Words for my Family: In Memory of my Uncle the Cowboy

Yesterday, while my son and I explored the wide open spaces nestled under the Alaskan mountains my uncle passed away. My adventurous heart is grateful for the chance to soak in these spaces, but another part of me sometimes feels the space a different way. During times of crises and loss it can be hard to sit so far from home.

As I cannot return to pay my respects in person, I thought I would honor him with the words turning in my heart.

My sister and I with Uncle Tommy

Our sons with Uncle Tommy

My Uncle the Cowboy

I know not everyone is blessed enough to have a true cowboy for an uncle, but I was.

There is a lot a person can learn from an uncle such as this. My Uncle Tommy always had a story in his back pocket. He could entertain a crowd with an easy smile. When we visited his ranch, he made it our playground. As we collected rocks, he gave us a tale for every one. We fed the cattle and learned about the land. He knew all the daring feats that had been accomplished or attempted at each ridge. He knew the history of every corner and every dip.

 He gave the Malý Ranč a strong-willed compassionate mother. For her he named the oasis in their acreage. Together, they cared for their kin, which included anyone who entered their gates. Together, they entertained folks at the shores of dammed-up waters, around campfires and at card tables.

 His humble wisdom peaked out in his quick wit. Such knowledge tends to linger longer as will his memory, for true cowboys never really die. They live on in the stories told by all who walked their land. Their thread enters into the yarn of tales spun by those who do not fear the dirt. While their hands can no longer shape that rough terrain they sowed with sweat and tears, their spirit continues to shape the hearts of all who draw near.

 I know not everyone is blessed enough to have a cowboy for an uncle, but thanks to God I was.

Living Water

This past Thursday I visited the Matanuska Glacier with my family. The glacier is fully alive. You can hear its movement and life. Our tour guide wound us around chasms and in and out of the beautiful ever-changing sculptures.

A view of the pressure ridges created by the glacier.

My son carefully walking into one of the crevasses.

A sculpture created by running water through one of the glacier caves.

Nature’s power was fully on display. That power can be awe inspiring and fear provoking. There are spaces on this earth that awaken an unshakable awareness of the beyond. Mountains and glaciers certainly demonstrate this beauty. They inspire the greatest of poets. After viewing the glaciers at Mont Blanc, Coleridge wrote:

Ye ice-falls! ye that from the mountain’s brow

Adown enormous ravines slope amain-

Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice,

And stopped at once amid their maddest plunge!

Motionless torrents! silent cataracts!

Who made you glorious as the gates of Heaven!

Beneath the keen full moon? Who bade the sun

Clothe you with rainbows? Who, with living flowers

Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet?-

God! let the torrents, like a shout to the nations,

Answer! and let the ice-plains echo, God!

God! sing ye meadow-streams with gladsome voice!

Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds!

And they too have a voice, yon piles of snow,

And in their perilous fall shall thunder, God! (49-63)

This sort of performance by nature not only reminds us of God’s power but also of our smallness and vulnerability. It is natural to ask, how can a being who created all this care about a creature as small as me? It is natural to feel swept away by the largeness and complexity of nature.

And yet, as Christians we believe that God knows our heart. We believe that this same powerful God came to meet us face to face in Christ. This Sunday, those following the Catholic liturgy will read of water. We read of Moses bringing water to the people through a rock. “And he called the name of the place Massah and Meribah”; “proof” and “contention” (Ex. 17:7). This is a strange pairing of words, but perhaps fitting the natural human reaction to the power of God. How many bear witness to grandeur of creation that is beyond accident and yet allow themselves to be unmoved? Is it for fear rooted in pride or blindness rooted in fear? Turning ones eye to that omnipotent source requires acknowledging ones smallness. Perhaps it is this awareness many try to avoid.

Christ draws us out of this place of fear. The psalms remind us, “harden not your hearts, as at Meribah on the day at Massah in the wilderness” (PS. 95:8). The Word asks us to go even further than acknowledging a grand creator. We must acknowledge that He became man. What is more we must acknowledge he knows our heart.

In the gospel Christ encounters a woman. He speaks of living water. He tells her, “whoever drinks of the water that I shall give him will never thirst; the water that I shall give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life” (John 4:14). He then tells the Samaritan woman all that she had done. There is a reason this passage is visited again and again. It reminds us that the same God that carved the glorious glacial caverns knows our hearts. That each person is significant. Each person is capable of a life we cannot see, a life transformed by Christ, a life eternal.

The world is a bit scary right now. The infrastructure we have built for security is being stretched. There are understandable groans of fear all around. And yet, there is living water here too. I lift my eyes to the mountains and see God there. I turn my mind to his Word and know God there. And where God is, His son is. Where Christ is, fear leaves. Where Christ is, love and peace reign.

