Category Archives: meaning

Appalachian Patchwork

Friday night I got to view some wonderfully meditative work by friend and former colleague Patricia Mink, Professor Emerita from ETSU’s Department of Art and Design. Her work can be seen at the Tipton Gallery this month.

Pat’s textile work is cutting edge in how she enhances old practice with new processes. She takes fibers and threads, fabric scraps, and tests with homegrown dyes, then layers in both hand and free-form machine stitching. She works up many of her ideas using the aid of advanced programs, huge color printers and looms. Her work has the sense of being both familiar, but also strikingly rich. Creativity can be defined as how anyone takes what is already given and then makes from the elements something brand new. This to me is the most exciting and dignifying work we can do! We start from where we are.

Pat’s givens, her own practice, roots deeply out from the rich Appalachian homespun craftwork that has emerged from these hills for generations. People here don’t bother knowing what “fine art” is, they just do what’s needed with their hands in extraordinary ways. Extraordinary ways.

This huge quilt is made from Pat’s long-term collection of samples, tests, studies and observations from old barns and country textures. It is a masterwork, a piece of extraordinary beauty as simply an aesthetic accomplishment. But this piece also is a powerful emblem to me of so much more. I stood and stared at it, looking closely and then standing back, taking comfort, and noting to myself that just by looking I was doing exactly that: taking comfort in the quilt.

Originally, I don’t come from these Southern highlands, yet it is a wonderful privilege to live among folks who respect their land and what it gives, who respect their families and where they came from, and the traditions from which they feel it is never necessary to apologize. There’s a freeing humility here. And when the givens get broken, the bits that remain, which came simply enough, can be pieced back together in ways more lovely than when they first were made.

We all are presently immersed here in the Southern Appalachians with sadness. The muck from over swelling rivers has settled, the huge masses of broken timbers are slowly being carted, helicopters are flying regularly up into the hills, mule teams and pick up trucks also, bridges are being crafted by volunteers, but the lives shattered will take more time. Here is just one drone view from 10 minutes where I live.

Please pray for the broken hearts. Mending has started for many. I heard this morning about a young woman who gave birth alone during the hurricane, and was on her last bottle for her baby. A woman, who somehow knew to bring baby things showed up just in time, and now momma and baby are safely in care with others.

Reflection on a Muddy Road

Well, I just counted, and I have 555 photos I took in one short week, early March, during a teaching stint in Kenya. I have a visual collection of everything from students’ gorgeous smiles to interesting meals and village life, from handmade teaching visuals to the amazing fabrics the women wore. We saw Lake Victoria, the beautiful verdant tea highlands, the precarious motorcycle loads, the children walking to school in their differently colored uniforms in every town, the famous Tenwek hospital grounds, the Zebra patterns, and the contours in the vast Rift valley. But one photo of one moment is my very favorite. I attempted to replicate it here just last week; and let me explain why this moved me to get the paints and brushes out.

This is a simple reflection on a muddy road, late afternoon, close to Maasai land. We were in a big jeep which could handle the terrain. Exotic animals could turn up anywhere and it was an adventure at this point which is part of the feel, and then the contrast with this sudden, common, quiet beauty laid out before us on the road. Often, I can’t get my iPhone out fast enough when I see the moment, and yes there were better glimpses than what I finally could catch. Maybe that is why I wanted to try to memorialize the vision in paint.

Poet and Anglican priest Malcolm Guite asked in a lecture “what is the relationship between the knowable and the known?” I think he was musing on those things which are simple in front of us, made of matter which easily we understand — and also what these things can point to?

Maybe my own moment represented something known which I tried to semblance in paint. On a 10×8 paper panel, this is a reminder of a deeper thrust into my heart; possibly close to what Moses saw: an ordinary bush, burning in a known desert, yet the “bush was not consumed”.

Philosopher Owen Barfield asked about these things we tag, (and maybe too easily dismiss) by calling them metaphors. He said metaphors may well be more than just stand-ins for a presumptive idea. He asked, (considering bigger and more real things) “Is it really there?”. He said this was the first question and called these things we see “figurations”. He posited that poignant figurations were important. He also called them “forgetives” which was an old Shakespearian word, derived from the word “forge” describing something which has quick, forged and imaginative power. These forged impressions he said can be “the material manifestation of an immaterial unity”.

