and family. Even in the darkest moments of our life, when we seem to be alone, lost, or confused, Jesus is with us. I can tell you that for sure because I made a decision to follow Jesus in October 1973. I’ve had a lifetime of encounters with the Divine since that day.
May you find the truth of the Angels announcement in your own life.
Luke 2:10-11King James Version (KJV)
10 And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.
11 For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.
Fear Not!
Lynda McKinney Lambert is the author of “Concerti: Psalms for the Pilgrimage” published by Kota Press. She authors two blogs on writing, the humanities, arts, and faith. She is a freelance writer and her poetry and essays appear in numerous books and literary journals. She is a retired professor of fine arts and humanities and she exhibits her fiber arts in exhibitions worldwide.
Currently, she has two books in development for publication in 2016.
_____
You can read my three previous articles on the Symbols of Advent by clicking on the links below;
*** Link to Week 1 – The Candle of Hope at this link:
Lynda McKinney Lambert is the author of “Concerti: Psalms for the Pilgrimage” published by Kota Press. She authors two blogs on writing, the humanities, arts, and faith. She is a freelance writer and her poetry and essays appear in numerous books and literary journals. She is a retired professor of fine arts and humanities and she exhibits her fiber arts in exhibitions worldwide.
Currently, she has two books in development for publication in 2016.
Skip to Walking by Inner Vision Journal:
In 2015, Lynda wrote 30 Writing Assignments and Lessons to help you begin to write your own life sotry.
This week is our HAPPY SCANdalous BIRTHDAY Celebration
ONE YEAR of publishing essays is a landmark so let’s CELEBRATE!.
Let’s take a LOOK BACK to what I was thinking about one year ago as I wrote the first blog article on the new blog.
The FIRST article I wrote and published is
“When I Begin my Day with Mozart.”
When I Begin my Day with Mozart…an essay by Lynda McKinney Lambert
I did not know at the time I wrote it that it would launch my writing into a new career. One year later I am a “freelance writer.”
The essay was published in LIGHT Magazine, Sept/October issue, 2015. This magazine is published by Christian Record, PO Box 6097, Lincoln, NB 68596. (I will post the original essay below my comments here so you can read it.)
_____
Some STATS on Scandalous-Recollections at the one year anniversary:
Most popular post this first year is “Kaleidoscope: Collecting Patterns of Light and Dreams.” 777 views
I wrote this story, originally, as a GUEST BLOGGER, for Amy Bovaird’s blog.
How many visitors did we have in the first twelve months? 1,308 visitors
How many VIEWS did my posts have? 2,247 views
_____
Essay: When I Begin my Day with Mozart
(First published on November 11, 2014)
Today:
I put the morning coffee on to brew and then reached for a CD of Mozart’s Violin Sonata in B flat. After I carefully placed it in the CD player. pushed the “play” button on the remote and my Bose player began filling the kitchen with music. The soft, slow opening lines of the Largo – Allegro began. I listened. A piano and a violin began to gracefully move me to listen closely to this composition, written centuries ago. The lyrical melody begins and I close my eyes awhile before I continue writing my essay. There is something compelling about Mozart’s music; it gently urges me to stop whatever I am doing. The music takes me back in time – but not the time in the Eighteenth century when the music was first performed for a royal audience. It is my own time, near the end of the Twentieth century when the music of Mozart became a core element in my personal life. While listening to this music, my mind is taken on a journey far away from this present chilly, gray November day. My musings create layers of memories.
As I begin writing the opening thoughts of this essay, I enjoy my cup of fresh coffee. I spiced it up with some hazelnut creamer. The days and years of past times come visiting me once again as I slowly recall my first exciting days in Austria. Yes! It was just Mozart and me.
Salzburg, Austria
When Mozart first performed this original composition on April 29, 1784, in Vienna, there was a surprising bit of information that came out of the original performance. It’s a unique story that lies behind the music I am listening to today. In the audience, that day was Emperor Joseph II. As Mozart played the piano, the Emperor made a shocking discovery. He had eventually noticed that Mozart was actually looking at blank sheets of “music” instead of the traditional written music that a musician would use. It turns out that Mozart did not have time to copy the composition that was in his mind. He had to play it from his memory and did not want the audience to know he had no actual sheet music. Therefore, He put the blank sheets on the piano and began to play that day. You can read about this and other interesting facts about Mozart by visiting this link
My first trip to Europe was in the summer of 1991. The trip was a gift I gave myself to celebrate a goal I had completed in May. I finished my MFA degree at West Virginia University in Morgantown, WV. Soon after my graduation, I arrived in Salzburg, Austria at the beginning. My arrival was just in time to join in the celebration festivities for the 200th anniversary of Mozart’s death. My month-long visit was filled with special art exhibitions in palaces and museums, all focused on some aspect of Mozart’s life or his music. I attended as many concerts as I could, and viewed special exhibits of art that month. OH, I was hooked on Mozart! I walked through his birth house, and death house, and stood inside the churches where he performed for masses. I attended the Mozart Mass at the Dom du Salzburg and basked in the sweet aroma of swirling, smoky incense as the priests entered the sanctuary. I even found the grave sites of his family members and his wife, Costanza. Like most tourists, I purchased the famous Mozart candy, Mozart t-shirts and sent out lots of Mozart postcards to all my friends and family.
