this is me...

this is me...
Originally uploaded by rod lewis

... this brown, faded, and broken
leaf
discarded by the one it’s served
in faithful photosynthesis.

This is me,
this fallen oak,
whose strong bark covering
hid the hollow and rotten
inside.

This is me,
this barren hillside,
timbered, raped, and eroded by
the ways of this world, and the
kingdom of the air.


This is me,
this reclaimed, lush,
and verdant forest,
deep with black loam and
tall with green canopy.

Stretching my arms upward
at dawn
to receive daily rains of mercy
and careful loving husbandry.

wife's a blur

wife's a blur
Originally uploaded by rod lewis

Allison and I went to see David Crowder Band together last night. Well, more accurately, we saw David Crowder Band together last night. I met her downtown with tickets in hand, so we didn’t actually go there together. We held each other through two opening bands and bounced together through the Crowder set. I guess you could say that we managed, in the midst of our separate orbits and spinning, to collide for a moment within some wonderful music.
When I walked her to her car after the concert, I missed her cue to let me know she wanted to go out for a bite. She said, in typical female fashion, “so I’ll see you at home?” To which I replied in typical male fashion, “well I certainly hope so!” I was so fried, I misinterpreted her “question”, and she was so pumped, she didn’t realize how fried she was. So we planned for a few intimate moments at home with a cup of community.
We arrived home separately to find Jack still up doing homework. This quickly relieved her of the Crowder Bounce Pump, and she crashed within 15 minutes.
So there you have it. That’s as close as we’ve come to Rod and Allison time in quite a span of time. Chances are, each of us has had plenty of moments during which we could have had time for one another. But those moments have been scattered within chaos, and experienced quite apart from one another. I did not even see her awake on Tuesday. When I kissed her as she slept, she sighed audibly and my soul groaned. She was gone when I woke this morning at 7:10, and I’ll return home after 9:00 tonight.
We’re moving in different hemispheres. One of us is Argentinian and one is Norwegian.
I am so looking forward to spending a few uninterrupted Eucharistic days next week holding her hand in an ocean of family. That will be feast enough for me.

I love you Allison. You are the axis on which my world turns. Your tilt brings me autumn colors and spring blossoms; summer walks in the surf, and early winter evenings for extra cuddles by the fire.

sheds

sheds
Originally uploaded by rod lewis

many old rural home places have accumulated outbuildings over the decades. The outbuildings have accumulated stuff - a few things, but mostly stuff.
Most of the stuff has long since been forgotten. Chances are, it would have been thrown out, had that been convenient at the time. But to where do you throw it when you live out here, and there's no one to haul it off, and no where to haul it? So it gets piled in layers in makeshift sheds over decades, and the doors are haphazardly secured with chains draped but not locked. Perhaps it's not necessary to lock it all away, because it is so quickly forgotten.
The sheds are dark and dusty and filled with cobwebs, spiders and wasps. The stored and hidden stuff is only ever half-encountered in glimpses when the doors are quickly swung upon to receive more stuff. The doors are quickly closed again and the chains re-draped. Eventually, the shed is full and the sideboards bulge and the chain stretches against the pressure behind the door, and there is never any reason to open the door again.
Ironically, a lot of these places have newer, once nicer stuff, piled in the weather on the porch, or under a tree, or rusting in the yard, because the storage space was filled with useless stuff.
Don Henley observed years ago, "so often times it happens that we live our lives in chains, and we never even know we have the key."

1927-2007 A life beyond its years

1927-2007 A life beyond its years
Originally uploaded by rod lewis

My life has been painted deep, rich colors by people who were deeply rich and colorful. Though I loved each of them dearly as they played in my day to day, surely I had no idea what a profound impact they would play in my forevermore. These were people who had more to offer me than could be dispensed during a lecture, or assessed with an exam. These folks offered wisdom, experience, love, encouragement, discernment, and friendship. The receiving could only be assessed by a generation who would in turn, be offered what I’d been given.