I am quite confident that immaterial reality shows up in unique moments because Solomon spoke of this which is knit deep in every human heart. We just need to be on the lookout. And so for me, on a muddy road with some wet ditches there was a bringing down of the sky’s brilliance. Vastness came to visit and laid down right before us into the dirt. It was beautifully striking, and for me a vivid picture of how God comes into our commonality. He is Light after all. But the Messiah who entered in, didn’t stay here on the ground. After doing His glorious visitation, and He left me a sign as an open door for response.

In the 19th c. Emily Dickinson selected words, in three separate fragments which catches this for me. I think she too was onto something.

“If I’m lost – now
That I was found –
Shall still my transport be –
That once – on me –those Jasper Gates
Blazed open –suddenly — (#256a)

“A transport one cannot contain
May yet a transport be –
Though God forbid it lift the lid –
Unto its Ecstasy! (#184a)

Oh Sumptuous moment
Slower go
That I may gloat on thee –
T’will never be the same to starve
Now I abundance see – (#1125a*)

*Dickinson’s excerpts are from Johnson’s Chronolgy

Bread and Salt

It’s been years, decades, since I first heard an old Russian proverb. It latched into my head in some primal way, and I’ve never forgotten it: “eat bread and salt and speak the truth.” What could be more simple? What could be more valuable in any earthly life? Bread and salt are basic. Even the poorest in the tundra have bread of some kind to share. And truth? What could be more necessary, what could be more desired in a meeting of people at any table — especially in our times of fake this and that. I am so weary of all the fakeness and all the outright lies!

And so, when I was invited to submit to a local show called “The Magic of Ordinary Things” I knew what I wanted to do right away. I saw a saltshaker at a restaurant and decided it would be perfect for my still life set up. Truthfully, I asked my companion, since it was such a plain and ordinary specimen “do you think the restaurant would let me take this home?” He said he would be embarrassed if I asked them. So, I demurred under his truthfulness and started my quest unperturbed: how to find a simple multi-sided saltshaker which could highlight the proverb?

Sure enough a local restaurant supply place had just the specimen for less than five dollars. I bought some crusty bread, gathered some cloth and a candle, and began to sketch an arrangement. Then I mixed my oil colors, looking for contrast and a certain mood.

Out popped this painting. It’s not a perfect rendition of the set up in my studio; actually, I love the photo I took better. But the painting has a merit of its own as the paint is so sculptural, especially the wax on the extinguished candle. The candle’s light has gone out, but there is ambient light yet, which allows for the seeing of anything. The contrast between the light in the room and the darks clinging in shadow is highly symbolic to me of the time we live in here.

The show opening for Ordinary Things was this past Friday. Two of my pieces were juried in and hanging. But this one sold right away. Thanks to the Griffin Gallery in Jonesborough, TN.

I make work not for the sales (thanking God I can say that). What validates me is any expression which can be read, even subliminally, as truth. This is the bread I hunger for, and I don’t believe I am alone.

In a search to make sure I had the proverb correctly in my memory, I found interestingly this quote from a current art critic: “I would say we are now in a position, with these decks cleared, to demand more from our art, our culture. I would never try to define art and enjoy the reality of its non-definition, but that is to say it is time to shape up. Artists and critics need to wrest our art away from those who settle for mental dust. Our life depends on it and the time is nigh. So start. And stop breathing that mental dust. You know what it is.”

Here-Here and Where-Where is what I say!

the rock and the horizon

Geologists have a name for the earliest epoch in earth’s history: the Pre-Cambrian era. This is when the continents took shape and life forms began to emerge. At least from the evidence left to investigate, the Pre-Cambrian is ground zero, or the canvas upon which fossils and sediments later laid down on top of this early bedrock between the waters.

Earth scientists also say that in Northern Minnesota we can see and walk on some of the oldest Pre-Cambrian bedrock which is exposed to us on earth. These are ancient rocks. The evidence to support this is in the surrounding geology, the dating of this basal igneous material, and subsequent metamorphic compositions in these intriguing forms.

Add to this that some geo-scientists who have done extensive core sample research around the globe see patterns in the lay-down which indicate how and where uplift, rifting and plate subduction cycles occurred above the earth’s mantle. From the evidence seen in the rocks and in computer modeling, it is postulated that in earliest earth time these rock outcrops along the deep trench of Lake Superior may have been some of the highest mountains in the original continental Pangea. I only learned this recently, having read a geology text during Covid. But I have been scampering along this settled volcanic material since I was young. This ledge rock has long fascinated me for its firmness, color and especially the fracturing of its angles. It is just wonderfully magical stuff!

