Windowsill Advent Wreath

I had planned to make a small Advent wreath when I got home last night.  But my spouse had a pot of chili ready, so we spent time together on the front porch, eating dinner and enjoying the cooler weather as dusk settled into darkness.

We have a larger Advent wreath, but I didn't have it ready for last night.  And given the state of our home repairs, the outside tables are the only places where it's safe to have this kind of wreath with lit candles:

I wanted something I could use indoors, so this morning, I created something different with the small, battery operated candles that I picked up over my Thanksgiving break:

I used some small bits of pine that I cut from my larger outdoor display on the front porch table:

I collected some blue and gold fabric from my stash and added it to my display:

I love how the windows, steamed from our recent cold front, make my display look wintry:

And here's the view as I write (if I sit up straight):

Creating this window display made me so happy.  I love that it's a type of altar space.  I have loved creating mantels and other types of seasonal displays.  Maybe as we move through 2019, I'll look for other ways to have this kind of sacred space above my writing desk.

Ministering with Our Inspirations

My online journaling class meets in a Zoom meeting once a week, and we talk about what we created and the insights of the week.  One of my classmates said something that resonated with me this week.  She talked about how she was finding the daily discipline of not just the class, but the rest of life, overwhelming.  But she said she was being ministered to in powerful ways by the dailiness that everyone else was keeping.  Instead of feeling guilty about her lack of activity, she was feeling like she was part of the group by the work that we posted and the way it spoke to her.

I love this idea that we minister to each other even at these times we may not realize it.  I love the idea that even if we're not feeling inspired or capable right now, that doesn't mean our muse has left us permanently.  We can feed the well by enjoying the work of others.

It's that time of year when I feel like I'm running from pillar to post--what an interesting phrase.  Yesterday I was planning to do the Walmart run for Thursday's Meet and Greet.  But I had to take the  Noel-Levitz tests to the Ft. Lauderdale campus.  Not a big deal, I thought.  I decided I'd pick up the BJ's card and get the cookie tins that we give out as presents to our externship sites.  I thought I might be able to get the stuff I would have gotten at Walmart, but it was not to be.  So, I still have to do that, along with the end of the term stuff, along with accreditation stuff . . .no wonder I'm tired!

But I did stop along the way to pick up more sketchbooks.  I've been successful continuing to sketch/journal each day.

I've had fragments of ideas and inspirations.  Yesterday as I was listening to an interview with Bradley Cooper on Fresh Air as I did my journaling work.  Later, I thought about a character who says, "I'm living the plot of A Star is Born, except I'm not young, and I'm not a rising star, and the music isn't as good."  I'm not sure where that plot would go, but probably nowhere happy.

I also worked on a poem that begins this way (the rhythm is off in the second line):

Be my Dietrich Boenhoeffer,
I'll be your Archbishop Romero

That poem too must end in tears.  But I like the way it's a different kind of love poem.

In my journaling, I've been writing about liminal spaces and thresholds and what comes next.  There's also a bit of mourning at midlife about what's left behind.  On Monday, I created this image:

My instructor said:  "Chrysalis time... That would have been such a lovelier description than "empty nest" for that first year _____ and I no longer had kids at home... especially since I very much felt like I was curling up a lot of the time."

Yesterday, I thought about empty nests as a valid metaphor, even for those of us without children, and this is what emerged:

It will be interesting to see how much of this works its way into later poems.  For now, I'm enjoying this unique kind of journaling.

The Angel Gabriel in Miami

It is the time of year where many college English teachers will be able to relate to this aspect of my life:  so much grading to do, so little time.

It's also the time of year when various writers are announcing which works of theirs have been nominated for the Pushcart Prize.  I do not have this kind of good news to share.

In fact, I've only had a poem nominated once.  It was for a poem that fits well with this time of the year, in that it's about the Virgin Mary and the angel Gabriel, updated for our time.

So, let me revisit this process.  It gives me happiness to think about how I came to write this poem.

On a Monday in January of 2015, on Facebook, I saw this image of the Annunciation--what a neat woodcut (linoleum cut, I would find out later):

I went to Beth's site for a fascinating post--with more pictures of the process!--of how she came to create this image.  It was a good reminder that even though a creative project may not come together right away, it doesn't mean we're done with it or it with us.

Later in the morning, a different Facebook friend posted this image, to which she credits L Wallnau:

I thought of the angel Gabriel yet again.  I thought of invitations because my friend wrote this:

Some called to dress the bride
Others to prepare her
while a small company sent out with invitations

I thought of Gabriel as an engraved invitation.  I thought of what it would take to get our attention these days.  Angel choirs might get our attention, if we could hear them.  I think of students on Monday who walked right past me while I asked, "Do you have your schedule?  Check in here please"--their ear buds prevented awareness of all sorts.

