Why He Came

For he grew up before him like a young plant,

and like a root out of dry ground;

he had no form or majesty that we should look at him,

and no beauty that we should desire him.

He was despised and rejected by men;

a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief;

and as one from whom men hide their faces

he was despised, and we esteemed him not.

Surely he has borne our griefs

and carried our sorrows;

yet we esteemed him stricken,

by God, and afflicted.

But he was wounded for our transgressions;

he was crushed for our iniquities;

upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace,

and with his stripes we are healed.

All we like sheep have gone astray;

we have turned—every one—to his own way;

and the LORD has laid on him

the iniquity of us all.

Crazy, Small-Town Parades

I thought that the small-town parade had been left behind me in Glennallen when I moved here from Alaska - really, who could compete with the shutting down of a main highway for 45 minutes at the height of tourist season so that the Electric Company and Parks Service can drive big trucks down the road and throw candy to the crowd.

But Newtown almost compares. There is a whole lot of character - and a bunch of characters, too.

Textures of the 18th Century

You know those days that are just right? The ones where you wake up in the morning, having slept just enough, and you get up, and you do the things you need to do to get the day rolling, but no more. The ones where you take a walk, pick up a hot cocoa at Starbucks, stop in at the jeweler's and find that you only owe four dollars for your fixed earrings, and then continue your meander down the street. As you go you pass the Tubby Olive and the Grapevine Grocer, the Lubavitch and the Newtown Borough Hall. Flakes begin to fall as you approach your destination, the Newtown Theatre, and you cross the street to the chattering voices of children, coming out from their viewing of The Polar Express to the sight of snowflakes.

You make your way inside, buy your ticket, and find a seat, thrilling in the old red curtain that covers the screen and the miniature town and train that stretch from side to side of the stage. And a few moments later the lights dim, and the curtains open, and you take a trip back to your childhood as you watch a Disney fairytale and melt into your seat at the song where the hero and the heroine fall in love.

It's those days that make you think that it can't get much better. That this must be the pinnacle, but you realize that it's only 3 PM and you still have much to do. You walk back out into the chilly town and you remember that the Half-Moon Inn is open for visitors, so you wander back through the streets, approach the stone building at the corner of Center and Court, and reach your hand out to open the door...

And that's when you realize you were wrong. Because, as much as the day had been perfect so far, it only got better when you stepped back two centuries into the wood, metal, and stone of an old inn, full of the smells of crackling fires, mulled cider, and roasting duck.

After all that, the best part of your day were the textures of a lost century.

Scarlet and Silver

Tonight was a party to kick off the season with Bing, Rosemary, Danny, and Vera Ellen - i.e. White Christmas. But, my favorite color of the season is the reds - from the deep rubies to the dark crimsons. So, here, shades of scarlet:

Not Quite Winter Yet

I sometimes have a hard time believing that winter will really come here, to Philadelphia. Already, the sticky heat of summer has pushed the memory of snow piles up to my elbows deep into the recesses of my mind - I have to force myself to realize that I made those snow piles less than a year ago.

A reliable weatherman, a coworker, has predicted that there will be a snowstorm within the next two weeks, and, based upon his track record, I'm inclined to trust him. But for now, I look out at the sunny early mornings and late afternoons, at the brown leaves clinging to the trees, at the rakes still standing in front of the hardware store, and I think, "Not quite winter yet."

The view out my office window, late afternoon

Newtown Hardware, ready for anything

The single tree across the street, whose leaves alone have filled my driveway

December - and Photos

I haven't done much photography of my own in the past couple of years. I sort of overdosed in AK, and then had to recover for a while. But this fall I've been taking more and more shots for work, and trying to get my artistic eye back in gear.

When I saw this referenced on my friend's blog, I decided it would be a challenge, and would force me to write more, too, and I should take part. So here I am, posting my first series in The December Photo Project.

After a chilly, drab, day marked by torrential downpours of rain - very November-ish - I decided I needed to get back into the Christmas spirit with some shots of the tree:

Then I saw the olive wood nativity, and the ornaments, and found I needed to get a little closer.

On a quiet road in Maryland

Written 28 November 2010

Dear Aimee -

I went to your grave today. You weren't there. I didn't expect you to be; you left your earthsuit almost a year ago.

I stood quietly for a moment. It was cold, but not nearly so cold as the day we buried you. February's chill hasn't yet come. Then I read a part of First Corinthians 15 - one of the best parts, the part about earthly bodies and heavenly ones. The part that says we bear the image of the Second Man in our heavenly bodies. I wonder what you look like now.

I didn't have anything to leave at your grave - it was sort of a whim to come by today. There were flowers there, though. Someone else came this week. I just read Scripture and then whispered to God.

I asked Him to hold your family tightly. To comfort them particularly in the next few months. I saw them a week ago, and we missed you. You were with us in our shared memory, but we missed the particular lilt to your voice, which didn't enter the conversation, the particular turn to your smile which didn't take part in the merriment, the particular tune of your laugh which didn't ring at the jokes.

We talked of you some, we thought of you more, and when we parted, we prayed for one another. And I thanked God He's protected them all this year. I thanked Him for holding your dad, for comforting your mom, for strengthening and encouraging your brothers, for caring for your sister. Some people might not think, knowing everything your family's been through this year, that thanking God for what He's done in their lives is the right attitude. But those people haven't met your family - and they haven't met their God.

I went to your grave today, Aimee, and as always, you pointed me to God.