Do Over?

Ye spots 'pon yon scape redound mine flaws,

'Umbled, sweet Jesus; given chastened pause:

Yet sorrow's fleeting of a morning's joy;

Remitted to You, Lord, for thus to employ.

They weren't immediately apparent. After taking the picture, a quick glance at the reviewing screen instantly pleased me. Normally, in a studied shot, I'll take a series in assorted camera settings, but here, glad that the pigeons had not flown off, and not wholly present minded as I thought of the Pigeon sisters in The Odd Couple, I did not look closely. Many other thoughts prevented a critical (The spots were clearly evident upon closer examination of the capture later.) appraisal; this is the edifice (replete of fortress-like crenelations) of the neighborhood's Love Baptist Church, the pastor and many members known to me; I knew of the damage, which smacks of "May I be struck by lightning..." This is the truth: in the dawning light, I was so happy to get it done in one shot, making swiftly off to upload it after deciding to change the name of the blog, I didn't notice.

How appropriate. We must be reminded of our flaws as we approach the cross. I've no idea of the cause of the defect - the lens is dust free; something must be occurring otherwise. This picture was taken five minutes later and no spots. Go figure.

I've always been much impressed by this scene. We do get at cross purposes when we apply our subjective scrutiny to the happenstance, applying meaning that is projected from our idiosyncratic selves upon objective reality. And visa versa; the objective realism of a scientific view of natural history is at cross purposes to many a humble Bible belief. Even so, Jesus bids us take up our cross, and follow.

Here, a lowly storefront somehow serves God's purposes. Someone with a mission. (I'd like to attend a service some time.) What grabs me is the adjacency; two thieves?

Well, anyway, it was the pastor at Love Baptist that said we shouldn't let anything interfere with our walk with Jesus Christ. So, with all my flaws, step by step, forgiven and confident, I will maintain that trust and endearment. There is no doubt there is an electronic reason for those spots, presently beyond my understanding. Frankly, the lesson taken as stated is the more compelling one. So much for perfectionism - He loves us as we are.

That We Be Free

The former ones whimsical, I've a better name for this blog. Upon consideration, I think the original approach as a "man about town" blithely reconnoitering not much served to provide some content toward learning the application after the whim of creating it.

Keeping up, I'd like to serve the purposes of discipleship. Hope so.

Found It

Awesome picture. Saw a story; just got around to bringing it hither.

The Lord is my shepherd . . . can we make the connection?

And a leap. With God, it's possible. Well done, Mr. Bush.

Through all the ill will, good to see this as well.

Wrong Channel

It's a while since I've taken pictures for the sake of aesthetic exposition. (This one from the files printed up nicely.) I'm glad to wake up and bring forth something beautiful (to me - someone else might think it garish) because last night I felt suppressed by the loathsome. I just can't bear vulgarity any more.

I rarely watch television. Having disconnected the cable years ago and passed on a dish, all I'll occasionally do is load a cassette for an evening of a PBS. This I did yesterday during prime time, the whim acted upon where more often than not I'll think to, then forget. After setting the VCR, I took a moment to watch a show on another channel. I don't mean to be churlish but it was definitive of defining deviancy down. Cloying voyeuristic grasp in the cheapest sense. Then the local news and more of the same.

This morning, contravention:

Finally, brethren, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is of good repute, if there is any excellence and if anything worthy of praise, dwell on these things.

and blessed be the these lovely buds and brilliant petals.

Turning the TV off, I took up The Lunar Men by Jenny Uglow. Well into it... a glorious read. I must confess a weakness for English cultural histories of this sort having had to repress any repletion of identification with my paternal ancestors on account of the inconvenience of being associated with the "oppressor class" where one was raised amidst some several folk of Irish extraction, as were my maternal forebearers. This book regales upon commercial men of applied science; potters, miners, physicians, chemists and toy makers. (Yes, that was a new one on me; toys were anything fabricated of metal for ornamental purposes... the head of a cane, the hilt of a sword, candelabra.) in the proto-industrial Midlands. They are more representative of the American "founding fathers" than any misrepresentation current in the theoretics of the Marxist political economy.

The quaint title is exactly that. These men dined and commiserated on the Sunday nearest the full moon so as to have light to find their way home. The Lunar Society. Such a much better place to be than enduring the dreck on television. Dissenters, they were. Splendid.