This blog is mostly about images. A photo captures a moment in time and lets us slow down long enough to see the rich texture of the life all around us. It's mostly for my own amusement, but if you stumbled here somehow, please enjoy.
"Then I went down to the potter's house, and, behold, he wrought a work on the wheels. And the vessel that he
made of clay was marred in the hand of the potter: so he made it again
another vessel, as seemed good to the potter to make it."
This particular wheel has seen many beautiful works, wrought by a good friend of mine. But I was struck in reviewing this image by how the light illuminated the empty wheel; evoking a seemingly wistful longing for the clay. A longing for the work to spin. So that even if the potter should need to mar the work and start over it might be formed into a good vessel.
You stand outside the Roman Coliseum and imagine the crowds jostling to
get inside. Inside you gaze at the playing field, mostly gone now,
trying to imagine the gladiators, the spectators...the lions. No doubt they cheered, they shouted, some gloried in the outcome, some
were let down, some were horrified, some came just to be with those who were interested,
or because it was the thing to do, and so on...
This past Sunday over a third of all Americans sat down and watched a game "together". They
cheered, they shouted...
No, this was not from "lofty mountain's grandeur" but it was from one of my favorite perches. From where it's a little easier to imagine God's view of this earth. Filled not with "huddled masses" but with individual people, each known by their Creator. Each pinpoint of light a dwelling with people, families, places; none trivial. None expendable. Shining so bright even the clouds are illuminated from beneath.
"For the eyes of the LORD run to and fro throughout the whole earth, to
shew himself strong in the behalf of them whose heart is perfect toward
(II Chr. 16:9)
I've pondered what title to use for this shot of the Erechtheion porch atop the Acropolis and all I could ever come up with is the one shown. For some reason which I won't try to remember, these women (the Caryatids) are holding up the canopy with their heads. Quite the engineering feat, actually, to render such a detailed and beautiful yet structurally sound support.
Thinking of using one's head brings to mind the old "Ready-Aim-Fire" sequence. It seems a lack of thought often leads to "Fire-Ready-Aim" or at best "Ready-Fire-Aim". On the other hand, over-thinking or analysis-paralysis ends up being "Ready-Aim-Aim-Aim..." Some good extremes to avoid, I think.