I believe that usually we have no idea how we’ve been formed, shaped, and influenced by people in our lives. Sometimes, perhaps we get little realizations or even epiphanies as to specific moments and people and how they shaped us.
Only a few short years ago, through interaction and relationships and books, I had an extended period of discovery and realization concerning myself, who I was, who I was becoming. During that time, I was astounded at realizing how a few specific moments and a few important people shaped how I think, process, love, understand, and filter the world around me.
One such man was my high school basketball coach, Lewis Ball. His words and encouragement rang in my ears all those years later as I began to understand how true they were, and learned to understand on a new level. Coach Ball was a man who was invested in our lives. To him, the context of our interaction with him was secondary to the interaction. Basketball retained it’s proper place, and was not allowed to be more than it was intended to be, but was used as a microcosm context of the lessons he had to teach us.
I have scores of specific encouraging remarks and conversations from Coach Ball stored in my memory. And the profundity of wisdom offered is that it encourages not only in a specific time of need, but it teaches a broader understanding of reality and widens our scope of perception.
I remember one basketball game in which we eeked out a win by the skin of our teeth. Late in the game, I got an offensive rebound and shot - and missed – several times before I finally landed a two-foot lay-up. I was embarrassed, and defeated by my several missed two-foot shots. When Coach Ball came to me after the game to tell me he was proud of me, I was not afraid to accuse him of empty praise in the face of my embarrassing performance. He was not afraid to point out my narrow understanding of my role. He asked me if I had any idea how many baskets I’d cost the other team by absolutely dominating their boards throughout the game. He made me better understand that though I might have wanted to be a high scorer, the real objective in basketball was to keep the other team from scoring more than we did. I’d accomplished that by ensuring they got no second-chance shots.
There are many of these moments I remember from this particular man. All of us, through several generations, were made to feel like his single most favorite person. He saw potential where no one else might have because his understanding of success was not dependent upon a narrow set of expectations. He understood the concept of community and teamwork, and no feet were expected to perform as hands.

I refuse to be a dispenser of information. I will not be a disseminator of answers without questions. I will not disrespect what I've been given by passing it on as soundbites and bullet points and fill in the blanks. I have all the time in the world for anyone who would like to walk with me and discover with me and allow questions to arise for which there are no easy answers or perhaps no answers at all.
Perhaps one day, someone will realize how completely satisfying his life has been. Perhaps he will be thankful for a realization that he made years ago that completely painted the filter through which he interpreted his day to day and his end purpose. He will probably have no idea what all came together in his life to accomplish this in him.
I pray to God that I will be one of those secret tools that are used to shape, prepare, strengthen, encourage and empower him.

quiet

quiet
Originally uploaded by rod lewis

Even the rushing torrent can be beautiful if you learn how to be still in the midst of it.

mobile art

least resistance
Originally uploaded by rod lewis

I've always been fascinated with three-dimensional art. I've also always been fascinated with how concepts of one artistic medium are borrowed and implemented within another medium that requires entirely different techniques to exploit the concept. Perhaps I should say, how one medium stylistically reflects techniques that were not necessarily meant to be more than technique.
The concept of the mobile is fascinating to me. Here is an object that was hung above our cribs when we were infants, and for me at least, it has never lost it’s magic. It is a finite piece of work that contains infinite perspectives and perceptions. Though the materials from which is constructed don’t change, we constantly view it, and each element from different vantage points and the affect of the whole constantly morphs. Even a simple sculpture provides a bit of this possibility.
Music has explored this dimension with mobile music concepts from the composer’s and performer’s perspectives. Though the listener would have no affect on how the music is heard, and the composer has control over only what elements are possible, the performer chooses in what order the material will be heard. Of course, this is not unlike the manufacturer of the mobile who cannot decide how it will be view, and of course, the observer who is at the mercy of breezes and such as to what will be seen and what perspective will be given.

As I looked through these whitewater photos, I thought of my words about the sounds of the rushing water. I thought about the differing tones and timbres that the ear could focus on. I thought about how they seemed to morph according to my position on the rocks. The interesting thing is that the formations themselves are perceived in exactly the same way. The same rocks seem completely different from different vantage points. Their sizes seem relative, their tones, even their shapes seem to morph.

listening

listening
Originally uploaded by rod lewis

The sound of whitewater rushing is not white noise, as I’ve heard it described. White noise suggests the presence of all sounds so that the sum is a din of chaos. No individual contributor can be distinguished.
But river harmony is not merely a composite of splashing chaos, it is a simultaneity of tones. If one is willing to listen, one distinguishes individually, the tones of which the chord is made. The river contains its own harmonic series and the partials produced by the rushing water create a symphony that overpowers a scream, but through which a whisper can penetrate. A quiet thought becomes louder when thought midst the roaring water.

light spill

light spill
Originally uploaded by rod lewis

Evening light doesn’t shine, it broods- the way the Holy Spirit brooded over the face of the deep at creation. It spills over the western ridge and runs down the eastern slope and fills the hollow. All this happens very quickly, but not instantaneously, as one would expect light to happen. No, this is quick like hot molasses. Everything is relative, you know.
Once it has filled the hollow, it hangs, ever so briefly, and begins to dissipate, only slightly more slowly than it spilled in. If one is to experience, for it is not merely seen, he must be waiting for it.