So this summer I got to be up there again. On a rainy day, I captured a section of this rock with my phone, did some quick sketches and then finished a painting inside in a couple hours. I am proud to highlight this 8×10 oil for several reasons. First, I set up and framed a visual composition which still appeals to me every time I look at it. I am critical of my work, so that is saying something. The color is true, and the semblance of the wetness on the top planes of rock reminds me of that interesting moment in time when I was looking at this ancient stuff.

This painting is more than visual though, for conceptually it is a statement about past/present/and future, and so it holds weight symbolically as well.

The rock is ancient, and to me more valuable than diamonds for its enduring hardness, while also being entirely accessible to anyone! Those two aspects: ancient and available are so rare. What could be better on earth than something so old and so commonly present for anyone to stomp around on? But it has a mysterious beauty too. It is no wonder they call this area “artist’s point”; it attracts people even before they have any clue as to ‘the why’. Here’s why for me: Rock is often used as a metaphor of eternal things, referenced by Job, Moses, David, Isaiah and Jesus (who Himself was called “the Rock”). This metaphorical yet available rock named Jesus, sits now in His high place, having settled things in time, our time, every time., and time to come.

The horizon is a symbol or a sign to me also, and I reference that often in my work. My horizon on this particular day was cloudy, almost mirage-like and I loved that. Like a wrapped present, or a pretty lady with a veil is the mystery of this glimpse. More is coming, more is behind my view of things. It’s an anticipation which is sure though shrouded. Paul the brilliant 1^st century Christ-follower said, “we see in part but not the whole”. Our sight is limited, our understanding of all that is yet to come is dim. But we do know the important things, the vital things and we know all we need to know. The rock is solid, a basis for sure confidence and solid footing. And that far line out ahead of me is just a teaser.

So time right now is my present reality, looking back and looking forward today, and right then when I captured this view. I’m on a continuum therefore and this is comforting. No other life forms can enjoy an awareness and a thoughtful contemplation of history: what happened before, what happens to me now and what will happen in the future. Time is a continuum, a linear travel forward. And the future can be glimpsed here symbolically at least. Seen things are only shadows of more important things, says the writer to the Hebrews..

I remember my Dad explaining that the furthest edge we see is only a few miles away because of the curvature of the globe. The huge lake surface then is like a clinging bulge we can only catch a scant glimpse of. But the maker of this lake, this rock and the maker of me sees it in wholeness and as He’s promised, will be bringing it to completion.

the pit and the way out

It’s a black and white thing. It’s either an individual reckoning or a deadly default. I made this monotype after reflecting on the thick heaviness over an excavation site we had toured many years earlier. This still haunts as a symbol of destination. The ancient city of Pergamum (and its repeated iterations throughout history) is where cultic practice left an entire proud city ruined. It is a warning for now; for I fear much of the world is heading in the same wrong direction.

Listen instead to the clear solitary cry of the Psalmist.

So, it’s about a choice of focus then, with an upward cry. We still have choice in time: the dark hole looming, or the only way out. It’s a black and white thing.

I will simply offer how a poet I recently heard took that same 5^th Psalm and put it into a personal sonnet:

Safe in the love of one who’ll never part,

Of one whose kindness is itself a shield,

Who understands the deep things of my heart

Better than I can ever do, I yield

Myself and my perplexities to him,

And in his house of mercy I am healed;

Healed of this world’s bloodthirstiness, its grim

Deceptions, all its weary wickedness,

The death-speak of its tyrants, as they hymn

The idols of excess, the emptiness

Of endless purchases, all washed away

Until my sight is cleansed. His righteousness

Makes my way plain, and leads me through the play

Of early morning light, to worship him

Whose mercy wakes me at the break of day.

(Malcolm Guite, “Psalm 5: V Verba Mea Auribus”)

what’s in motion?

“While the earth remains…” assured its founder, “I will never again curse the ground on account of man…” Instead, according to Creator’s worded promise “seedtime and harvest, cold and heat, summer and winter and day and night shall not cease.” We’ve all taken this for granted, this gentle cycling of life on earth. Like children in comfortable homes, we think it is our due that things should stay as nice as they are. We’ve even assumed we had something to do with all this. It’s ours. Men and women of every nation and time have regularly assumed too much.

