Autumn's Last Stand

I awoke to sun, sprinkling through my bedroom blinds. The dance of light on the walls was almost magical. I knew it would be good day. I love fall.

My morning started out like any other, getting ready for my day, eating and having some alone time. Then, the moment happened when I put my shoes on and opened my front door. There I was greeted with a brilliance of color. Yellow so bright, I almost needed sunglasses. It appeared that overnight the leaves on our trees had decided to conform with the season and finally turn. I was surrounded with yellow. It was absolutely breathtaking. The second thing I noticed, was a soothing warmth. The sun shone with force and the earth had risen to the occasion and warmed up. If it hadn't been for the color of the trees, one may have thought it a nice summer day. The warmth was a breath of fresh air....literally, after so many cool, wet days had besieged us. I revelled in the light and warmth, loving the fact that I had no need for a jacket at the end of September. The crunch of the leaves beneath my feet as I walked, was lovely. It gave way to a fragrance one can only experience in the moment and though I strive to explain it, will never fully succeed. It's the smell that reminds you of fresh baked apple pies, turkey, warm sweaters, and harvest. The sound of the leaves, as they rubbed against each other, fell to the ground, and were stepped upon, brought delight to the heart and fond childhood memories of jumping upon mounds of freshly raked leaves.

As the day wore on, the wind decided to come and play with the warmth. I was delighted, as it was not a biting cold wind, but a warm one that wrapped itself around you like a down blanket. But it was strong indeed. At points it would raise up a mighty arm and almost flatten anyone who stood in it's way, but at least when you fell...you would be warm.

By the time I was finished work, I had to fight to walk to my car because of the wind. This thing which had been friendly in the beginning, was fast becoming a foe. But it made me wonder, this fierce wind, what it would be like to soar upon it, to have it lift you up instead of knock you down. To work together for enjoyment, then fight against each other. I've always wondered what it would be like to fly. To go wherever you please, so sway and twirl, dive and rise. At this, my mind strayed to Mary Poppins, and I wondered how it would be if I opened my umbrella, held on tight, and rose from the ground on a grand adventure. Not to be a nanny, mind you, but to go somewhere, anywhere. This idea seemed more likely a way to fly then to, by chance, sprout wings, for such a thought may be seen as silly or even impossible. Though I'm sure it has happened a time or two in one of those places we only can wish to see. This is where my mind was as I drove home.

Later that evening, the sun graciously gave way to a clouded host, coming in to cool the now hot earth. As evening set in, rain poured down from the heavens. The sound always soothing with a gentle pit pat, pit pat. It's a most enjoyable noise to sit to whilst wrapped up in a fuzzy blanket, reading a good book. But alas, work called my name, so I only enjoyed the sweet melody for a meagre time. By the end of my shift, the rains had ceased, but as I opened the Library door and stepped out, I was greeted with a most lovely aroma. The fresh, sweet smell of the combination of wet grass, wet leaves, and clean air, invaded my nostrils. It's an aroma that can sooth the soul, heal the mind, and relax the spirit. Oh that I could have stayed outside for hours, breathing in deeply this heavenly fragrance, a sample, I believe, of what is to come. But it was late, and sleep called my name.

Thus I fell asleep in the arms of my love, with these thoughts in my head. I knew that today was a blessing and days like these would soon give way to another long winter. But the lasting impression will always give hope that Winter will not endure forever, but will melt away to Spring once more.

So take these days as they come, for only God knows how much longer we shall have them. Enjoy them, love them, use them, and savour their sweetness.


Until next time,
remember to stop, hear the whisper and taste the sun.

Aryn

A brush to go...

This past Saturday was, by far, one of the best I have experienced in quite some time. I'll admit, I was a bit shocked when I first received a phone call asking if I would like to participate in a Worship Arts Summit. This is an event that I would partake in, normally, but never imagined that I would be asked to lead a session. Thus, Worship Painting became my priority, as I was to lead 2 sessions, and then paint on stage during the evening and final worship time. After the initial surprise, and a non-hesitant YES!, I hung up the phone and thought to myself "What have I just done?".