Thou too again, stupendous Mountain! thou

That as I raise my head, awhile bowed low

In adoration, upward from thy base

Slow travelling with dim eyes suffused with tears,

Solemnly seemest, like a vapoury cloud,

To rise before me-Rise, O ever rise,

Rise like a cloud of incense, from the Earth!

Thou kingly Spirit throned among the hills,

Thou dread ambassador from Earth to Heaven,

Great hierarch! tell thou the silent sky,

And tell the stars, and tell yon rising sun,

Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God. (Coleridge, 74-85)

Work Cited

Coleridge, S. T. “Hymn: Before Sun-Rise, In the Vale of Chamouni.” The Oxford Authors Samuel Taylor
Coleridge: A Critical Edition of the Major Works edited by H. J. Jackson, Oxford University Press, 1985, pp. 119-120.

Disney Thoughts Revisited: Confronting Imagination, Ingenuity & Vulnerability

I have been meaning to write something new, however, these quiet winter mornings have instead created opportunities to revisit familiar views from new vantage points. Photographers are well aware of how the perception of familiar terrain can dramatically shift when viewed through a different angle or enhanced by a new dispersal of light.

“Dispersed Reflection”

I wrote a piece some time ago and shared on a temporary blog that I had used to gather and share thoughts. For some reason this piece keeps coming to mind. Perhaps, it is because I have returned to a more metropolitan area. There is so much beauty here but there is also a lot of work to be done. There are individuals pushed to the margins; there are individuals in need of healing. Interspersed with these needs there are hopeful avenues of progress. However, progress requires the dispersal of Christ’s light; His Love. In the essay that keeps coming to mind, I wrote:

“Our strength lies in the fact that we are created in the image and likeness of God. This drives us to create, curate, and communicate. But the value of the human person is intrinsic to their very existence and is especially present in the vulnerable. This is a truth that needs to be spoken aloud again and again.  This is good.  Vulnerability is good. It is a part of our humanity. Fragility necessitates community.

Stories that present a dystopian future always invoke the flourishing of one group of people at the expense of another or at the expense of what makes us human. Often, in these imagined futures man becomes less man and more machine.  I suppose this is what we fear in the visionary that is not tempered by pragmatism.  Historically, this seems to be a common tendency of man.

What is to be done?  I believe we can try to do better.  We can be visionary and pragmatic, by seeking to truly see others.  We can practice the beauty of humanity by speaking to others, and we can practice charity by speaking for the good of others who share the vulnerability of our humanity to such a degree that they cannot speak for themselves. Ultimately, we can let ourselves be led by a Divine King who embraced and offered up the frailty of our humanity. His love, Christ’s love, is capable of reaching and healing all. His love is that which must be shared through each of us.”

The full essay can be found here. I suppose I am taking my own advise and speaking this truth aloud again. These words have been spoken by many and heard by many. Progress has been made, however, we are not yet living in the Kingdom of God, and so I will speak these words again and hope they shine light on a truth sometimes forgotten.

Perseverance

There has been a lot of bustle and activity these last few months as my family and I settle into our new home in Anchorage, Alaska. A visit from family prompted our first weekend trip. It was nice to get away and slow down.

I took time Sunday after mass to explore the docks of the marina and enjoy some quiet time with my camera. It was strange seeing an area primed for activity sitting silently in wait. There were a few fishermen about, making careful preparations for their next journey. I noticed the care with which each boat had been sealed up for the season.

Boats docked for winter in Seward, Alaska.

The boat named “Perseverance” caught my attention. Perseverance is a virtue fishermen know well. I remembered the opening verse in William Bennett’s chapter on perseverance in The Book of Virtues:

The fisher who draws in his net too soon,

Won’t have any fish to sell;

The child who shuts up his book too soon,

Won’t learn any lessons well.

If you would have your learning stay,

Be patient - don’t learn to fast;

The man who travels a mile each day,

May get round the world at last.

(Bennett, p. 529)

I also remembered Bennett’s call to ensure perseverance is cultivated with other virtues, such as practical intelligence. Bennett reminds his reader, “A person who is merely persistent may be a carping, pestering, irksome annoyance, having no salutary effect whatsoever. But given the right context, occurring in the right combination with other virtues, perseverance is an essential ingredient in human progress” (Bennett, p, 528). Persistence must be aimed at a true good.

The wise fisherman returns to the dock to rest. He cares for his boat, his nets, his tools and makes sure he is well supplied. This gave me pause. Am I directing all my activity towards that which is truly good? Am I allowing my persistence to be tempered by prudence? Am I taking time to prepare, to rest, and give thanks?