I know you must want to know what took me there that month. I had enrolled in a drawing class that was taught by a former professor. We students were in classes Monday through Thursday mornings. I was so excited to be there and was prolific in my art adventure. I created a body of work on the theme of Mozart’s death and music. I wrote continuously as I traveled and viewed exhibitions and listened to concerts. I made many ink sketches on white paper. I chose to do all the artworks black and white. The works on paper would make it easier for me to transport them back to the US. After I returned back home, I put my work together and it became a traveling art exhibition. The mixed-media works on paper appeared in museums and galleries. I called my show,“Memory of a Requiem.”
Ten years after my first trip, some of my poems, sketches, and reflections from that experience were crafted into a book, “Concerti: Psalms for the Pilgrimage.” The book was published by KotaPress.
***
Prior to the trip to Austria, I was in graduate school pursuing my MFA degree. I worked diligently during those two intense years doing research, creating art, and teaching. At times, I was so exhausted from working days and nights. When I went back to my apartment for a rest and some meals, I often refreshed my mind by listening to Mozart’s music. I was particularly drawn to his Requiem Mass because it echoed my own weariness. My visit to the city of Mozart’s birth and death was a natural choice.
***
While in Austria, I made an intention for my own life. I realized that I fell in love with Austria, the artworks, architecture, the people I met, and the music of the masterful composers who lived in Austria over the centuries. I intended to order my life in such a way that I would spend my summers there every year. Of course, I had no idea how that would happen, or if it could happen, but I knew it would be the life I would choose to live.
Eventually, my own professional teaching career began when I accepted a tenure-track position at Geneva College, a private college in western Pennsylvania. This was just five years after I had visited Austria for the first time as a student myself. As a new Professor of Fine Arts and Humanities, I quickly realized there was no study program for students that provided the opportunity to study in Austria or Germany. I proposed to create such a course and the following year I was back in the city I love, with students of my own. This was the first of many years that I would have the joy of bringing students to Austria every summer. I taught a course called, “Drawing and Writing in Salzburg.”
My students came from across America
to work in a studio in a small village in the Alps.
Most days, we met early in the morning and then traveled somewhere to draw and write at the different places we explored. It was a dream that became my reality. I had the joy of sharing this magnificent country with my students every summer for a month-long sojourn. On long weekends, we traveled together through Germany, Czech Republic, and Italy. We climbed mountains; we stood on a mountain peak and gazed down in amazement at the eagles lying beneath us. On one such sunny afternoon, I locked arms with one of the students and we skipped down a high Alpine path. We stopped only when we ran out of energy and we bent over double, laughing together, gasping for breath. We wrote poems and stories in our journals; we wrote about our own experiences. Art was the focus of all we did. We created drawings and paintings in our morning studio and took our sketchbooks and journals to the streets and mountain pathways. Together, we trekked our way through the new places we found. Later, our sketchbooks and journals would provide us with information and memories to work with once we were back home and working on new projects.
***
Gradually, over the years, I began to realize that the seeds of what we love become the life we live when we set our intentions in that direction. On that first visit, I had set something in motion that would become my life journey at a later time. It would be years, though, before I would understand it all.
Now, sitting here in my office typing up this essay, I listen closely as the final piece of music comes to a conclusion. The piano and the violin have been playing together as I write. Each instrument is strong and one never overpowers the other – they are a good match!
If you would like to enjoy this lovely work of art by Mozart, you can listen to it here:
The Violin Sonata continues and I listen to the rapid notes of the piano moving of playfully through the house in what seems like a race with the violin. I can envision a spring afternoon in an Alpine meadow. At other moments, the violin and piano seem to me to be romping in the sunshine, chasing each other about on the lawn of a Bavarian castle, or around a formal rose garden in the city. . At times, if sounds like the piano takes the lead, yet, this is not the case. The violin weaves through the many notes and in the end they are one. I listen as applause breaks out immediately as the piano and violin strike the final note together.