I love painting, but I haven't painted in quite some time, and painting amidst a worship service? I haven't done that since my dance and art school days in Kamloops...8 years ago. Needless to say, my nerves began to dance. A little. However, the thought of leading a session or two, where I would be free to share my heart and passion for the arts in worship with willing listeners, that I was quite excited about to my core.

I will admit, I had little prepared, which was the cause of some slight chaos in life, but live and learn, right? I will know much better for next time, as I do dearly hope there will be a next time. I arrived at the church and went to my room. We brought my stereo so as to listen to soothing music whilst painting. My goal...to allow for as much time to be creative as possible. The time dawned for the session to begin and I had 7 amazing individuals present. I had no idea what words to say, but had faith that God would speak through me. He did, after all, give this passion to me. After a short time of sharing my heart, the difference between worship painting and prophetic painting, relaying some of the inherent meanings of colors, and then urging everyone to have fun and let go....we played the music and began. What fun! Everyone has such unique imaginations. We had realism to abstract and everything inbetween. It was absolutely fantastic. The hour ended all too soon.

After lunch, which was hectic with a mad dash around town, I arrived back at the church for the second session, which was just as fun as the first. Again, more painting ensued. This time, however, I, myself, decided to paint something with more detail, instead of abstract like my first. The result was, in my eyes, quite rewarding.

Again, the hour was up far too quickly.

I then had a few hours to spare, some of which I wonderfully used up in the presence of dear friends, celebrating the coming union between an absolutely lovely couple. Then it was back to the church for the final service!

I arrived early, so as to set up and be prepared. I had no idea what picture I would paint, but trusted that God would paint through me. That He did. The music started and I began, turning my canvas black before me. The outcome, a picture of breakthrough bought by the Blood. Still the service went on, so another canvas was produced and I began a second painting. A beautiful sunset, set behind a skyline of mountains. This represented tranquility and beauty.

Thus the evening concluded and I had 4 new paintings to look back upon, one of which I gladly gave to a dear friend who so loved the one picture. I was glad it spoke to her.

The rebirthing of yet another passion has, I hope, stirred the desire to continue, and to introduce the arts in worship to my home church. The arts are foreign in the church, however, I do believe there is a time coming when the arts will lead the church in worship. To that day I look with great fondness.

Always stop to Hear the Whisper and Taste the Sun.
Till next time
Aryn

The Bake Escape!

Contrary to popular belief, I believe baking genetics don't always get passed down from generation to generation. Or rather, it's not instantaneous for everyone. Presto, I breathe, therefore I can bake with all the prowess of my mother. This art can be learned, like any other art, and like any other art, some are more sickeningly capable then others (like my brother Bryan). I do think there is a time in ones life, however, when the "light" may turn on when it comes to cooking, baking, sewing, or anything "motherly". But that could be a maternal switch, not necessarily a genetic one. I say this, for it always baffled me growing up that I was inept in the kitchen. I couldn't even boil water properly. It's not that I tried, I did, I just couldn't grasp it. This was a circumstance to gasp at, for my mother was the mother of all mothers when it came to cooking and baking. If you breathed it, she could bake it! And not just mediocre baking, it was melt in your mouth breads, exquisite cookies, delectable cakes and pies, well, you get the picture. It was highly sought after, quality food. So then, to grow up burning everything and just barely successfully making pancakes or macaroni, I hope you can see why I didn't believe genetics to be involved. Reading a recipe was like translating greek or solving a quantum mathematics equation. It just wasn't going to happen.

Then one day, like I mentioned before, the "light" came on. Not in my mothers kitchen, in my own. What, you may wonder, could have caused this light to flicker with life? Desire. I had absolutely no desire, ever before, to make anything. Then I met my husband. Desire to cook and bake for him overtook the lack of genetics or experience and I rolled up my sleeves and tried to create dishes that would melt in his mouth. I haven't always succeeded, mind you. There have been a few mishaps here and there, which he still smiles and consumes, though sometimes with great difficulty. But, when it's come to my baking, I have not gone wrong yet! I thought to start out small. Test the waters. Cookies were the way to go for a beginning, and what cookies they were! I couldn't believe it myself when I had seasoned, homemaker mothers taste my cookies and say they were the best they've ever had! I thought they were just being kind, teasing even. But when they went for cookie number two, three, four, then taking a plate home with them, I knew they were serious.

