Hey guys! I just recently started a new business “venture”. I am stepping out into the world of pet portraits/commissioned drawings. I LOVE Prismacolor Pencils. I just wanted to give a quick photo update!
Here is my second Pet Portrait: Bagger Vance Groover. He is a GORGEOUS Springer Spaniel with a heart of gold! This drawing is 11×14″ matted and framed to 16×20″. Let me know what you think!
Filed under Art
Digging below the clutter and
Diving beneath the noise
We are warmed by the peace of silence
And sovereignty wraps around our shoulders like an embrace
Sinking below the stirring sounds
Leaving distractions alone to serve no purpose
We surround ourselves in your presence
Our eyes delight in the simple searching of your face
How much more the tone of your voice within the context of the quiet
How much more the warmth in your eyes when there is nothing else to pull our gaze from yours.
How diminished is our self-seeking voice
And how august our words of praise
When our voice is allowed to reach your ears.
Pressing in, further still
We are rewarded, in turn, by mercy
Gently speaking worth into our being
Gently affirming our significance within your design
The hunger that was absent just moments before
Is insatiable now.
It is manifested in the way that we cannot even begin to imagine
Walking away from the fire.
How much more the touch of your hand when we crave your guidance
How much more the comfort of your arms when we can no longer hold our own weight.
How quiet are our worries and
How confident our smiles
When we are allowed to share in your significance.
The Prodigal.
I am fighting in the stifling heat.
I cannot muster the strength to lift my eyes to search for the possibility of rain to heal my throat.
I feel every inhale as rasping pain and every exhale as the wish for it to be my last.
Just willing one foot in front of the other is draining me faster than the world can replenish.
Beads of sweat that my body can barely afford to spare have made
trail marks down my dust covered face and arms,
and I can trace every wrong step I have taken in every single missing thread
in my servant’s cloth.
Each tear tells me of the times I cried in desperation as I fell into the weight of it all.
Each stain reminds me that I have slept in the earth and communed with the soil.
The hunger is now consuming me. Not hunger for food, for I have known the shame of desiring to steal from the lowliest of all.
The hunger for what I remember.
The hunger to be hungry no more.
And there you are, Husband.
And there you are.
And here you are.
I have imagined your form. I have imagined your figure.
I have surely imagined the way the tears from your eyes are washing my undeserving face.
I have imagined the honor of your arms around my neck.
I can feel the weight of you pressing into me, willing my heart closer. But the weight is lighter than air.
The weight is uplifting.
And soon my feet can no longer feel the earth beneath them, nor even the weight of my own body.
I am breathing deeply the sweet sent of your neck as you wrap me closer and closer.
You are speaking, but I have never cared less what words have left your lips,
just the tone of your voice has soothed me into reverence.
You are proposing again and again Husband.
You are asking for my hand.
You are asking me to be alive.
You are asking me, with awestruck eyes, to return your gaze when once I wished for you not to exist at all.
While I stumble beside your graceful footfalls,
The world gazes at me with renewed eyes and whispers,
“have you seen a more beautiful wife?”
“have you seen a Husband with more loving eyes?”
And as You slide a ring upon my hand,
You adorn me with far more than clothing and jewels,
You adorn me with the memory of who I am.
Of who I was always meant to be.
Love is a small voice.
It is not the loud thunderous shout that demands a reciprocation of sacrifice,
But a quiet
I am here.
And you are here.
Let us be here together.
A friend asked me to write on my thoughts of love. And I don’t mean the ooey gooey romantic kind. I mean Love in general. This is as far as I got. 
So, I’ve started on a new venture! Dog portraits!
Here is the second one I have finished. It is my mom’s shih-tzu, Chloe!
I’m still practicing, but I think I’m going to do some more advertising and get the word out!
8x10" colored pencil portrait
Filed under Art
Poetry surrounds us everywhere, but putting in on paper is, alas, not so easy as looking at it.
- v. van gogh
Filed under Uncategorized
So, a dear friend and I have decided to live out this crazy thing we call The Kingdom of God. We have prayed and studied together for a little while now, and God presented the opportunity to do more than just bury our noses in books and close our eyes and talk. He gave us the chance to live out for a little while what we were learning about. I like God for that. He teaches in so many ways.
Anyways, this chance to live a little came from a wonderful woman who frequents Books-A-Million. She often looks for odd jobs: washing windows, cleaning, etc. But this day, my dear friend decided to offer to help her buy some groceries. She was adamant that she did not want free hand outs. However, after a long conversation and some coaxing, off to wal-mart we all went! A few more chance meetings with this woman brought more opportunities to help her.
But she gave us a bigger surprise. She offered to cook dinner for us as a thank you. She and her husband live in a small hotel here in Valdosta. So, we decided to accept her offer. When we drove up to the hotel, we saw sign after sign on the doors: Will work, Need Food…. etc.
Here is just a poem about that dinner that night. Any questions? I would love to answer them.
Cigarette smoke curled around his head like a temporary and fragile halo dissipating into the breath of our stirring conversation.
The 15 by 15 wood paneled room contained the remnants of 13 years of marriage,
That started with a hasty introduction in government low-income housing of “if you stand there long enough, I will make you pay the rent!”
and culminating in a three day engagement, and thirteen years of gathered this and that’s:
chipped refrigerator magnets, a card table, two hot plates, and a shy cat named bright eyes.
But her eyes light up much brighter with the mention of her buried treasure: her pride and joy: the post marked manila envelop containing photographs of her husband’s life.
“There is mike,” she says as she points at a quirky curly haired kid smiling through decades of sepia tinted age.
“And don’t forget about his father’s pet squirrel… that thing would eat out of the palm of your hand!”
We shuffled through memories in ten minute’s time that were two generations in the making
The sharp contrast of my new shoes and the holey carpet takes me aback and reminds me that when I downcast my eyes to avoid a plea, I am confronted by my on self-seeking voice.
Filed under Uncategorized
