Spring is in the air—although here in Britain it’s felt like a Fool’s Spring at times, with cold winds whipping through us while we go out for our daily walk. Yet the flowers are blooming all around, and from my study window I can see a group of daffodils swaying in the breeze. Beauty is there for us to see when we slow down and take it in.
May you experience beauty today, in whatever form you find it.
Snow on Sunday, a new painting on Wednesday! I love my dad’s rendition of the snowy brook, the photo of which I took at the weekend, with its stark and vibrant colors.
Take a moment to walk along the gurgling waters as you feel glops of snow dropping off the trees while carefully picking your way along the icy path.
Merry Christmas!
We celebrate the Light coming into the darkness – Jesus, the Son of God who came to live with us. He who brings peace and love amid fears and anxiety.
May the true hope of Christmas fill you during these very different times.
Churches are going through a strange and different time during the coronavirus pandemic, aren’t they. Services moved to Zoom, Facebook live, and YouTube during lockdown, and then over the summer we got to meet again in person – spread out, masked, keeping distant. But still meeting together.
This second lockdown in England has been tough with the church closed. Services can be broadcast from there, but no congregation. Yes, the church is still open in the sense that we’re meeting together virtually. But meeting in-person really is better, isn’t it.
How has your view of church (or Church) morphed and changed during the pandemic?
This painting no longer exists – my dad painted it over, saying it was such a nice big canvas (it’s rather large). I rather like it, but I always enjoy his more abstract works and love a nice cityscape.
So is this still art? What is art if it’s disposable? A friend posed a provocative question along these lines in a writers group I’m part of, along with this fascinating video: “Is art meant to be consumed or preserved? (Or is it/can it be both? How?)”
What do you think, and why?
A friend said recently that she’s often absent minded. I said, I prefer to say I have a lot going on in my head and thus I might seem forgetful. Again Wednesday has passed me by without posting art from my dad. I had it on my task list – but didn’t check my task list yesterday. I even was 45 minutes late to my regularly scheduled (as in I’ve been doing this for years) writing call. Just simply forgot.
We just need to extend grace these days, don’t we. To be kind to ourselves and others. To the tired parents; to the weary extroverts and introverts; to the overworked medical people; to those who have been furloughed and are feeling bored and bereft.
Whatever stage of emotion you’re in – or if you’re feeling many emotions – take a few moments to walk in this garden at twilight that my dad painted. I love its atmosphere and beauty. The colors and textures and mixture of plants and trees.
What do you hear in the whispers of the wind as you walk in the garden at twilight?
I meant to take a walk in the nearby brook today, but some stuff happened and I didn’t make it there before darkness descended – which when I checked the time of sundown, was 3.51pm. That’s feeling early. I have to be more organized to enjoy the outdoors in December.
But my dad sent me this watercolor from a photo I took in the brook recently, and that made me feel like I’d enjoyed its beauty (although my Fitbit doesn’t reflect the accompanying exercise). I love how he’s captured the stark beauty – the remnants of autumn and the bare branches.
What remnants of color are hanging on in the wastelands of your life?
How can you pray for more color to surround you, or for life to grow in what may seem like a wasteland?
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?
Summer can be a time for tourism, with people indulging in things that they wouldn’t do at home – like taking a ride in a horse-driven carriage. Does this sound like fun to you?
What I like about this watercolor by my dad is that it’s a study for a more involved painting. I like the spare strokes and white space. How can you fill your life with more white space?
As it’s the Easter holidays (at least in the UK), and many people are away enjoying a break (such as those hearing the cawing of the sea gulls at Spring Harvest), I thought it a good time to share this lovely seaside scene by my dad, Leo Boucher.
Take a moment to look at it, and perhaps place yourself at the scene. What do you see and hear? Maybe some fishermen are unloading the catch of mussels just to the left of the frame. Artists set up their easels to capture the beauty of the moment. Children ask their parents for an ice cream.
May you experience some moments of peace and refreshment this day.