Baffled, I was, at this outcome. Never had food been something I excelled at before. This inspired me to venture forth and try out some other recipes. Peanut Butter Marshmellow Squares were next on the list. I still have room for improvement, but they were delicious non-the-less. Crisp followed. Now this has become my speciality. Peach-blueberry crisp. This crisp has become a staple for get-togethers and church functions and I always feel my face glow with enthusiasm and pride when the men rush for my dish and there is non left for the home-taking. This must be what it feels like to be a home-maker. I liked it.

Which brings me to my most recent affair. Hayden so wonderfully picked a few bags of apples from his mothers tree when we were last there and I was not about to allow these apples to rot away. Not on my watch. Not while I could do something about it. So, apple pie was the item of choice. My lovely friend Karlee was over and we decided to see what we could come up with. We scoured a few cook books looking for something delicious and eye catching. We settled on a recipe, ventured to the grocery store to pick up a few more items, and then buckled down to the task at hand.

Karlee peeled the apples while I cored and sliced them. Then, onto preparing the mixture. It smelt so good, I was already salivating at the thought of consumption. Apples mixed and ready, we set about getting the pan ready with dough. The mixture was then added and the dough top placed. Now to trim and edge and slice the top. This was the more tedious part, but I enjoyed every moment.

They looked perfect. Now to bake. The test of time would tell all. The smells of cinnamon, nutmeg and apples began wafting through my house, causing my taste buds to tingle with anticipation. By the end of the 50 minutes, out they came, golden brown and beautiful. We let them cool and then the time arrived to test this creation. Delicious! A wonderful success! I would have pat myself on the back, but for being preoccupied with consuming my pie.

Needless to say, after all of this, I wondered if others would like to taste my wares. After hearing a friend say her family loves pie and baking, she's just too busy to make it, I wondered if there is a desire in this city for home-baked goods. Currently I am without a job, enjoying my days filled with painting and pottery, however, could part of my days be filled with....baking? Perhaps help pay a bill or two in this limbo phase?

With that said, I now put forward a proposal to those in the Medicine Hat area. Though my list be small and limited at this time (though there is hope and potential for it to always be growing), I would consider baking orders for those who love to eat baking, but are just too busy to make it. With Thanksgiving and Christmas just around the corner, why not start filling the freezer for when company begins rolling in? I am currently in the process of putting together a price list, but my wares would consist of the following....

Deluxe Chocolate Chip Cookies
Ginger Snaps
Whipped Shortbread Cookies
Peach/Blueberry Crisp
Apple Pie
Peanut Butter Marshmellow Squares

In the meantime, take time to stop and smell the freshness of the air, enjoy the changing of the seasons, and always stop to hear the whisper and taste the sun.
Aryn

A Beginning....

A long time ago I learned the value of the written word. How words could present an idea, invoke deliberate thought, and most importantly, paint a picture that anyone could see in the fathoms of imagination. So, I began to write. Many ideas formulated themselves inside the whirling electricity of my brain, not all of which make coherent sense, but that is the beauty of creativity. You begin somewhere and move forward, learning and growing in the process. 

I journeyed with my arts, especially my writing. I self-published a book, Hephzibah, which is a mere compilation of writings and poems. I felt on top of the world, writing about the experiences of life one moment, and the fluttering leaves the next. It was pure delight. Nothing could have prepared me for what was about to come. 

How easy it is for something to be stripped away. No matter how much you may grasp at it, it's likened to grease on a frightened pig. You can't hold on, no matter how hard you try. The irony, is that words were stripped away.....with words. You don't even realize what has happened until one day you awaken to find that your passions are dead and all desire.....extinguished. This was me, a mere 3 weeks ago. I had seen for a long time that my passions were dying, slowly ebbing away to nothing. I tried to reignite them, but there was no drive, no spark....absolutely no desire at all. I had not written, painted, drawn, taken pictures, or anything, for almost a year and a half. How does the time run away? 