This day will take me on other, more mundane journeys as I walk my dogs, care for my cats, take my husband to the hospital for a check-up, and edit this essay tonight. At special moments throughout my day, I just might hear a few bars of Mozart’s Violin Sonata in B flat Oh, I hope so! Oh, I hope…at the end of this day the music and I are on the same note.
_____
Essay by Lynda McKinney Lambert. Copyright 2014. All rights reserved.
Visual artist and author, Lynda McKinney Lambert, lost most of her eyesight due to
Ischemic Optic Neuropathy in 2007
Topics discussed on this video:
Diagnosis and finding help
Treatment and Rehabilitation Services
Begin your Personal adjustment
Recover a functional and creative life
Find your own path after sight loss
Seek answers from your own past – your Timeline
Change your life for successful transition to your next step
**
Regardless of any situation or challenge you will face at any time, remember there is a way OUT. You may veel like you are locked in, secluded, alone, or trapped. Remember, YOU are NOT any of those conditions. You have CHOICES you can make and those choices will take you in a better direction.
The KEY is to ELIMINATE HESITATION – Grab that EXIT SIGN
LOOK around for your WAY OUT, and go for it.
Do it NOW.
Look for your EXIT SIGN!
“The more you are challenged the more you change.”
Lynda McKinney Lambert
Lynda McKinney Lambert. Copyright 2015. All rights reserved.
**
You can read Little Steps #1, 2, and 3 by clicking on the links below.
“For behold, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone.
The flowers appear on the earth, the time of singing has come,
and the voice of the turtledove is heard in our land.
Song of Solomon 2:11-12 ~
**********
Patti and I walked down the old, narrow stone path on an April afternoon in the 1950s. Our pastel plaid dresses fluttered slightly in the soft afternoon breeze. We removed our cotton sweaters, draped them carelessly over our arm for the journey back home. Like most days in April in western Pennsylvania it had been raining in the morning that day. A few hours later, the day took a turn and now it had warmed up significantly since our early morning walk to school. We felt happy because there was not a rain cloud in sight as we took our time walking along our familiar path. Now we meandered at an easy pace in the opposite direction. School was over for the day and there was no reason to walk faster. We walked a short distance and then we were standing beside a large field. The aroma coming from the thick blanket of woods violets slowed us down even more as we scanned the field. In a moment, without speaking to each other, we stepped lightly between the moistened deep green leaves that flourished in thick patches of weeds and flowers. We were absorbed at the moment, bent over the deep blue-violet blossoms and reached out to gather some dainty flowers. One by one, we snapped the fragile, slender stems of the violets. While we picked our violets with our right hand, we placed each one in the grasp of our left hand. Our bear arms were hot as the late afternoon sunshine turned our pale skin bright pink. When our left had could hold no more violets, we stepped away from the field and continued our walk home where our Mother was waiting for us to return we came into the 1920s frame house through the back door with our fists full of violets, she was delighted with our small gifts. She went to her cupboard, got out two small glass jelly jars and put the bouquets in water to keep them fresh. Our floral gifts remained on the windowsill in our kitchen.
***
This year I set my intentions on observing small details in nature. The landscape is changing continuously.
I see crystal drops of dew on tender new leaves in the meadow. They are sprinkled with transparent silvery diamonds. Another turn, and I am walking beside a field of dewy dark green leaves with little periwinkle flowers peeking through the moisture.
I felt the velvet softness of Sumac branches. I looked at layers of last autumn’s leaves intermingled with shoots of new grass, and budding Hyacinths Along the stone walk, I observed the red stalks of Peony bushes forging upwards through the moist earth. Oh, Yes! It’s Spring!
***
All these thoughts bring me to think about the beauty I have seen in a kaleidoscope. The word “kaleidoscope” has Greek roots. It means “a form beautiful to see.” I am compelled to ask you…
“When is the last time you have had a kaleidoscope in your hands with one eye focused through the small round window?”
“Do you recall the vivid colors, ever-changing shapes, as you slightly moved your hand around the barrel of the kaleidoscope?”
You give it a small twist and all the shapes fall into new pictures. Hidden fragments inside the instrument create numerous symmetrical, abstract pictures. Envision the world such as you have seen in a kaleidoscope!
