Growing up in Minnesota, I’d often go with my family to visit my grandparents, both sets of which lived on farms. I took for granted the beauty of the fall colors and the picturesque farms dotted along the way as we drove to Southern Minnesota or Iowa. Now, however, I can bring forth those memories with thanks, also grateful for my dad’s artistry in capturing the moments.
For those who are celebrating Thanksgiving tomorrow, may your celebrations be marked with joy and abundance.
This autumn scene speaks to me of an age gone by. A time before electronic devices and everyday mass shootings. A time for reading, gardening, and talking to the neighbors while delivering a homemade cake. But those days had their own challenges, such as people in a minority not having a voice, or cultural expectations reducing the number of creative expressions workwise (can you imagine many people with a so-called portfolio lifestyle back then?).
Keeping with the autumnal theme, what has died from that era to give us what we have now? What do you wish hadn’t perished? What are you grateful for in this new day?
The wild grasses sway in the wind, shimmering against the sunshine. Some think pampas grass is beautiful, while others see it as an invasive weed that is difficult to remove. Sales of the plant have fallen in the UK with the cultural connotation of the plant in the front garden being an invitation to swingers (who knew!?).
Whatever you think of this plant, here’s an autumnal look at life. Hints of color next to the evergreen tree – the only sign of green to come in the tundra of Minnesota to come, the setting for this painting by my dad, Leo Boucher.
We’re having a taste of summer this week on a quick trip to Spain, but I know elsewhere the Fall feeling is in full flow. My dad sent me a few new watercolors for the season this week, and I love the movement he captured in this one.
I suppose the meaning of the movement of autumn is towards death and dying, however beautiful the colors are. But out of death can come new life. May it be so in our lives.
Today’s art by my dad, Leo Boucher, is a watercolor I shared back in Lent. It seems appropriate to ponder it again today as we consider the latest atrocity. The blood from the hands of Jesus looks to me to be tears – the tears of a God made man who wept and died for the fallen, angry, hurting world. May we find hope and healing through his blood.
I got to visit my niece in Minneapolis today, and saw some of my dad’s artwork that I hadn’t seen before, such as this acrylic on glass (painted on the backside of the glass). I love the slightly abstract view of the bridge from behind the safety of the guardrail.
What bridges lie in front of you?
It seems like autumn has settled in fully here in Britain – I’ve moved to donning scarves again and wearing my Haflinger clogs in the vicarage. But memories of times canoeing on a lake in Minnesota can quickly bring back that summertime feeling, as I think back to the sound of the paddle moving through the water with the loons calling in the distance.
What says summer to you?
Some can’t imagine living in a city, but I love the buzz of conversation, cultural happenings, and the mixture of people from scores of different nationalities living together. Of course major cities can be terrorist targets, as we’ve seen in London this year. But we also see in the book of Revelation that God will gather his people together in his city. We’ll live in peace, enjoying life to the full. Come, Lord Jesus.
A bridge, a boat, some trees. Where does this scene take you?
The weather in London has been a lot like these dark clouds lately. And the cycle of campaigning is reaching its crescendo tomorrow with the general election. Will we have more of a dark cloud over us?
Lord, have mercy. Pour out your peace and your love on these shores.