Sorrow on Sorrow

Sorrow on sorrow on joy on joy.

Do you feel the world is broken?

Do you trust the light is come?

Prayer and thanksgiving.

Groanings and song.

And we wait, oh we wait,

for our Hope to be made sight.

Sorrow on sorrow on joy on joy.

...

"The light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it."   John 1:5

It is finished

Do you see? The weight of the wrath of God that Jesus took on in my stead is the difference between
"You are my beloved Son, with You I am well pleased." Mark 1:11
and
"My God, My God, why have you forsaken me." Mark 15:34

Do this in remembrance of me.

Maundy Thursday

Reading in John chapter 13. Jesus removed his outer garment, knelt at his disciples' feet and served them, washing away the dirt. Then he rose, clothed himself once more and took his place at the table...just as he was about to do before the whole world and for the whole world.

In the Old Testament, over and over again as God-the mighty God of Israel who is my God-worked salvation for his people, time and time again he would institute a remembrance. A feast day. An altar of stones beside a river. And he would say, when your children ask why this is done, tell them of the mighty acts of your God. In the same way, as we receive communion Sunday after Sunday, if your child, your friend, the world asks why, hold up the history of the mighty acts of your God, and especially the incredible work he has done to allow us to live redeemed and as his own children.

"The blood shall be a sign for you, on the house where you are. And when I see the blood I will pass over you and no plague will befall you to destroy you." Exodus 12:13

"For Christ our Passover lamb has been sacrificed for us. Therefore let us keep the feast." 1 Corinthians 5:7-8

Tomorrow is Palm Sunday

I'm reading today in John, chapters 11 and 12. Jesus raises Lazarus from the dead and Mary anoints Jesus's feet. The tension builds. Tomorrow is Palm Sunday.

Jesus said, "Leave her alone, so that she may keep it for the day of my burial. For the poor you will always have with you, but you do not always have me." John 12:7-8

For a moment, perhaps, it is a relief the the man-who-was-God that there is one person who seems to know what is coming. He is not alone in the knowledge of his coming death for a moment. Just for a moment, maybe, it is good to share the burden with another.
For the God-who-was-man, for just a moment one woman is moved to celebrate him, and in a moment of clarity give him an honor he deserves even as his disciples continue to miss the truth of it all. So, honored and prepared for death, perhaps there is one moment of relief and pause as he journeys to the cross.

Tomorrow is Palm Sunday.

Stand in the Gap

I had forgotten my call was to stand in the gap. Forgotten is too kind, I had ignored the call, preferring instead to link arms with the saved in the safety of where we stand-Praise God-but oh, my weakness!
I have been reminded by an artist so alight with the obeying of the call that it spills from work, from acts, from speech with out a doubt as to the message he sends. GOD. IS.

I have been reminded by another, seasoned in the practice of the standing, the reaching, and the sending.
"Let us find meaning in showing others what it means to have meaning."

To my neighbors: sincere kindness and love.
To the students: sincere kindness and love.
To the stranger: sincere kindness and love.

I can at least begin there. It doesn't come from me, but we can have that conversation later.

Almost a year ago

"I arise, I arise today in the spirit of the Trinity"

I absolutely understand Moses asking the Lord to show him His Glory. When I sit before a kiln there is a great heat, a rumble, a bright light and I can picture: THIS IS GLORY

But oh how small this, compared with a Glory which shakes the earth, which causes the face that sees its back to radiate with terrible light. How small, to a Glory which in absence causes darkness at noon and a groaning of the earth. There is no night where the Glory lives!

This kiln before me eases the groaning of my soul for a brief time in the wee hour when the world is still enough that I can stand near and let the heat burn my skin, the rumble fill my ears, the light strike my eyes and my mind and, just for a moment, I grasp eternity. This is why I come back I think. I play at the vocation of the Creator, making things of dirt then visiting the sacred fire which I pretend to control, all so I can feel near to him,

Sometimes I am amazed at the grace which has brought me to sit right here.