Long ago rhythms were set in place and we live within them. Light itself has a pulsing rhythm of particles inside waves. Sound has vibration cycles. Waters have rising and falling tides, responding to a moon which waxes and wanes. Nations rise and fall throughout time. And even our individual beating hearts carry a charted rhythm throughout our waking and sleeping. We can track, even influence modulations in pulse, but none of us constructed nor originated our heart function. When this pattern goes flatlined, we are already gone. Rhythms are embedded, they are a given, a sustaining gift for a time. I consider them all a marker of big-picture reality, and if the Creator’s words are heeded, a sign of hope.

Here is a detail of what I am talking about placed in a collage entitled “In Entropy” which currently hangs in a Gallery show titled “Post Urban”. I don’t know what attracted the jurors to include my pieces. But I know what I intended with inset patterns into a piece which otherwise looks entirely chaotic. There are rhythms, varying cyclings. It is a given thing in both the microcosm and the macrocosm.

As I type today, troops and ships and missiles are moving in positions. For a number of years now I have sensed the waning in my own proud nation. I even felt the earth shake subtly one afternoon, and when I saw the hummingbird feeder moving like a metronome, I knew we were entering the beginning of birthing pangs. Now, many are bewildered at the rapid increases of change, “what’s happening?!” is their wide-eyed cry. The word “unprecedented” is used so often now by talking heads that it (and they) are loosing any meaning.

The painting I highlight at the top of my post this month is in my icons collection on this website. This image is a simple small thing, made of alcohol inks on coated paper. Obviously a landscape, but for me the undulating hills are a symbol of the rising and the falling that happens in all things. All around on the ground, where any one of us stands, are bigger things working, way bigger and especially above. And to give anyone a greater sense of it, Jesus said to his pretty clueless followers basically to “look up”.

It would be valuable to see the whole chapter of warnings He said this in. He didn’t give them a candy-coated pep talk, but rather a gentle pointed wake-up call, and then finally: “He told them a story. ‘Look at a fig tree. Any tree for that matter. When the leaves begin to show, one look tells you that summer is right around the corner. The same here—when you see these things happen, you know God’s kingdom is about here. Don’t brush this off: I’m not just saying this for some future generation, but for this one, too—these things will happen. Sky and earth will wear out; my words won’t wear out.’ “

Luke 21 in the Message Translation

“El Olam”

The title of this work is a little-known Hebrew name of God I discovered when reading through Abraham’s journey in the book of Genesis. In 50 years of my own journeying, I have never heard anyone talk on this, but it is rather simple, and it hit me between my eyes one day as I was (then and continue to be) impressed with how Abraham learned more and more about the character of this unseen God he aimed to follow — step after dusty step. It takes time to learn important things.

You can see for yourself how Abraham identifies this new description of God in Genesis chapter 21 right after he’s made an agreement with a man who could have been an enemy (the back story is recorded there, starting in ch. 20). Abraham messes up. God protects and leads, then God even blesses him (kind of a main theme in the Bible). And the philistine takes notice and comes forward. Both this foreign leader and Abraham have something they need to settle out. And so, they make a treaty, a solemn covenant. That’s the short of it.

But the long of it, is that Abraham already knew about the value of covenant by the time he gets to ch.21. And he already knows some things about the character of the God who’d solemnly promised (alone and uninitiated) by making a covenant with this father of the Jews. (see further back story in Genesis 15). So that once things settle out so wonderfully with Abraham’s on-the-ground issue, he is given to see so much more deeply how God has been everlastingly in charge of the entire journey. El Olam can be translated as “continually eternal” “without end” or even literally “the vanishing point”. Abraham voices this realization on his own, and in worship after the philistine has left the scene satisfied. Abraham sees where and how and with whom this is ALL going to settle out. Abraham’s El Olam can be trusted.

The idea of a vanishing point made me curious even as a young one looking at how the parallel corn rows seemed to squish together further out in the field. This was visually mysterious to me, for I knew that walking down any row would never lead me to that point. But then in college I gained some skill at understanding how to translate depth onto a 2 D surface in a perspective drawing class. This old sketch is from that class. There’s a hidden vanishing point in pencil on the back horizon which is the key to getting everything else correctly in place. If you look closely, you’ll see how I messed up too. But the joining point is there.