This pause, allowed me to carry these questions with me as I enter a season of gratitude and waiting. I am looking forward to the days ahead filled with family, and quiet domestic activity. I hope this time of rest and preparation will allow me to jump back in the world ready to persevere as long as I direct my activity towards that which is good.

A fisherman makes winter preparations in Seward, Alaska.

Work cited:

Bennett, William K., The Book of Virtues A Treasury of Moral Stories. Simon & Schuster Paperbacks, New York, 1993

An Elegy

This month has been full of surprises. Peter and I were briefly expecting twins. God had blessed us abundantly. These two pure souls brought us closer together and left a mark on our lives. Their time was short yet significant. I have been overwhelmed by the beautiful support given by women who have experienced similar loss. It is a journey no one wants to take alone. Thank you all for your encouragement and prayers dear friends. I know this is part of our journey and all part of God’s goodness. It is simply one of the more painful parts.

Mourning Possible

It is hard to mourn Possible
A chance not taken
Love not given
A glance forsaken

Feet never touching ground
Eyes never drinking sky
Lips that never giggled
Or breathed a deep sigh

Heart that never longed
Imagination stalled too soon
Kept in a tiny prison
A failed cocoon

But O Possible!
I felt you welling up within
A spark of life
New joy given again

They say you left with Chance
Or perhaps it was with Pain
Yet, know you left not a scar
For where you laid Hope remains

Looking Beneath the Surface

Recently, I was introduced to “Finding Calcutta” a Catholic Community dedicated to making the topics of faith more accessible to daily life. You can find the community here. The energetic young lady leading the group asked if I would write about the influence my spiritual life has had on my photography. Writing this piece allowed me to look closer at my spiritual journey. I hope sharing a bit of my story and some of the places I have found God will help others see God’s work in their life. 

It has been said that the Christian life is a life of unity rooted in Christ. The unity of my life story might be found partially in the consistency of an ever-changing environment. When I was a child, my family moved every four years. Each move created an opportunity for growth and to some degree re-invention. As an adult, the constancy in this change continued and grew to include new environments, new roles, new family members and new friends. In the midst of this I sometimes found myself reshaping my identity to reflect my environment and to meet the real or imaged expectations of others. 

My adventure into photography began after a move to the desert. Every time I moved, I would consider the subtle differences and the sense of place each new location presented.   When I moved to west Texas, I was startled by the striking beauty of this new environment. A lot of people in the area complained about the ugliness. What I saw was not ugly. I wanted to capture the startling colors, the exuberant skies, and the vastness of this new landscape.  My journey began with a desire to highlight these aspects of my surroundings, but as I looked deeper I began to reawaken my senses and redirect my gaze towards God’s magnificent work.

I started my hobby as a mom with a young child in a new community. My husband traveled a lot, so I spent a lot of time in solitude. Photography allowed me to show little pieces of the word from my perspective. Chasing light, and exploring new landscapes gave my son and I many opportunities to enjoy nature. I loved watching his exploration of the landscape, his unbridled freedom, and his ability to naturally look closer at various bugs and creatures. I saw the word anew through his eyes. 

Change continues to be a large part of my life, but as I grow closer to Christ I continue to find an interior steadiness and rhythm in the midst of this circumstantial flux. I am my best self when take time to appreciate the beauty He has placed in my life. When I step outside with my camera, I slow down. I look closer at the world around me. I see beauty.

As I pause to view the terrain from my own particular space, I feel the parts of myself that are connected to the material world. The parts that are changing; in a state of growth and decay. I also find an interior stillness, steadying myself spiritually in Christ, who is unchanging and constant.  In opposition to the mutable unrest of the world, I find peace in my faith. I find peace in my prayer life. I find peace in the sanctifying grace of the sacraments. 

Since I began my journey into photography, life has taken me to different parts of the country. I have witnessed beauty through many mediums. I am learning to be flexible to God’s plan and look for the beauty in each surprise and turn in circumstance. I have taken on new roles in this season of life. I am a graduate student, teacher, mother, wife and friend. I know that I give my best self to these roles when I slow down, soak in the beauty and ask God to shape me. I periodically update my website with photography, poetry and the occasional blog entry. These are the things that fill my soul. These are the things that speak to me. 

When I think about what it means to find Calcutta, I think about finding steady beauty in hidden places. I think about the authentic self I see when I center myself in Christ and open myself up to his Grace. 

Out of the Storm

When I lived in west Texas I loved to take impromptu trips to explore the sand dunes one and half hours south of town. The state park situated in rural west Texas provided spectacular views and a wide open space perfect for exploration. Sand dunes are particularly suited to exploration parties containing small children. When we arrived I could let my four year old run free.