Could you describe what you feel as the colors dance and flow over the mirror images inside? And did you know that inside the kaleidoscope are tiny, ordinary objects such as buttons, stones, chips and fragments – every illusion you enjoyed viewing is merely a collection of ordinary little things someone gathered and put inside with mirrors set at 60 degree angles
***
It has been over six decades since I picked wild violets with my sister in a rural farmer’s field. I realize my faith in God still works in the same way it did when I was a child gathering God’s little presents. Just a small twist takes us to a new landscape.
***
Big things make headline news, are celebrated and sought after. There is no mention of the ache we have in our inner being and the feeling that something is just not right. Oh, I know that yearning that whispers from deep inside my body. Could it be that once again I have walked on that familiar pathway that led me to places where I was not called by God to be? There is always a sense of discomfort and painful stumbling blocks to be experienced when we are outside of his will or his calling, for our life. Fortunately, we can turn around, retrace our steps back to where we need to be and get our direction going once again. That is the good news – we can change direction!
***
Sitting in silence, being calm, listening for God’s still, small voice takes us to his glory. Small treasures surround us When I sit down and spend time alone with him, in silence, I experience transformation. I turn another bend, there is a shift in perspective, and those little gifts are reflected by the mirrored light of his countenance. I am transformed yet again, by small gifts.
***
God works just like that!
The longer we look at him, the more our faith grows. Each turn we take towards him opens up a new landscape that shows us insight into his character. I approach quietly. Slowly, I realized the rain has stopped. I tilted my head towards the sky, listened for the songs of the circling birds as they hover above the tall trees; it is happening again. Something new. My feet are damp from the spring shower. Just another small turn of the kaleidoscope – yes! I can see it now.
Transformation.
***
Copyright, 2015. Lynda McKinney Lambert. May 9, 2015. All rights reserved.
Written for publication by Amy Bovaird. April 24, 2015. With much gratitude for the kind invitation to write for Amy’s Adventures Blog. Thank you!
It was late this morning when I opened the bedroom blind. My husband, Bob, was still in bed. We were so happy to see that the entire winter landscape and sky appeared to have a bright blue hue washed all over it. I thought of a watercolor painter who mixed up a very thin wash of color and brushed it all over the blank canvas. It looked like someone had painted this brilliant landscape and put the shades of blue everywhere! Turquoise, Cerulean, Azure, Caribbean, Sapphire, and Cobalt – every shade of blue was overlaid on the picture we viewed from our window. The delicate colors of the morning gave us a feeling of celebration in the early morning light today!
Since we just completed the first week of February, I decided to write about it today! I thought about what to call this time of year. I know so many people begin to complain and lament the weather and dread the daily forecasts of storms and low temperatures. We seem to be in a deep freeze some days, with winter snow storms and squalls moving over the land like waves on an angry, stormy ocean. The official designation of February is labeled, “Late Winter.” That’s because it will be awhile before spring is here. Spring will arrive on March 21st – and right now, we often feel like that is a long way off. However, that is exactly why I want to speak of the glorious colors of winter and its beauty today. Maybe you will join me in appreciation of February this year. We still have a lot of time to do that because spring is still quite a distance away for us.
Another unusual aspect of February is that is can be cunning and tricky with the environment. In particular, February days often warm up so much in the afternoons that it seems like spring arrived. Often in the first week of February, flower bulbs that are sleeping in the cold soil are tricked into thinking it’s time to wake up, push up some leaves, and bloom! The ancient Celts thought that the earth wakes up in early February. They believed the earth goes into a deep winter sleep during Halloween time.
Have you noticed the beauty of the wide range of colors at the beginning of February yet?
Winter colors, sensitive and subtle, or stark and vivid, are all around us in the month of February. Sometimes, if we focus on the harshness of winter’s storms or the labor of shoveling snow from sidewalks and streets, we might overlook the full palette of winter colors that surround us every day. February’s landscape can go unnoticed if we are focused only on the challenges of Late Winter.
There is far more magic to find in the white snow or crystal ice outside our windows these days. I recently stopped, looked around slowly at the winter landscape. I wanted to see what more there was beyond the snow and ice. During the first week of February, I was outside with my dogs in the early morning, before daylight. When I looked up into the pre-dawn sky, I saw that the moon was full.
This February moon is called the “Full Snow Moon.” That’s because February is the month when the heaviest snows fall on the earth. Hunters are out trying to find wildlife to shoot but it is difficult to find animals in the deep snowfall. Because of this, Native Americans called the moon, “Hunger Moon.”
