Kintsugi (Tell His Story)

 Have you heard of kintsugi?

It's the art of repairing cracked pottery and ceramics with powdered gold or silver, mixed with lacquer.

Each repair is unique. The damage becomes part of the beauty.

It does take time and care.

Sylvia understands. We found her dying in a summer field. It took awhile for her to thrive.

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Sitting

Barb took this picture on leaving for work the other day.

I'm writing this at the end of a very long night of severely worse metastatic pain in my right femur. Sleep wasn't possible, and I was too tired to read or scroll Facebook (which I don't do), or even think.

But I had to be present for the pain, and let it go on as it would (I don't have painkillers).

I wish there were some epiphany connected with this, some great knowing suddenly revealed...but it was just pain, and I had to be here.

But maybe that IS the epiphany, that it's ok to just sit with a hard experience, not trying to distract, or make it go away.

Reminds me of a song I love, Cat Stevens' Sitting.

The night crawls by on turtle feet,

and there's nothing in my brain

except to know that I must meet

and sit here with the pain

that burns within my thinning leg

like a freshly broken bone,

but I know better than to beg

for relief; I'm not alone.

The Lord is with me, and His face 

is turned to me in full.

The stars above reflect His grace,

and I can feel the pull,

upward, through the darkling sky,

and I am not afraid to die.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is AFFECTION.

I have affection for my life,

dogs and uke and aeroplanes, too,

and Jesus Christ and my dear wife,

so I guess I will stay true 

to the principle of living

every day as best I can,

taking less than I am giving;

that's what it means to be a man

in these days of grinding pain,

my own and that of this great nation,

and so for now I will refrain

from worry 'bout either situation 

letting peace and love take wing 

in every single song I sing.

Sylvia's not afraid either, 'cause she knows there's ice cream in Heaven.

World Full Of Hope (Tell His Story)

 We've come to a dreadful place

where hate rules above all,

but there is still some ample grace;

the tides still rise and fall,

and there is the autumn rain,

and the snows to come

that will ease the birthing pain

of a world that's remade young.

The sparrows will then make their nest 

when next spring arrives,

and parent-birds will do their best

that every hatchling thrives,

so turn away from mournful news

and glory in God's gift of views.

Sylvia likes to bark at sparrows.

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Called To Forgive

 I have seen the news this week,

and I have vengeance in my heart.

I would dearly love to wreak

havoc on those who tore apart 

the fabric of society 

with their vile and loathsome acts,

the parade of putrid cruelty,

but, my friend, these are the facts,

that those who perpetrated death

can be God's children, just like me.

They live from breath to breath to breath,

and though they are to blind to see

the evil that they choose to live,

Christ still calls me to forgive.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is PICK.

Forgiveness ain't what I would pick

for the monsters on our streets,

and it makes me kind of sick

that one only in forgiveness meets

the Christ that offers His salvation 

to even the worst of these.

I mean, really, my situation 

ain't that bad, so maybe please

let me be both judge and jury,

let revenge be mine, not Thine,

let me drop the jerks and bury

them somewhere in the sands of time.

Let me, Lord send them to hell...

"Fine, but you'll go there as well."

Sylvia says forgiveness is best served with ice cream.

Where The Wild Things Are (Tell His Story)

 I'm sort of too ill to put up a meaningful post today, but if anyone wants to know what life with a lot of dogs is like...the read-aloud of Where The Wild Things Are above pretty much tells the story. It's less than four minutes, but you'll want to pause often to savour the artwork.

And by all means, if you don't have a copy of Where The Wild Things Are

hie thyself off to Amazon posthaste.

Sylvia agrees.

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Nothing Personal

 Cancer's not a person,

never was, can never be,

but it's made a better version 

of the man I know as Me.

The petty needs all fall away,

ambition's cast aside,

and as I face my dying day

there is no-where to hide,

but in facing down the end

and looking past the veil of tears

I see the beauty 'round the bend

that folds away the fears

that came from avarice and sin,

and that now can never win.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is LEGACY.

If there's a legacy I leave 

to those I lived among,

let it be that I believe 

that Hope's a lot of fun.

Maybe it is odds against,

maybe folks say quit,

but I say, dude, don't fold your tent,

and just ride out the worst of it

because one day the sun will shine

from a clearer sky.

And you will know that dreadful time

was not your time to die,

so snap your fingers as self-goad

and boogie down the bricky road.

Sylvia things I'm a better man for sharing more ice cream.

It Sings! (Tell His Story)

 It has a voice!

The Flying V tenor ukulele actually sings (my hands are pretty stiff and awkward, but I'll learn).

It was fun to build, with a neck bought from Walmart, and the rest stuff I had lying around.

The picture was taken before the strings and tuning pegs were installed. The body is plywood, with blah grain, so I painted it. It's a gold undercoat, with misted blue and green.

I really enjoyed building it. Making an instrument that can produce music... that's

 special.

And Sylvia didn't even howl.

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