The weather in west Texas is often unpredictable. Storms sometimes quickly blow through without warning. During one of my spontaneous sand dune trips the park greeted us with a spectacular storm. We had to stay in the car and wait for this storm to pass. This waiting was particularly difficult for my then four year old. He had spent the last hour and half watching out the window with a growing anticipation for the familiar adventure space. When we arrived and we had to stay in the car he was beyond distraught. It did not matter how much I assured him the storm would pass and we would soon play, in that moment he could see nothing but the storm, and he felt trapped in that car.

Eventually the lightning stopped, the clouds cleared and he was free to roam. The air was fresh, the sand was soft, and the sky was astonishing. The storm left the landscape revitalized and refreshed. Although we had to wait a bit longer to explore, the enhanced view made the delay seem insignificant in retrospect.

During Mass today the priest spoke about Christ’s baptism and our own baptism. Through Christ’s baptism our own baptism cleanses us of sin. My photograph from this day, “Break in the Storm”, came to my mind while he was speaking. If you look closely there is a small figure on the far dune. I did not notice this figure until I was editing my photos. The small figure is walking out of the storm towards the light. I wish I could say I planned to capture that. I did not. I was too busy looking at the sky. I love this image because of that small mysterious figure.

Father closed by reminding us, after our baptism we must go forth and continuously fight against sin. This is a fight fueled by hope and help through the sacraments. Again, I thought of that small figure emerging from the storm and walking boldly into the light. I also thought about my own impatience. I thought about how hard it is to recognize the beauty of a storm in the midst of it. A friend recently sent me this prayer for patient trust. It is a wonderful reminder to move forward in trust and hope, remembering we are adopted as daughters and sons of a benevolent and loving Father through baptism.

“Above all, trust in the slow work of God.
We are quite naturally impatient in everything
to reach the end without delay.
We should like to skip the intermediate stages.
We are impatient of being on the way to some-
thing unknown, something new.
And yet it is the law of progress
that it is made by passing through
some stages of instability-
and that it may take a very long time.

And so I think it is with you;
your ideas mature gradually-let them grow,
let them shape themselves, without undue haste.
Do’t try to force them on,
as though you could be today what time
(that is to say, grace and circumstances
acting on your own good will)
will make of you tomorrow.

Only God could say what this new spirit
gradually forming within you will be.
Give our Lord the benefit of believing
that his hand is leading you,
and accept the anxiety of feeling yourself
in suspense and incomplete.”

— Patient Trust by Teilhard de Chardin, SJ

Winter's Lessons

Winter is a great time for interior growth. Whether it is the patient quiet of advent or the joyful peace of the Christmas season, the rhythm of the liturgies coax me into a patient season of reflection and growth. Nature exhibits her beauty in new dimensions during this season. I had set aside my little hobby for a time, but the recent snow and the quiet of the season drew me outside. Photography takes a bit more resilience and a great deal more effort in this climate. As I ventured out to capture fresh snow with the lens I had to take extra precautions to avoid frostbite and endure a rather intense wind-chill. The experience remained sublime. These challenges present new lessons and new opportunities. For each of these I am grateful. Poetry often fills my mind while I shoot. If you explore this site you will find poems paired with some of the photos. This is my strange little hobby. Today my mind is filled with the beautiful lessons of winter; lessons of love and pain.

Winter’s Lessons

“In School
I used to go to a bright school
Where Youth and Frolic taught in turn;
But idle scholar that I was;
I liked to play, I would not learn;
So the Great Teacher did ordain
That I should try the School of Pain

One of the infant class I am
With little, easy lessons, set
In a great book; the higher class
Have harder ones than I, and yet
I find mine hard, and can’t restrain
My tears while studying thus with Pain.

There are two Teachers in the school,
One has a gentle voice and low,
And smiles upon her scholars, as
She softly passes to and fro.
Her name is Love; ‘tis very plain
She shuns the sharper teacher, Pain.

Or so I sometimes think; and then,
At other times, they meet and kiss,
And look so strangely like, that I
Am puzzled to tell how it is,
Or whence the change which makes it vain
To guess if it be - Love or Pain.

They tell me if I study well,
And learn my lessons, I shall be
Moved upward to that higher class
Where dear Love teaches constantly;
And I work hard, in hopes to gain
Reward, and get away from Pain.

Yet Pain is sometimes kind, and helps
Me on when I am very dull;
I thank him often in my heart;
But Love is far more beautiful;
Under her tender, gentle reign
I must learn faster than of Pain.

So I will do my very best,
Nor chide the clock, nor call it slow;
That when the Teacher calls me up
To see if I am fit to go,
I may to Love’s high class attain,
And bid a sweet good-by to Pain.”

— Excert from "What Katy Did" By Susan Coolidge