As I watched the sky, light from the moon illuminated the night sky in every direction. The stillness of the celestial scene mingled with the thrusting branches of the stark winter trees in the woods below. I became aware that I had to observe this glorious scene through the many bare branches of an ancient maple tree. From my vantage point on the ground beside the maple tree, it seems like I viewed the sky through the loose warp and weft of a tapestry that was created by the tree as it reached upwards and spread its arms like an enormous fan between me and the “Full Snow Moon.” The entire tree appeared to be made from the darkest, deepest shade of sapphire blue. The softest shade of indigo appeared to be painted across the entire sky in every direction from the east to the west where the moon was descending. Liquid sky color mingled through the negative spaces of the branches. The color reminded me of my own grade school days, in the 1950s, when I wrote my alphabet letters on a lined paper. I dipped my pen, in and out, of the bluish ink in the well cut into the wooden desk This sky was the hue that would be created if I mixed a drop of the India Ink into a small cup of water.
The full moon seemed to hover beyond the tree branches, above the woods, and seemed to quiver with anticipation because it was about to disappear forever
Look for the colors of February this month! They signal that in the heart of deep, frigid Late Winter t there is glory and a sense of the divine. Take a deeper look; see the hand of the Master Artist. There is a full range of values in the February palette Take your time, and see what you will find in your own little place on this earth, this month.
Whatever time of day it is when you read this message, will be the perfect time to see the colors of February! The dazzling Late Winter show is a gift from God and it is free for everyone to discover if you live in a place where you have a real old-fashioned winter time. If you do, I say, “Give February a chance!”
Did you come up with a list of resolutions for this new year? If you did, by now you might be worried about how you will stay on target with your list of resolutions. Maybe you have even forgotten some of them by now?
I found a better idea that is more realistic and more personal. I want to share it you today. Be kind to yourself and instead of writing out a list that will be forgotten soon, focus on just one word for the year – let’s see where the journey takes us. ONE WORD will be far more personal and much easier to stay focused on than a big list – won’t it!
Think about joining in with people who are turning to God and praying about getting just ONE WORD that will be with you for the 365 days of this year. I just did! You can find the link right here, and take a look and see if this would be something you might like to do.
Yes! When I thought about this word, I immediately thought of the Matisse dance paintings in the Barnes Museum in Philadelphia. I cannot think of another image that would better represent what it means to be exuberant; one word that would represent a person filled with exuberance. I think of this word as a noun, as well as an adjective. Matisse understood this word, I am certain.
EXUBERANCE…this is my ONE WORD for 2015. This word just came into my mind near the beginning of the New Year, settled in, looked around and decided to stay with me for the entire year. How did this happen? I have no idea how a single word comes to mind and lingers. It’s a mystery to me. What I do know is where it came from, the source of it. It is gentle and yet, persistent, and it whispers to me as I sit a while and have some quiet time with God. The time for silence, set aside, and practiced at the beginning of the day, or any other time apart, is one of my “intentions” for this year. I wrote about my intentions on an earlier blog post. The daily periods of quiet time are when I reflect and experience God’s presence in my daily activities. I speak of exuberance, as a noun. This painting by Hanri Matisse expresses what the noun, EXUBERANCE, might look like. It’s JOYFUL, and delightful, and full of life!
The word, EXUBERANCE, dates back to the sixteenth century, Frenchexubérance and from Latin, “exuberantia.” Both mean, “superabundance.”
Left: Photo of Matisse drawing on canvas – the beginnings of his paintings of dancers.
When I think of EXUBERANCE, I think of Matisse! And, then I think about what this word will hold for me during 2015. I will hold it in my mind, envision it in my spirit, recognize it in my prayer life, every day of this year.
I ask myself, “What will the final painting of my life be like?”
Today, I am beginning the drawing of it. A year from now we can look back and see what the word we chose has brought to us this year.
Pray about this and see what word God has for you this year. What will your finished work of art look like? God is the Creator of the entire universe and we can trust him to create in our lives, something exciting, new, and joyful.
Let your light shine everywhere you go this year.
Be a picture of JOY, like a painting by Henri Matisse!
In all circumstances, yes, ALL circumstances, give thanks to God.
In the summer time, the Connie comes alive with the voices and sounds of the local “Crick Culture.” That’s what Western Pennsylvania people call it. We find that different activities take place during each season along The Connie. And here is where my own life story converges with the flowing waters of The Connie.
very thin wash of color and brushed it all over the blank canvas. It looked like someone had painted this brilliant landscape and put the shades of blue everywhere! Turquoise, Cerulean, Azure, Caribbean, Sapphire, and Cobalt – every shade of blue was overlaid on the picture we viewed from our window. The delicate colors of the morning gave us a feeling of celebration in the early morning light today!