I needed a breakthrough. I needed a new beginning. I realized this when my husband, Hayden, turned to me one day and said "Honey, you need to create again. Your passions have died. It's time to do something again." That was my awakening, from what seemed a creative coma. I did need to restore that which was once a daily part of life for me. That which was life itself for me. I was born to create, thus, without creating, life felt meaningless. In this awakening, I then realized how long it had truly been. I wondered how it had died in the first place, when was the beginning of that dark road. I could not tell. Not then.

I was pondering this when a friend posted that he was hosting a poetry contest. I didn't care if I won, all I knew was that I needed to submit something, that day, right then and there. This poem* was to be the breaking off of the staunch, passionless life that had overtaken me. This poem was to put the journey i'd been on, into tangible words, all the while, still walking it in life. At the beginning of the poem, passions are still dead, in the poem and in life. By the end, however, a mere half hour later, light has shone through the cracks and broken the hold of lethargy and despair, in the poem and in my life. By the end, I felt free, I felt light, I felt new. I had a passion that was all aglow in my heart once more. I could hardly contain all the ideas that crowded and swarmed my mind. They had all been waiting, dormant, for so long, that they were eager to be free.

That evening I brought home my poem to show Hayden. I wanted it to be appreciated. Through accidental miscommunication on my part, Hayden, being a writer and artist himself, thought I wanted constructive criticism on my work, which he did. This struck a raw chord in my heart and I was unsure as to why I felt so hurt by this, knowing that Hayden had done nothing to invoke such a feeling in me. I needed to find the source so this would not repeat itself. I was driving home to visit my family that night. A good 4 hours in the car alone is always a fantastic time for praying, processing and talking through things out loud . It was there, in the confines of my little Hyundai, driving in the evening's final glow, along the long, flat stretch of Hwy 1, that I figured it out. My creativeness died due to situations I had been in where I was asked to create, which I did gladly, only to have everything I wrote or designed so arduously critiqued and changed, that by the end, it was not my creation anymore. It was in those times that I said, "What's the point of creating? It's only going to be changed anyway." Hence when my poem was critiqued, in a healthy, loving way, it felt the same. 

Searching and finding the source was my road to healing. I could forgive and forget and now, move on. A new season lay ahead of me, shining like the sun on the birth of a new day. It's time to dive deep into those things which are so alive in me. Since that poem, which made the top 10 and acquired me an honorable mention, I have shot a wedding (photography, not gun :D), started painting again, joined the pottery club and started this blog. It is my hope that I can continue to write this blog, not only to keep you up on life's happenings, and hopefully keep it entertaining in the telling, but to share my bits of  nonsensical ideas with you. I hope you will continue to follow me on my journey. 

*The Journey

Today is a day where passions fall dead

Where thought of creating is filled with a dread

Once upon a time the sky was the limit

Hope was abounding with nothing to dim it

When was the change that turned my day grey

Now a mountain before me to my utter dismay

Over its summit my path was to lead

To seek out my passions with a very great need

The strength to step up was difficult to find

I reached out a hand and was held from behind

Determined I set my face to the task

With one way to go and one voice to ask

“Help me to climb this mountain of dread

To not just roll over and stay in my bed.

Help me discover my passions anew

To find a new joy in all that I do.”

Step after step I began my great climb

Nearing the summit with a chill in my spine

What would I find when I reached the tall peak

Would it make my heart stop, would it be what I seek

How my heart longed to soar with desire

To shake off lethargy and be free of the mire

To have a light burning as it did long ago

To reach for the heavens, limitations forgo 

I stepped to the summit, breathed in the fresh air

Felt the wind on my face so gentle and fair

A light was then lit, so fierce in my eye

A new hope within, I felt I could cry

Into the valley of rest and refreshing

I stripped off old clothes and began a redressing

I caught a new dream as it dared to pass by

A passion within me, a feeling to fly

And fly then I did, that very same day

Reaching dream upon dream in a brand new way

Creativity restored, my gift given back

With God as my head I had nothing to lack

A smile then formed on my uplifted face

A sigh of contentment, an enveloping embrace

My joy was reborn, so true and so bright

Not even the sun, compared to it’s light

Wherever you go today, whatever you do, never stop creating. And always remember to stop, hear the whisper and taste the sun.

till next time