It’s a rainy day here in the UK, with people either snuggling up inside or donning the waterproofs (or yes, going to work). The cricket at Lord’s will probably be interrupted and carers of children across the land will long for sunshine.
I love this work of my dad’s with his abstract take on sea and sky and boats. (Or more probably a lake – I do need to get some artist’s notes from him! “Sea and sky” sounds more poetic, don’t you think?)
If you were to get into a boat today, where would you go? What type of a boat would it be? Would you get seasick?
Do you long for sunshine, or will you enjoy the rain today (if you receive some)?
By Leo Boucher. Used with permission; all rights reserved.
By this time of the year, the pond where I like to walk
along the Dollis Valley Greenwalk gets decidedly murky and green with algae. I
stand by it and think of all that lives within and around it – the plants and
insects and birds and ducks and perhaps even fish. All covered with a blanket
of green.
What lies beneath the surface of what we wear on the outside? Do we don masks, covering the pain and insecurities? Can we be our true selves? For most of us, I suspect we do some of each.
I’ve so enjoyed the sunsets of late. I’ve shared many of them on social media, but some not. God’s beauty spread over the skies for a fleeting moment… a reminder to soak in the sight with wonder, being fully present.
Here’s a painting by my dad of Lake Calhoun in Minnesota.
There’s beauty around us, if we have eyes to see.
What has stopped you in your tracks lately as you’re struck
by wonder?
By Leo Boucher. Used with permission; all rights reserved.
I love this farm scene painted by my dad. To me it evokes the fields of grain, blowing in the breeze, under the wide Midwestern skies.
My memories of farm life from my paternal side focus on Waseca, Minnesota, where my grandma and great aunt lived, near neighbors separated by a wide open space.
Aunt Elin I only knew in her decline, as dementia started its slow ravaging on her fine mind. She’s one of the communion of saints I look forward to getting to know when we’re reunited, for she’s now fully herself, her mind restored and made new. She sacrificed her high-flying marketing career to return home to the farm to take care of her aging parents, both of her brothers having died before them. Her home was the place to visit for my dad and his siblings, for she owned probably the only black-and-white television in rural Waseca.
Grandma Boucher I knew much better, for she remained clear in her mind and lived into her nineties. She had survived her husband’s death when he was 41 from polio. He was fine on the Wednesday and died on the Sunday. A doting wife, she didn’t know the workings of the farm. The years were tough, and I can only imagine her grief and shock, a widow with four children. She had a gentle spirit and a loving heart, and I look forward too to hearing stories of God’s provision in those hard times.
Do you have stories from a farm? Stories of loved ones
you’re looking forward to being reunited with?
By Leo Boucher. Used with permission; all rights reserved.
As I was browsing through my dad’s paintings tonight, realizing that I hadn’t posted one for today, I came across this one that he’s titled Madeira, Spain. I’ve never noticed the title before. It’s fitting because I’m currently in Spain on retreat at the wonderful El Palmeral. Not in Madeira (which actually is an island of Portugal), but on the other coast, nearer to Alicante (actually Elche). It’s a place for refreshment and reinvigorating.
Are you more of a beach person or a mountains person, or something else? What brings you rest?
By Leo Boucher. Used with permission; all rights reserved.
I sit in my study, looking out at the rain. It’s June, but I have long sleeves on and am thinking about putting a scarf on so that my neck doesn’t get cold. Here in the UK we’ve had a chilly and wet June.
And so I turn to thoughts of my parents’ home, where summer must surely be, aided by this painting by my dad. He shows a slice of the screened-in porch and some of their lovely trees in the back yard. I love the way he’s captured the light here. It brings me some warmth on this damp day.
What speaks to you in this painting? Are you cold, or
boiling hot? What brings you cheer when you feel the clouds pressing in?
By Leo Boucher. Used with permission; all rights reserved.
As we come to the end of May, many of us are traveling, or thinking about travels. Here’s a scene from San Antonio, where I’ve never visited, but my parents went to recently. I love the colors and the bustle and the ambience.
Do you enjoy city life – visiting a new place and soaking in the sights and sounds? Do you prefer an escape from all things urban to a pristine setting in nature? Or maybe you enjoy a bit of both. What travels do you have planned?
By Leo Boucher. Used with permission; all rights reserved.
I’m currently in Minnesota, looking at this painting, which is
probably six feet high. It’s a majestic painting for a majestic creature. I can’t
imagine that heaven won’t have a lot of horses – and dogs, cats, and other
animals – giving us joy.
By Leo Boucher. Used with permission; all rights reserved.
Spring has sprung!
I love the feeling of this painting by my dad, for it makes
me think of Springtime growth. I went for a walk in the park today, and took
some time to notice the buds on the trees, and the carpet of pink and white
underneath the blossoming trees. Spring seems to be such a time of promise. Of
new life. Of hope.
What signs of Spring can you glimpse today – in whatever
realm?
