Etsy Launch Announcement

Well friends, I just wanted to give you an update about a little summer project of mine: I’m selling on Etsy now! I just opened a little shop over there today – a place to showcase some of my calligraphy, illumination, illustration and original artwork celebrating literary masterpieces and what they mean for the great battle of our time.

EtsyShopSnipThe shop features prints and cards created from my original artwork as well as one-of-a-kind hand-made pieces, such a little collection of laminated calligraphy bookmarks. I plan to add more items soon, but if you have a minute, you can take a look at what’s available now.

I do hope your summer is full of glory!

Budapest

100_2041It’s been pretty quiet around here. I came over to the site to check on things and was a bit startled by how long it had been since I’d said anything! Oh well. I suppose there are worse things than taking a break from talking all the time. I’ve been working on some art projects and hope to have an exciting announcement within the next couple of weeks. I’ve read some books and can’t wait to talk about them as well. What have you been reading?

100_2029In May, I went to Spain for three weeks and hiked about 200 miles of the Camino de Santiago. There was a certain thrill involved with being abroad again, with layovers in the international terminal at the airport, and the convergence of countries at the baggage claim. When I stepped out of the shuttle at the train station in Madrid and the sidewalk smelled like cigarettes and the apartments rose around me with their walls dressed in expert graffiti, I won’t say I didn’t get a little homesick.

100_2033In Spain I stayed in the “albergue” hostels and walked through more small villages than I could ever keep track of. I drank café con leche with buttery croissants and cold tuna empanada. I had that white lemon ice cream that I’ve been missing so much. I had it quite a lot. I took my one semester of elementary Spanish to its utmost limits. But of course, none of this is of much consequence to you if you weren’t there. Most likely it is quite uninteresting.

Plot twist: I didn’t go to Budapest.

But up in the Galician mountains, on the days of moist sky and paths threading through the mist, I sang sometimes. I sang all the happiest songs I could think of, which were mostly hymns, of course, because it’s hard to get happier than I Will Sing of My Redeemer or O! For a Thousand Tongues To Sing. One thing I sang over and over was a song about Budapest. I bet you know it.

My house in Budapest
My, my hidden treasure chest
Golden grand piano
My beautiful Castillo

You, you,
You, you
I’d lose it all.
Oh, for you, you
You, you
I’d lose it all.

Because out in the fullness of the landscapes and the cultures I’ve so often coveted, it was good to be abandoned to a better Homecoming, to belong to a plenty good enough Lover. It was good to go away just as glad as I came in, without the least relic of discontentment.

My many artifacts
The list goes on….

We Should Talk More About The Country

Nasmith
We walk roads that seem endless but we know they’ll be tapering off like a candle with a thread all out of wax. And if you’re on a trail of tears, the finish line might seem like a release. But if this little jaunt has been a party, the fact that it gives way to long strings of funerals sometimes makes everything seem like a pretty expensive waste. I wish we would talk more about the country we’re coming home to – in friend groups speculating about the future and in worship and at work and with the scores of somebodies on the street.

I tried to express this some months ago in a little poem. This week, that poem won a quite special prize over Utmost Christian Writers, and so I thought I would share it with all of you.

Have a glad week, all you born-abroad ambassadors of the Kingdom of Heaven!

WE SHOULD TALK MORE ABOUT THE COUNTRY

I.
The summer had besieged us like armies, like slow wildfire, like cruelty
and when the high sea broke open and bled white water it was high time.
We did not see it like that: with eyes greedy for justice and gaping.
We were growing older, expected less and less, and celebrated everything:
the crinkled white leaves in the wet hearts of beans, bellicose mosquitoes,
gnats like stardust in the fire-wind, charred asparagus needles,
thin tea, and the yellow teeth under the tongues of purple snapdragons.
We were old enough to be thoroughly happy about the pond hosting
black-winged whistler ducks with beaks like bursts of flame, the garden
making a home for rugged white parsnips and the green pebbles of peas;
to relish donuts like spun sugar, trees shedding water like tears,
nightbirds in the moonful sky, and the steady drip of rain through our dreams.

II.
After a time, even drought-break and jubilation begin to taste of sadness.
When we stand in the pool of our contentment, wearing each other’s presence
like a coat of many smiles, we will never stand here again, never with the
water hurtling off of the shingles, and the ants chewing our naked toes,
never with the baby tangling his pink fingers in our hair and our mouths
glad with songs, and our hearts full like hosed cells of celery.