Wonder

When man looks at a wing
and wonders
there is an awakening
a consciousness
that the cathedral's architect aspired to
with his Gothic arches
the vaulted ceiling and gilded apse
the mind is lifted up
up
up
just as the layman's eyes traveled toward heaven
he wonders
of flight and wing
the boning the stretching the lifting
the thrill
the gasp in the chest altitude
and wonder is worship
the priest at the altar
the prophet on the mountain
hide me in the cleft and show me
Glory
the gift of the Creator
to man.

How to live

Sunrise and cold
Limbs exposed
Wade out
Water at waist
Head under
Plunge.

Strike out
Stroke
Fill lungs
Stroke
Eyes forward
Stroke
Don't stop
Stroke.

Waves splash
Arms burn
Heart pounds
Only sounds
My breath
Rasp.

Legs kick
Stroke
Don't stop
Stroke
Breath in
Stroke
Land ho
Stroke.

Feet on sand
Body spent
Hands on rungs
Emerge wet
Baptized again
Alive.

4.21.16 5:30AM

Bed to work, work to work
bed to work to studio.
I'm cycling, I'm running
but I'm dreaming still
and now, between bed and work
I'm resting
and filling.

The most blessed

A 12 hour day is behind me, 8am-8pm and more than tired I just wonder how I got so lucky? Any number of things could have been different, I could have chosen a more practical sounding major, I could have had my parents against me as many do, I could have never wandered over to the ceramics department to take that first class. But as gently and easily as a skilled shepherd leadeth his flock beside the still waters God made my path straight and easy towards a life more fulfilling than I ever could have imagined. I cannot say anything besides that I truly feel I am the most blessed of the most blessed.

A Lament

Does it not become true

that if we are living outside of ourselves

if we are truly loving our neighbor

each of us learns to move about each day

grieving

a mother's death

a brother far from home

an infant diagnosed with cancer

a young boy living restricted by leukemia's dictates

our community walks around

we meet

we talk

even laugh

but I know you are grieving

because I know I am.

Sweet River Roll Over Me

Sweet river roll over me.
I am standing on the bank of the Mississippi River, my feet just inches from the water. They had been throbbing still from an eight hour shift at work in the morning, but just now with the sensation of the broken concrete slabs and rocks mixed with weeds which made up this section of the river bank feeding them new information and the excitement of the moment somehow that was no longer on my mind.
We had been told to go do this for years, but I always thought that you don't just do things because someone tells you to. But sometimes the someone is wiser than you and knows what they are talking about. This I am finally learning. This is why the effort of the drive after eight hours behind the coffee bar making drinks was worth it. This is why, in the blaze of the setting sun, we searched the river area for a place to throw ourselves in. I want to say that I am finally listening.
Sweet river roll over me.
My feet feel the sandy river bottom now. It is full dusk and the last light is leaving so that I am only just able to make out the other side of the river. I want to do this while it is still today so I take the plunge, immersing myself fully in the water, baptizing myself in the quiet,and wideness and history of the great river, to come up better, I hope, for adding  this experience to my life.
Sweet river roll over me. Sweet water fill me to overflowing. Restore to me the joy of my salvation. I want to be able to say, "my cup runneth over."

on choosing a mug

I have found, in living my life working with clay and around clay people, that certain rituals come with a cupboard filled with an ever multiplying collection of ceramic mugs. I couldn't say how the collection at our house has grown so large except that after four years of pottery sales, six semesters of trades with my friends in studio I suppose it is to be expected. The challenge some days, however, comes when looking over the collection trying to decide which one to pull down for THIS day, THIS cup of of coffee, hot chocolate or tea.

I'm a maker as well as a user, so I've been thinking about why I choose a particular mug in a particular situation. I want to be aware, to not just make, but to know as I make that THIS mug I'm throwing is going to be perfect for that first cup of coffee in the morning, or that THIS mug is going to become someone's everyday standby because it fits in the cup holder in their car for the drive to work. So here is my breakdown of the main categories I have discovered.

...

In the early morning, you don't often want a mug that it takes a lot of thought to hold or make function. This is not the time to pull out that one mug that you traded for in throwing I. You know the one, where the rim dips dramatically on one side or where the liquid catches on a bulge in the side then comes out all at once-not a good early morning choice! You also don't want that petite mug that is graceful but has a small foot, too tipsy for the before-coffee mind. The mugs that I often choose are the ones with a broad base, the ones that hold two or more cups, that way as you move around in the dark of the house you aren't struggling with an overfull cup, when you sit down in the armchair, it can balance on the flat arm when you can't reach the side table. The handle is usually a two to three finger handle, something that you can grip easily, or slide your fingers through to hold the body of the cup and warm your hands up.   

