3 ways I know myself well.

 Boat Boy Sunset (Cambodia) by nabilkannan

Boat Boy Sunset (Cambodia) by nabilkannan

I am worthless.

Thirty six years into days given as free opportunities and I’m still tripping over clumsy steps, breaking promises faster than they have room to actually settle in place, speaking dishonest words, doing dishonorable things and managing to mess up with fervent regularity.  Left to myself, my actions and intentions cannibalize my heart into fragmented pieces consuming life selfishly, reducing me valueless in those moments to anything but my own desire.

Like a moth to flame do my actions draw to mistake.

Continue reading

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Featured Artist :: Art House Dallas

arthousedallas2

I don’t think of myself as an artist.

I should say, I don’t always think of myself as an artist, but I am accepting of myself as an artist more and more these days.

I think it’s because I haven’t always thought of myself as a real writer.  Maybe a hobbyist at best, a pretender at worst.  Even half way through writing my first book, I’d tell others at art events, those who’d ask what I did, that I was in sales.  My response was a downplay, a deflect of attention.  After all, who wants to fail or come up short despite all effort given?  So I’d work tirelessly, part privately, on the manuscript of my first book while not admitting to being a writer – an artist.

Realizing (and admitting to) the value in my art and dream of being a writer began to surface after introduced to Art House Dallas.  Suddenly, I felt connected to plenty of other artsy folk who learned to not merely hear the echo of dreams within, but learned to esteem creative dreams within and wield creativity realized for a greater purpose.

A forged statement repeated often in the community of Art House captures its heart and meaning: “Cultivating creative community for the common good — encouraging everyone to live imaginative and meaningful lives.”

I’m both thankful to be part of that community and honored to be this month’s Featured Artist.  Read the Featured Artist interview below where I discuss my creative process, habits and upcoming book, “Earth & Sky.”

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What is “Earth & Sky: a beautiful collision of grace and grief,” all about?  What inspired you to write it?

In a word: life.  The book is a memoir recounting the sudden, unexpected death of my wife nearly 3 years ago.  Far more than a somber story remembering a life passed in the wake of inexplicable tragedy, Earth & Sky journeys into the heart of grief, grace guiding into a new day.  The correlation of earth and sky lies in the connection between and interaction of human frailty (us – earth) with faith (God – sky).  Sinking in deep loss, God pursued me into the darkened depths of my heart wasting away in grief.

This story is not mine alone.  It belongs to my three little daughters as well.  One life that we knew together suddenly ended with no warning and left us dislodged from any sense of familiar belonging.  I was widowed and they were motherless and half-orphaned.  Both the story and journey belong to all four of us as we learned to live life anew and rediscover happiness, joy, meaning and reason. The inspiration to write Earth & Sky sprung up in desire to chronicle our path together through grief.

Writing about loss is obviously challenging.  C.S. Lewis’, “A Grief Observed,” is a sometimes excruciating classic in the genre.  Were you influenced by any such works? Did you even plan to write a book at the start?

Lewis’ words echoed a strong sense of familiarity in the writing of my book.  Regarding pain, Lewis poignantly wrote, “It removes the veil; it plants the flag of truth within the fortress of a rebel soul.”  His words had a way of speaking life into my soul in the words giving witness to the dark treading through his own rebel heart.

I wrote as a means of bleeding out restless emotions swirling about my heart and head.  Initially, I captured raw emotions in poetry which gave me generous boundary lines to explore and confess darker fears, thoughts and prayers without worry of much sensible literary structure.  Many of these poems are built into the prose of the book.  The poetic spillings served as a cathartic exercise so I continued to write as I began to shape the content into story arch.

The most helpful influence in not only writing the book, but in healing and moving forward revealed itself in Kubler-Ross‘ book, “On Grief and Grieving.”  I found purpose in crafting my story after spending time in this particular book where she and David Kessler expand on her model of the 5 stages of grief.

// CONTINUE READING AT ART HOUSE DALLAS

 

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known and found together in NYC.

meandlizzie-nyc

Our feet made similar stride patterns on streets ringing old with history and ambivalence.

We were later than we wanted to be and rushed to capture the night earlier lost to slower moving crowds and tourists like us staring at all the lights and glamour that New York City boasts.  This weekend was to unfold perfectly.  Just the two of us trapped in time and space by our own accord and agreement.   Continue reading

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love, its leaving and infinite sadness || A Deeper Story

Give sorrow words;
the grief that does not speak
knits up the o-er wrought heart and bids it break.
- William Shakespeare, Macbeth

Maybe, William, but maybe a heart broken isn’t all bad.

I’m one of three given to my parents.  Two of us remain and one lives forever.

Today, here, he would have aged to 39.  I was 5 years old when he left this life, three years his younger.  I often speculate life uninterrupted; to be fully sandwiched between siblings, not just in thought, dream and memory but in aging days shared.  Heated arguments burning selfish, fights against each other proving strength and stubbornness, fights alongside each other ending those set to prove themselves against one of us, long days lost in the woods, dares given and challenges accepted, our younger sister’s boyfriends enduring the intimidation of both not one of us; in life together, pocketed and adorned jointly.