III.
We should talk more of the country we are coming home to, and less
of the land we are living in like unhomed swallows on the waves of the sky,
like beached sailboats straining at the bar, their wings clapping the salty air.
Talk of the houses that are waiting behind yellow curtains to be filled
with laughing and the lilting piano, and puddled crushed citrus spiking the rooms.
Swaying in our rocking-chairs and wrapped in our respective twilights,
we should not speak of our histories as though we stood before the banquet
of delights and were too easy on our dinnerware. We should not speak
of what has been and will never be again. We should talk about what has
never been, though we have been waiting for it all our lives. Talk of the gold
city that shall break on our sight like rain on brittle grass, when we shall go
up from the house of slavery and swing over the threshold of the promised land.

Love In A Time of Tigers

Valentines DayWal-Mart doesn’t die out at 11 pm on February 13th. I was in there last night and found it crawling with men bearing hunted expressions in their eyes and chocolate in their carts and tulips in their hands. The lines to the register included as many as ten weary customers at once. Females were in the minority. There was so much delightfully right about this and simultaneously so much that was pitifully wrong. I was glad I was present to have a good laugh.

Isn’t it splendid that we have a holiday for couples to be happy in front of the world, and to set aside time for the things we forget to make time for? Like fancy suppers and candlelight and letters and roses and remembrance? I’m glad the calendar has a space for romance.

But I’ll confess: sometimes I’m a little terrified by it.

TigerSometimes I turn on the radio and feel a bit sick – are you with me? Just like animals, Adam Levine choruses over the airwaves. He says it all. Look around at the world and you’ll see how the beast-face comes through. My planet has a culture so blatantly flesh-hungry, that sometimes I’m afraid to belong here.

Sometimes I run wildly to the shelter of the Word Made Flesh because it’s the only kind thing on all this fettered planet. It’s the source of all respect and all chivalry and all courtesy and all romance and all that constitutes the high wall between you and me and nature red in tooth and claw. And if we’re moving away from that glorious gospel, we’re falling back into the bloody domain of the beasts.

What’s with this willingness to slip into the roles we were fashioned to rule over? Why be a crimson-clawed tiger who tears and will be torn, when you can be a prince with a gold scepter and a King-Dad who calls all the shots?

Historians can’t decide which Saint Valentine is responsible for our own festivities on February 14th. You see, there were at least three of them. In the legends, all three were men of honor who died for their love, ripped apart by the animals that the world hosts in abundance. In the most prevalent stories, these martyrdoms involved beating, stoning and eventual decapitation. We’re not talking about the kind of love that was doing its frantic last-minute shopping in Wal-Mart last night.

What wondrous love is this? What were those Saint Valentines up to, and why do we commemorate them with a holiday about romance?

Well, it turns out that Saint Valentine’s Day has everything to do with romance. The thing is, this is about a romance that’s bigger than the sweetest created beloved you’ll ever know. The Saint Valentines gave their lives because they couldn’t stop talking about the Romance that trumps everything. They couldn’t shut up about the World’s Great Lover. They said it would be better not to live than to live in a world where you can’t talk about Jesus.

Blood_Of_JesusDo I feel like that? Do you?

If you’re single on Valentine’s Day, just let me say: don’t be sorry no one took you to dinner. The impeccable Prince of Men cried blood for you. Don’t be sorry your room isn’t a rainbow of flowers. The Hero who overrides every storybook champion invites you to ride with Him ever after. Don’t you be saying no one loves you. While your understanding was foggy and violent like the tigers in the jungle, the real MVP said, “how about a deal? I’ll go down under the red claws if this beast can come out and walk upright and be a man.”

Pippin’s Song

P1050386This New Year’s Eve my family will continue a long tradition of watching the Lord of the Rings movies for almost twelve hours to usher in the new year. I’ve written about this practice in another post, but I won’t babble on about it again to the chagrin of others with less exciting plans for tomorrow! However, I thought this might be a good time to share a project I’ve been working on since last winter.

My skills as a painter are pretty limited, but last year I decided to venture out anyway and attempt a set of watercolors based on Pippin’s Song from the Return of the King film (adapted from some of Tolkien’s own poetry). Below is a little collage showing the finished results, although not everything could fit quite satisfactorily. To see full-scale versions of the finished pieces, you can check out the gallery here. The link will also give you an opportunity to purchase prints or notecards from Fine Art America. Thanks for stopping by, and may the remainder of your holidays be especially happy!

HomeIsBehindCollage