Made by Zac Benson. This has a wonderful soft handle.

and then the Lorna Meaden, my newest morning favorite.

There are times when you are needing a mug for afternoon coffee. I don't usually want that much in the middle of the day. I drink coffee then to be social, when the coffee pot goes on because we're all in the house and want to sit down together to talk. This is the time when I am drawn to a smaller mug, often one that I find beautiful. I choose a mug sometimes so that I can mark the middle of my day with an art object. It adds a little something to life. This is one of the few times when I like a one finger handle. A small foot wont be a problem because I likely wont set the cup down many times, I'll be holding it as I talk or read. 

Made by Simon Levin, woodfire potter.

Tea bowls are hard, and the times I choose them are rare. You can't just grab a tea bowl to go. I will find myself pulling one out on days when I don't plan on moving a lot, like morning tea on the porch this summer, or on a day when I just want to sit inside and listen to the rain. Tea bowls are for holding with both hands, for thinking, for smelling and feeling the steam. They are for experiencing your tea as much as a way to drink it. 

An H.P. Bloomer tea bowl made for an Arrowmont fundraiser. 

A gift from a friend, and tied to many fond memories

One very important mug is the one that fits the cup holder in my truck perfectly. I can drive with one hand on the coffee cup that is balanced precariously on my arm rest, but I have watched enough cups tip as I turn without holding on to know the value of the ones that sit secure and snug in the cup holder. These are the driving to work mugs, the ones that ensure that your day is not thrown off by having to clean up a spill.

Made by Sierra Owens-Hughes, throwing 2.

Lastly, there is the cup and saucer set. This is a new discovery of mine. At first you may think, how many opportunities do you have to use a cup and saucer in this day and age-and culture-where sitting down to a tea is not a normal occurrence. But the cup and saucer set has become one of my favorite things. This is my Saturday morning treat. A cup and saucer is not made for moving. It means you have committed to sitting down and finishing your cup-no distractions, no need for warming it up multiple times because you've forgotten about it.  Your left hand holds the saucer, your right, the cup and there you are, having a two part experience, focused on the moment. You can pause for a moment and just BE. You can sit across from a friend and it speaks volumes about the fact that you are wholly engaged, listening, not rushing off anywhere. You are there. 

Made by my professor, and one of the wisest persons I

know, Aaron Lee Benson.

And so it begins

December 21, 2014 - It always takes awhile to get a studio in working order when starting from scratch. That was the one goal for this weekend. Get my space open, make my clay, and put get it running. Mission accomplished. Everything is set and there are 15 cups in varying states of being finished sitting on the shelves. 

And so it begins. 

I'm conducting research, in a way, this winter. I have a form in my mind, a curve, a line that I want. I need to learn how to throw it. How much clay to use, how much to leave to trim, how to make it right every single time. How to carry the same line across every form I want to throw. 

I love how quiet it is here in the winter. I have Thistle and Shamrock radio playing compliments of NPR online, and I think it is a winner for studio tunes. The soothing voice of Fiona Ritchie, the host, only helps the concentration. Also it makes me think of home. It is December-so close to Christmas after all. This is Dad's show, and where do you think the littlest Peden got her name? Two days till I go home!

But, for now it is good to be here, and to have my hands dirty again.

Breathing Home

Riding to work today, on the porch this evening, out and about last night this air has been affecting me. It's July in Tennessee for goodness sakes, no one knows what to think of weather that hovers between 60 and 75 degrees. I'm thinking a lot of things. I'm thinking of wholeness and home. I'm thinking of family. I'm thinking I could do anything on a day like this one.

It's funny how up until days like today if you were to ask me where "home" is I'd answer as usual...wherever my family is. But with my lungs full of clean, cool-yes, actually cool-air wave after wave of just beyond tangible memories and feelings and associations wash over me. I smell the north, that cleanness that I associate with the summers of my childhood- and maybe that actually is home. Open the windows and mix that air with the inside of a house and I smell every Saturday of early fall, after all the chores are done and when you sit in the clean house before the bustle of dinner time. Let that air blow and wash my skin as I drive and I feel the energy that has been sapped by summer heat filling all of me.