A sadness crawls still aging in his stead.  Hearts broken, mended and torn open again in days aging.

I know my family still grieves today in every one of its passings.
And now so do my daughters in their own terrible way of losing their mother.

 

continue reading my monthly feature at A Deeper Story . . .

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on Boston, babies and tomorrow.

when will the day rest
and settle soft, one day quietly leaning into another

fear
forgotten  …love remembered

words spoken gentle and without pay

lunatics, come home to a place forgotten in flames of somewhere once over-trodden
set still, cease picking at scabs inherited
leave dreams burning mad, and only you

    judgers listen to the sound of more than seen
    Otherworld melody disturbing our peace carry lyrics that read like prayers of         repentance …for both us and them
    something so wrong, so horrid, so haunting, so hateful and treacherous
    owning those to be brothers and fathers sold by fathers

sorrow whispers, all is not well
Otherworld lowers itself more into our world bleeding out of control.
on lonely streets crowded all remember at the hand of hatred,
    no, all is not well.

. . . and the future cringes at today fast approaching;
a Son bends low yesterday, spits in blinded eyes wanting to see
yes son, the blind can still see.

 

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“There’s so much wrong in the world today.”  

It seems each generation says this with more emphasis and groan.  I listened to my grandparents talk about evil in the form of wars and armies fighting wicked men starved for control.  Men demonized because of their lust for power and domination stopping at nothing to reach for it.  I heard my parents talk about some of the same, but the enemy became some of them turned inward.  Wanting all they could get in independence and personal freedom, homes eroded to kingdoms abandoned by those who should have been kings.  Divorce rose common giving way for children devaluing home altogether while longing for what they never could have or keep. Continue reading

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the loss of effective parenting.

I see their smiles now easy and free.  
Peace quiets worry at this sight.
And joy fills my heart in the deep of night.

Most days lived under our shared roof sprawl out without much difficulty.  Comfort and security exists again.  I remember the days burning hot and dry when we lived a million miles from one another exiled to our own island on fire.  How unending those days felt!  How unrelenting those waves beat against our shore while offering no respite.

The days, weeks and months following their mother’s death, my wife then, will forever be immortalized as a graceful metamorphosis on the timeline of our family, the grand redesign of us now, then and ahead.  For nearly 3 years now, we have been learning life again, finding joy in mundane free from extraordinary ordeal.  Finding joy in day unfolding with boring, unassuming regularity; that’s how you know your heart is beating alive and not a shell of yesteryear. Continue reading

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O Book, where art thou?

When I set out to write a book, I didn’t fully know what to expect or even how to exactly think through a book from initial thought to published product.  Maybe if I did know I’d still be standing there at the beginning dismissing the journey of writing, rewriting, editing and so much more editing, as one of those insurmountable heights in life climbed and conquered by few.  Namely, not me. Continue reading

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together, out of good.

Grant, O Lord, that as we are baptized into the death of they blessed Son our Saviour Jesus Christ, so by continual mortifying our corrupt affections we may be buried with him; and that through the grave, and gate of death, we may pass to our joyful resurrection; for his merits, who died, and was buried, and rose again for us, they Son Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Easter-Even, The Collect.

None of us are good.  No one one is. Continue reading

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spring break pictorially.

 

We took to the mountains; retreated into snow to forget for a moment and remember all that really matters, what we truly know.

Spring break in Colorado couldn’t have come at a better time.  No infringing schedule or deadlines other than hiking times, a snow tubing appointment, restaurant reservations, movie times, late nights anticipated, later mornings, and of course, naps.

I’ll let my words sink into the photographs and give way for them to tell the stories of our week together well lived.

 

One last thing, you know vacation is truly good when in the end a smile still stretches across well rested, satisfied faces.

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together, in the branches.

 

Nothing beats late nights with amazing friends meandering through conversation of all that was, is and hopefully will be.  Of equal irreplaceable delight is waking up late into morning with family and those friends to another day of snowy mountain adventure.

And this is vacation; a definite break from busy, from striving and reaching and worry about not being formidable enough for the dreams swirling inside.

When we leave the Colorado mountains, nights return to earlier endings and my alarm sounds annoyingly before dawn waking me to another day, I will be rested and ready after more than 2 weeks of vacation and time away to reset and heal.  But for now, I write into a quiet morning beside a steaming mug of chai tea awaking me even more, all while lost in the view of snow capped mountains whispering adventure both now and into life ahead.

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As we continue together into Lent, discussions of the heart deeper unfold.  Words of challenge and grace fill our conversations together throughout our days away in the mountains.  I anticipated a break.  In the weeks leading up to vacation, we followed a pattern of reading and praying together for grace to help us engage in giving up of conveniences to grasp a greater understanding now of God in our day to day.  Instead of our pattern completely vanishing in the snow and easy days, each of the girls asked how and what we would fast and more importantly, when. Continue reading

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