Color from gray.

I was a bit startled by these color photographs from the Great Depression, they made that era feel not so far away. I would like to see color photographs from ancient times. Time.... so strange.


http://passportstation.blogspot.com/2010/10/farm-security-administration.html

For my reward is giving glory to you.

If I am still enough. I can feel my bare feet sinking into the warm concrete. If I am still enough, I can just begin to drift seawards. The great sea, the source of all discontent, pulls at me, when the purpose driven ants and other insectoids slip in through the cracks in my skin. It is where the skin meets the nail, that they make their way in. Crawling up my leg and into my knees. I had almost reached the sea when the knowledge of good and evil had too much to drink and got obnoxious. Naivety was trying to tell an old mariners tale, and the knowledge of good and evil became too loud. Much too loud. Tomorrow we will all wake up with a humid headache.

I suppose it is some place right between those pesky ants and the sea that the Lord is always speaking.

The Ancient and You.

It is mid April now, and where are we? We are slowly progressing in our being moved in. I have never felt moved in before...I am not actually sure if I am supposed to. It does make me irritable to not be moved in though, just ask Emily.

If any body where curious as to how I am doing, I would tell them, I am doing very well. That is to say, I am overwhelming blessed, and yet discontent. My wife and children warm my heart to no end, and I know I am not deserving of this. Yet as always, I long so much for more of G-d. We are more spiritually alone here than ever before, at least that is how I feel. I certainly do not despair for a lack of G-d, in fact, I feel necessarily close to Him. It is just that I want to be caught up in His movement and I just don't feel that, or see that very much.

Lord, let me walk in your shame and glory. Let me burn with your humility and let me be a servant to all.

Friendly Arctic Press

Lent

I have never really done anything. For the next forty days, I am going to get ride of one item of mine every day.

Church.

I have never had to "church hunt" before. Friends and family have always been my guide into the spiritual family. But here, where friends and family have we none, church hunting was...depressing. I dreaded the notion. Growing up, I had been around for various church hunting expeditions. From my point of view, which ever church gave the best goody bag filled with pens and tracks was best.

The object of finding a "good" church was further complicated by my work schedule, having Fridays and Saturdays off, working on Sunday.

Well, this past Saturday, we took the plunge (I admit, although I brought it up, I was very tempted to "not feel like it")

Here is my analysis...

1. The Church was huge, they had their very own sign...and traffic instructions for the parking lot: -50 points.
2. When we walked in, the greeters smiled at us, but did not try to give us anything or engage in conversation: +15 points
3. They had a book store/coffee shop in the lobby, along with an electronic ATM looking thing for giving the church money: +10/-35 points
4. Eisley was playing throughout the church: +59 points
5. Most people there looked to be middle age-well off: -39 points
6. The preacher was not as self-deprecating and sarcastic as I would like: -40 points
7. They had a votive candle prayer table: +60 points
8. I saw a man cross himself during communion: +35 points
9. They let us take our child without DNA scanning us: -20 points
10. They played a movie with a girl doing a poetry/rap thing about poverty etc which made me cry: +30 points

TOTAL: +25 Points

I guess we will go back.

The Friendly Arctic

I worked at a factory in Cleveland Tennessee. Worked long shifts and lived by myself in an absurdly cheap minimalist apartment. Granted, the minimalism came not just from sensibility, but partly from necessity as well. The one room apartment was right in front of a rail way line, and the griping shake that this caused gave me reason to speculate on the possibility of whether or not I could, if necessary, run right through my walls.

I don't remember why, probably welling up from a well bred romantic wander-lust, but I found myself in the local library looking for books on Arctic explorers. On the shelves of a southern library who's local patrons were more concerned with comparing the new Wal-Mart to the old, and finding movies staring Brendan Fraser, I found an old yet strong looking blue bound book titled The Friendly Arctic.

I took the book back to my home, crossed over the railroad tracks, climbed the step hill, sat down in the grass, and began to read. The Friendly Arctic. Filled with the tales of true exploration, beautiful pull out maps, and a healthy supply of bearded men, the Friendly Arctic was a gift from G-d to a heart that had no business hoping for beauty. The Friendly arctic excitedly argued that, while most considered the arctic a cold dead land, it was actually full of vibrant life and beauty. I leave it at that.

When my brothers and I were discussing starting something the might have resembled a record label, we threw around names...The particle factory, trade wind controls, The Friendly Arctic. The name grew and visions have emerged, grown, adapted, changed. To me, whatever the application, The Friendly Arctic has meant finding, and sharing the beauty that lays within much that seems cold and dead. It is a tremendous blessing to know, that while I currently can not fulfill many of the dreams that have been attached to the name, my brother and sister are still using it.

Why am I sharing all of this? This Christmas I was blessed with some money as a gift. Emily inspired me to look at finding a copy of this book ( I still had secret plans to one day return to Cleveland and permanently check out their copy.) I found, for a reasonable price, an autographed and inscribed first edition copy in excellent condition.




The inscription reads:

To Mima J. Weaver:

Katharine and I started out to get a (salt?) collar for you in a jewlary store, but the designs did not suit, so she concluded you would like an autographed book of mine better. I hope she guessed right.

Vilhjalmur Stefansson

Dayton
October 26, 1922