Would we follow a star?  Would we study the skies long enough to realize that a new star had appeared?

Yes, I've tilled this ground before--and last night, when I tried to write a poem inspired by these images, I wrote a passable poem, but nothing special.  Still, it's a poem.

I wrote it as I waited in the Registrar's office for students to come pick up schedules or hold sheets.  One of my colleagues saw me in yet a different place and asked, "How many hats are you wearing these days?"  Lots of hats.  Would I rather be wearing a beautiful gown?

Ah, but I am a sturdy sort, running up and down the stairs, trying to help solve a wide variety of problems:  sort of like this image, but not really:

I would need a sturdy gown.  Can one have sturdiness along with swirls?

Suddenly this morning, I had an idea for a poem that might be different:  the angel Gabriel roams a college campus.  But it's not a bucolic campus--no it's a commuter school, people cramming in classes after work, or before working the graveyard shift.  The annunciation, but the Mary figure isn't the traditional beauty--no, she's tired beyond belief, and she can't believe that God would choose her.  Why not go to Harvard to choose a better mother candidate?  Go haunt the halls of privilege!

Of course, my favorite Bible stories show us time and time again that God appears in the midst of the poor and powerless, far from the halls of power and privilege.  But will we have ears and eyes to hear?

I would wrestle with that poem again and again.  And finally, it became this poem, which appeared in the book Annunciation, which led to the nomination for the Pushcart Prize.


A Girl More Worthy

The angel Gabriel rolls his eyes
at his latest assignment:
a virgin in Miami?
Can such a creature exist?

He goes to the beaches, the design
districts, the glittering buildings
at every boundary.
Just to cover all bases, he checks
the churches but finds no
vessels for the holy inside.

He thinks he’s found her in the developer’s
office, when she offers him coffee, a kind
smile, and a square of cake. But then she instructs
him in how to trick the regulatory
authorities, how to make his income and assets
seem bigger so that he can qualify
for a huge mortgage that he can never repay.


On his way out of town, he thinks he spies
John the Baptist under the Interstate
flyway that takes tourists
to the shore. But so many mutter
about broods of vipers and lost
generations that it’s hard to tell
the prophet from the grump,
the lunatic from the T.V. commentator.

Finally, at the commuter college,
that cradle of the community,
he finds her. He no longer hails
moderns with the standard angel
greetings. Unlike the ancients,
they are not afraid, or perhaps, their fears
are just so different now.


The angel Gabriel says a silent benediction
and then outlines God’s plan.
Mary wonders why Gabriel didn’t go
to Harvard where he might find
a girl more worthy. What has she done
to find God’s favor?

She has submitted
to many a will greater than her own.
Despite a lifetime’s experience
of closed doors and the word no,
she says yes.

Decorating for the Season

Yesterday was a delightful day.  It was one of the first days where I finally made some progress switching the house decorations from autumn to Christmas.

We began the day, as we do most Sundays, at church.  Yesterday was our Advent wreath decorating opportunity and workshop; for more, see this post on my theology blog.  It's one of my favorite group creative events at our church; I love seeing how each one of us takes the wide variety of materials and creates such a unique wreath.

Our 9:45 worship group needed no direction, but the group after the 11:00 service waited for someone to show them what to do.  That someone was me--one of my church friends said I was the most artistic one at church.

I'm not used to being designated as the most creative.  That probably comes from years of working at an art school where the various disciplines did have a tendency to view each other with suspicion and as competition--and my chosen art forms (poetry, quilts, theology inspired) weren't valued by many of the artists there.

After church, we came home and decorated the front porch.  I hung up our wreath that I made earlier.

I brought some of the extra evergreens home with me, and we experimented with ways to exhibit them.  We tried a canning jar of branches in the arch of our porch, but the wind knocked it over.  In the end, we put the vases of boughs on the table and the other greens on the shelf that the arch forms.

Later in the day, my spouse added pumpkins.  I like the way the green and orange work together.  And those of you who have read my blog regularly know that I delight in mixing holidays.

This is one of my favorite Thanksgiving photos, taken on a Friday, which shows the transition from Thanksgiving to Christmas.

Here's a larger, less artsy view:

Sketching Towards Advent

Today is the first Sunday in Advent.  In my Christian religious tradition (ELCA Lutheran), Advent is more than a time when we light the candles on the Advent wreath and open windows of our Advent calendar to get a cheap piece of chocolate.

It's a time to watch and wait, a time to light candles and listen for God's call.  Last night, as I waited for it to be time to go meet friends for dinner before my spouse's holiday concert, I made this sketch and haiku like creation:

But a sketch I made on Friday also seems appropriate:

I started with the swirling colors, but then I decided to also write down every vocation to which I've ever felt called--my present position as a dean is there, but so are many others.  Of course, as I look over this sketch, I realize I left out some calls--there were years when I'd have told you how I felt called to be an actress on Broadway.