Later when I saw that this abstract idea was voiced by Abraham as another name for God I was ‘blown away’, or maybe blown further into the mystery: to the point of that recognition.

I made the complex landscape highlighted at the top of this post in 2006. It was inked up and pulled onto paper through an etching press, then I collaged graph paper onto the image and finally a layer of encaustic wax was floated over the center to give it some translucence. This result is one of my favorites for the conceptual reasons above. I have submitted it to a juried committee for a possible showing in Cincinnati in 2022. If it makes it in, I will note that on my news and reviews page. But for now, I am just content to rest this year, and to rest all of my years in the able hands of El Olam.

when heaven and earth shuddered

It happened on the ground we inhabit. It was the darkest of days. And all the ugliest of sins, the sorrows of every other day humans have ever suffered fell into the heart and onto the scourged back and the thorn-crowned head of the King of glory. David’s promised son, Job’s Redeemer, Abraham’s expected Seed, Daniel’s foreseen “son of man” and “Messiah the Prince” took on not only our common flesh but also our death sentence. He took it in full. He said “it is finished”.

The burial cave could not hold Him, the forces of evil around and above could not defeat Him. He beat them clear through their own gruesome strategy. Meekness has a way which hits the Serpent sideways and rises unscathed.

Don’t miss what happened here in history. It still is a stake in your ground. But like a prince dressed as a pauper you wont see Him unless you are are looking with hungry eyes yourself. What God bought here is priceless, and it is still being offered. Some see while the madding crowds around walk on by. Listen to how an old man recognized Jesus when he was only 8 days old: “God, you can now release your servant; release me in peace as you have promised. With my own eyes I have seen your salvation. It’s now out in the open for everyone to see: a God-revealing light to the non-Jewish nations, and of glory for your people Israel.” (Luke 2:29-32)

Later in Revelation, the victoriously risen Jesus said to the quasi-concerned: “I advise you to buy from me gold refined by fire, that you may become rich, and white garments, that you may clothe yourself, and that the shame of your nakedness may not be revealed; and eye salve to anoint your eyes that you may see.” (Revelation 3:18, mirroring Isaiah 55:1-2).

This painting I recently finished, is not yet visible elsewhere on my site. “Stake in the Ground” is currently hanging in Jonesborough, TN at a show, but it will be taken down next week. I don’t claim sight or skill better than others. But I feel an urgency to use my hands to express His matchless offer, given at great cost. Read the reliable accounts for yourself, learn of Jesus, who says He holds the keys. He’s the One to listen to, and He makes it simply clear.

among the lampstands

Today I am highlighting this ink monotype, which I pulled onto homemade paper several years ago. I have it in my “icons” collection on this website because the image, and the idea behind it, serve as a simple reminder into a most auspicious visitation: Jesus. He spoke urgently and at length about things to come in the book of Revelation, the very last book in the Bible. The Greek word in the first sentence is apokalupsis, which means “the disclosure” or literally “to take off the cover” “the appearing of Jesus Christ” as the sentence and then entire book continues.

Most people I know are afraid of this book. It is daunting, no question. But there is much that is beautiful in how Jesus prepares any willing reader to understand, to even be blessed and to be prepared. It is clear in the 1^st chapter that Jesus, “the alpha and the omega” “the living One” “who holds the keys” is the giver of the words that his last remaining disciple scribes. John sees and details Jesus as He now is, with the cover off.

Jesus walks among the churches, in the beginning chapters with knowledge, with “eyes of fire” and gives them words: some of comfort, much of challenge with very specified warnings.

The 7 lampstands, as depicted in my image, were historical churches, each different, some are soon to loose their standing (and did). Jesus knew and He gives direction before all hell breaks loose, for any who would simply take heed. In aiming to understand better these churches and the particular warnings given them, I recently did a series of 7 paintings that correspond, attempting to simplify and to symbolize what I read in chapters 2 and 3. My collection of paintings will be opened tonight at a local arts center. You can see a preview here. My hope is that any viewer of the work will find themselves curious enough to look into the words that have moved me for themselves. Jesus spoke, John wrote and I painted so that some would have the willingness to pay attention.

Listen to how the old man John was moved. Here is his dedication in the 1^st chapter: “to Him who loves us and released us from our sins by His blood.” John died holding onto this dedication.

