spiritual journey

Prophetic Art

“Art is the language of the soul.” With these words, one of my lifelong friends exhorted me as I wrestled for years with an insatiable need to express myself visually. For decades I tried to suppress this language, feeling it could not urgently or adequately address the evils I witnessed in the world. It felt…Read more Prophetic Art

Just to Touch the Hem

Nairobi, June 2005 She refused to eat. Her forehead felt warm. She cried incessantly. Nothing alleviated her discomfort. As a sojourning foreigner, I lacked even the name of a pediatrician in Kenya, much less contact information. Even if I knew who to call, I couldn’t easily access transport. My one solace – I knew that…Read more Just to Touch the Hem

Redemptive Art

I wandered for many years, searching for the space where art, social justice, and faith interweave. For decades, I felt that art and social justice were separate compartments of my life; and I could not find overlap. I painted here and there, but focused the bulk of my energy on the urgent social justice issue of…Read more Redemptive Art

Silence

There was a time in my life when I was stunned into silence. I unexpectedly received news of harm done to someone I love, two days later met the person who caused the harm face-to-face, and then several days after that received medical confirmation for my loved one of resulting lifelong disability. It was too much,…Read more Silence

Reach

  I reach for you – translucent shimmering like a spider thread flung through morning light fragile tensile by sheer ache and desire you span this mighty expanse

Limited Edition of “Tulips”

Happy summer to all (at least in the Northern Hemisphere)! I've created an Etsy listing for prints of my watercolor painting, "Tulips" about the joy of summer - both the literal season and the season of the heart. You can click here to view.

Quelled

rapid little heart so undone thrashes fragile feathered chest, wings frantically fan fiery fear seen and unseen so in need of just one word held quelled in tender hands cupped and quiet

Of Birds and Parenting

Scampering around in the grass barefoot, my son suddenly squealed and leapt for the concrete patio.  I went to inspect the source of his alarm:  a quivering huddle of feathers. He assumed it was dead like another hapless victim, a naked nestling, we found earlier that evening on a nearby rock. But as I knelt…Read more Of Birds and Parenting

Witnesses

  A Summer Night at Grandpa's House hot the night air white the hot light dancing in distant moonlit fields drowning in years of gathered emptying skies pouring down our windowpane drumming our whispers into the restless drone of the fan of still musty the dusty presence of settling walls of eyes in photos in every…Read more Witnesses