I do note that I didn't put Composition teacher in the sketch, and I've probably spent more years of my life doing that than any other occupation.  I also didn't put down backpacking counselor at a Girl Scout camp, which I don't feel called to do any more, but that summer of being the backpacking counselor shaped me in many ways.

I so enjoyed that sketch that I made this one Friday night:

I've been journaling in this way every day since the beginning of my online journaling class on Nov. 4.  It's been intriguing to me to see what emerges.  It's also interesting to see what can be done with 7 markers:  4 colors and 3 black markers with varying tips.

I'm also intrigued by how the drawings and comments of others in the online journaling course shapes my sketching.  I posted this sketch:

My instructor said, "What a gift this image will be to your soul's library! A sacred seeing + creative breakthrough = Wow!"

And then this sketch emerged:

It will be interesting to go through this Advent season sketching daily.  I wonder what will emerge.  Perhaps I will write a poem about the sketchbook as our contemporary angel who announces God's plans.

Advent reminds us that God's new creation is both now and not yet.  Our Advent stories remind us that God has a vision that might disrupt our carefully planned lives.  Think of Mary who will have a baby who will be the savior, or Joseph who will be the father to this savior, or Elizabeth who will have a child in her post-menopausal years.

God still chooses unexpected ways to be in touch with us--what will this Advent bring?

The First President Bush and World AIDS Day

What an interesting juxtaposition, the announcement of the death of George H. W. Bush (the first Bush president), which most of us will hear about today, Dec. 1, World AIDS Day.  Today is the 30th anniversary of World AIDS Day.

The first president Bush didn't create World AIDS Day, but he may have been the first president to move AIDS policy to a more helpful position--but full credit should be given to his wife, Barbara.  From what I've read, she was the motivating force behind a more compassionate approach to this disease.

People who weren't alive in the 80's may not realize how afraid of AIDS everyone was when the disease was first discovered, before we had much understanding of how people contracted it.  People who know people with AIDS today may not remember how dreadful the disease was when it burst into our consciousness in the 80's, when healthy men turned into skeletons and died within 6 months.

Barbara Bush made history in a famous photo that showed her holding a baby with AIDS.  She argued fiercely and consistently for a more humane treatment of those with AIDS.  And her husband, George H. W. Bush showed wisdom in following her lead.

I predict that George H. W. Bush will be the last president to come out of a certain kind of public servant tradition.  He was rich, yes.  But he had an idea of service (to family, to country) that few people in politics seem to have these days.  He fought during a fierce war (World War II) and then continued to serve his country by his various political jobs.

I confess that I didn't like George H. W. Bush as a president, but now I would be so thrilled to see someone like him emerge on the political stage:  left, right, center, it would make no difference to me. The first Bush president now seems like an amazing example of steady leadership bolstered by a variety of intelligences.  It makes me sad that we can no longer take intelligence of any kind for granted in our leadership--and even sadder that it doesn't seem to matter for so many of us.

Those of us who work towards social justice and human dignity for all know how long the struggle might be. We are similar to those medieval builders of cathedral: we may not be around to see the magnificent completion of our vision, but it's important to play our part. In the words of that old Gospel song, we keep our eyes on the prize, our hands on the plow, and hold on.

From Blog Post to Sketch to Poem

This morning, I wrote a poem--and with that poem, I've written a poem every day in November.  I'm not sure I've ever been successful at writing a poem a day for a month.  There have been several Aprils that I have tried.

I've also been very active in my online journaling course which started Nov. 4, and in addition to writing a poem a day, I've done at least one sketch a day.  I've been interested in how they feed each other.

The blogging feeds the work too.  Here's an example.

On Sunday, in this post, I wrote, "At the eastern continental divide, the landscape took on a different sort of beauty than I see regularly. The trees were coated with ice and snow, but the roads were only wet with rain. My spouse was driving, so I could marvel in the wintry wonderland mixed with final autumn colors. The sky looked like the clouds had come to down to lend the trees some additional ghostly sparkle. Some of the trees still had their autumn leaves. Some of the trees were frosted, while others had been sheltered from the wintry mix. It was beautiful. Alas, my camera was packed away."

On Wednesday, I made this sketch:

As I was sketching, which took place in two parts of the day as I was subbing for a Speech class, the haiku-esque creation that's on the sketch began to form.  And this morning, I tried to use some of the images in a longer poem.

My online journaling class lasts for 3 more weeks, and I plan to keep sketching once a day.  I also plan to keep writing a poem a day.  It's such a nourishing, refreshing practice.