Even if you consider this just ancient literature, can you give me one good reason why you would hide in ignorance from such a diligent last accounting?

take hold

“From the ends of the earth I call to Thee when my heart is faint; Lead me to the rock that is higher than I. For Thou hast been a refuge for me, a tower of strength against the enemy.” Psalm 61:2-3

This simple alcohol ink drawing recently sold, but the image and the thought behind it remains mine. Since this handmade impression and the words inscribed around it spoke to another, it seems apt to share it here now.

Recent events, and the trauma for so many in peril has awakened me to lifting prayers in the middle of the night. I have heard others say the same. It is now our reality, worldwide, where some need desperately to hide, and others look for any alternative tower of strength they can find. There are enemies, surely there are. Hearts are faint. But fear and sadness will not grip me, though it visit me, and I have consequential response while I have breath for others. For there is One who hears every plaintiff cry to Him. He is often symbolized as “a rock” in the Bible, and yes, this One is higher than we are. Further, He is a willing refuge for any who seek Him.

“For the eyes of the Lord move to and fro throughout the earth, that He may strongly support those whose heart is completely His. You have acted foolishly in this (said an unknown seer to a dithering King). Indeed, from now on you will surely have wars.” 2 Chronicles 16:9

So take hold to this One who sees and knows, grasp on from your heart, trusting these given words, trusting also the perfect Son, Jesus, “the rock”, who bought your ticket of access before God by His atoning death and resurrection. If you trust Him, He will know it, and He will shelter you.

finishing the ascent

Since July of this CoVid year, I have been posting a reflection on each of the 15 psalms in a sub-collection out of the ancient Psalm book called the “Psalms of Ascent”. These Psalms: 120-134, have fascinated me for a long time as a pattern for spiritual progress. Like Jacob’s ladder, these ascend meaningfully. Like the Hebrew walk up to Jerusalem these get more complex in time and in history referencing that land. And like King Hezekiah’s answered prayer these are an emblem of 15 movements on steps arranged by the only One who controls time and who responds so mysteriously through our requests to Him.

We live in linear time. We start somewhere, we end somewhere; but time moves for us in only one direction. We also live under the limitations of life in all its complexities. Gravity, hardened ground, hardened hearts, decay, illnesses of many kinds, warring nations, suspicions and patterns of mistrust put us all on watch. It does not matter on which continent you live, what language you speak, or what century your life has passaged through, this has been true for you: life is hard, and time only goes forward. None of us can move back in time to our earlier days, we can only step some way ahead into days we’re not sure of. My best advice? Don’t go it alone. Go with the One who is over time and nations, and who has echoed through His whole book about a plan and a purpose for those who are hungry to know.

Abraham was shown the stars, given words about offspring (he didn’t have) a settled land (he couldn’t see) and a blessing beyond his ability to measure. Abraham simply believed the intervening voice of a God he was choosing to follow. What is evidenced in this last Psalm in the Ascent collection is a prophetic view of that coming blessing. It’s a short burst of praise; and like the last two responses in this final triplet it’s a corporate response. Many now are believing, beholding, praising and responding. But we ain’t seen nothin’ yet.

I started this series after a lot of study, then some sketching of the patterns I thought I could see. I’ve mentioned often in earlier posts about the triplet pattern evident: every three Psalms in this set of 15 shows a rhythm that gets repeated through the whole. But there is also a pattern of fives that reflect the 3 promises earlier given to Abraham about the land he was walking toward, the seed which would come from him and the blessing God was not only promising but would guarantee (Gen.12, ratified in ch.15).

The Psalm writers were all descendants of Abraham. The prophets were also; and what they saw ahead was mysteriously sure and echoed often in both their own times but also pointing toward a final fuller FINISH. We’re almost there. I can hear the cheering in the stadium. I have motivation and great confidence, like Abraham did, because of the One who spoke these promises. I can trust (not what I see now but rather) these words because God not only spoke His promises again and again, but He also guaranteed that He would get it done some day in fullest human history.

A song of ascents.

134 Attention! Praise the Lord,
all you servants of the Lord,
who serve in the Lord’s temple during the night.
²Lift your hands toward the sanctuary
and praise the Lord.
³May the Lord, the Creator of heaven and earth,
bless you from Zion.

Mary Barton Nees

Conceptual Landscape