Tag Archives: photography

A Lesson on Becoming

Isn’t it funny how something can look almost dead on the surface — bumpy trunk, spotted and holey leaves, shriveled limbs, knotholes from limbs cut off or shed — then surprise you with new growth?

What you thought had already become is instead continuing its becoming.

We should take a lesson.

Never assume you know the whole story from what you see, not from nature, people, or situations. All we see is what we’re shown and what we’ve experience and imagination enough to decipher.

But God’s plan is so much bigger than our own.

So hold onto your hopes and dreams, but let them breathe and grow.

Let them continue to become.

An Urban Hike

Last August, Kevin and I trekked up and down our hometown’s Main Street, aiming to see Danville with new eyes, those of tourists.

It worked.

All of what we’d seen over and over through the years proved totally different up close.

We parked near the river and walked south, up what used to be a bustling downtown that died for many years and is now slowly coming back to life. Up we walked through “Millionaire’s Row” with its grandiose Victorian houses, including the Sutherlin Mansion, which is now a museum. And on through West Main and the Averett University area. And back.

It was a long and hot day. I don’t think I’m exaggerating when I say it was every bit of four miles and every bit as hot as 95 degrees.

But it was so worth it!

(Another set of pictures from a restored home we were fortunate enough to have an impromptu tour of that day will be posted separately soon. :))

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Destruction

And for today, the downside of yesterday’s jaunt through the southcentral Virginia countryside (if we set aside the gas money I must’ve used for it ;).

Destruction.

Just imagine what this field of ragged tree stumps must have been like in the not-too-distant past. And now: Ugh!

I know that there are reasons for deforestation. Maybe the people who cleared needed money to save their land or to help a family member in need.

A part of me says it’s not really my business what somebody does with his or her land or why … while another part of me says, Those trees breathe fresh air for me to breathe, too!

Really, though, beyond any political or neurotic issues, it just simply hurts my heart to see it.

And more:

A driveway that a little stream of water has rendered creek-bed-like. (I remember living at the top end of one about ten times as bad as that!) And two separate signposts knocked over.

Countryside Drive

Atticus and I went riding for about an hour and a half after church this morning, all across Pittsylvania County, Virginia. Up Mount Cross Road, around and across to Whitmell School Road, and further onto Franklin Turnpike. Up and down and east on Dry Fork Road all around and onto 29. And finally, down Snakepath Road to Spring Garden Road, back to 29, and home.

Of all the beautiful sights, I’d have to say my favorite was the little angel above, but it was a hard choice!

Rainy Day Filter

I sat in the car after braving the deluge from school to car, my hair dripping onto my face. My head throbbed and my vision blurred from the weight of the work day. Rain streamed down the windshield, creating a soft-focus, water-textured filter over the gray day.

54/365: Tunnel Vision

You never know what’s going to be around that next curve — especially when it hooks into a one-lane tunnel.

You really have to slow down to a crawl to assess the situation.

Sometimes, you have to stop and wait for whatever’s coming through from the other side.

Other times, you can drive right through, slowly, honking to make the kids giggle.

A Man Unlike Any Other

This man is a man unlike any other.
He was not only man, but also God.

God.

No matter where you’ve been,
what you’ve done,
or whether you believe it or not,

He died for you.

To say this man was only a man,
but a good man, a prophet,
is illogical. He himself claimed to be

God,

and if it were not so,
he would have been a liar,
a cheat, a blasphemer.

But this man was not only man, but also God.
This man is a man unlike any other.

It doesn’t seem finished. But then, most of my poems don’t. Works in progress, just like me.