What a gift, a few days of breathing memories and wholeness! God is beyond good to me.

a coffee ceremony

I woke up this morning conscious. I watched the morning sunlight create patterns on the kitchen wall when it shone through the water I was pouring into the coffee pot. I was conscious this morning of the ritual I was taking part in. The thump, thump as I knock the old filter into the trash. I replace it with a fresh one, noticing the pleated ripples as I push them flush with the filter wall and the way that the white is gold with sunlight. The smell of freshly ground coffee fills the room as I scoop once, twice. I make coffee for just one here. As it brews, to the music of dripping and gurgling, I set out a mug. This morning it is one of my own, woodfired and steeped in memories of last summer. The final gurgling, louder than before, announces that the coffee is done brewing and in the morning stillness I take the pot and pour the liquid, glowing rich and exotic brown, into my mug. There is one spoon that is used for the morning coffee ceremony. Much like the Tea Master's bamboo whisk, the silver spoon, given to me by my mom is the only one I search for among the silverware. Partly because it is perfect for measuring the right amount of sugar for my coffee. I listen to the crystals make contact with the hot liquid and watch them disappear beneath the dark surface. Mostly, though, I use it because it is tradition. We use those spoons at home for our regular coffee ceremony, that event that creates pause in our day. My favorite part of this ritual is the cream. If you don't stir right off you can watch it turn and swirl creating the first art of the day. But it is not about the art this time, thank God. I don't have to make this piece. I only have to wake up conscious.

to all who labor

It is good to become conscious to the sound of rainfall. It is good to become conscious and be completely at rest. My body was heavy with the weight of the sleep I needed so badly, but through the fog as I woke, I welcomed to sounds telling me I was conscious-alive.

Awake and nothing pressing me. Awake and nothing waiting to be done. Just rest. And rainfall.

God created rest for us. He worked for six days on his masterwork-on his creation-and on the seventh day he rested. I doubt he was weary from his work-He's God! But I think he rested because he knew it was, like all his creation, good. He knew that we, unlike him, would toil and strive and weary ourselves with work and worry and need rest, so as a gift of love he gave it to us. And then, because his love is infinite and beyond our understanding, he created rest to the sound of rainfall, rest in the warmth of sunshine, rest in the shade of a rustling tree.

"Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” (Matthew 11:28-30)

a gift for you

One gift of pure love that God has given us is warmth. Think about it. Think about the sun on your face, the heat of a fire on a chilled night, stepping into a heated house on a icy day, taking a hot shower. What kind of a love He must have for us to cause him to give us such a gift! But he didn't stop there. He gave us the warmth of the sun on a beautiful day like today, and then as the sun begins to set and the chill begins to fall again I am able to feel the radiation of all the day's warmth, an echo and a replay, coming from the bricks outside the studio as I sit leaning up against them. This warmth is a gift of the purest, greatest love, solely for the joy of humans, I believe. It relaxes the muscles in my tired back, and I am able to feel the tension of a long day melt away. He gives good gifts, doesn't he?

Holding on

Great is Thy Faithfulness! Great is Thy Faithfulness! Morning by morning new mercies I see.

Morning by morning. Sometimes this means greeting the sun at daybreak, sometimes it means working through the night to a new day, but there is great joy in finding each morning that no matter how you've come to it His mercies are new.

Strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow

This is my prayer for this new day, my prayer for every new day. I honestly cannot make it through without His gift of strength each day and hope to carry me to the next. I feel like recently my body has been at war with me, screaming constantly in the background,

Sleep! Sleep! Sleep! Give up. Go to bed! Sleep!

I push its demands aside once more, and then again, to do one more thing, to study one more thing, to finish something well. But then if I stop moving, if I sit and rest, the force of the demand washes over me again. It is not as if I haven't been sleeping-I have, as much as can be expected in my current circumstances-it is just that I am in a place where weariness is a constant companion. I praise God for songs like this that speak truth and give me something to hold to until this time passes.

Great is Thy faithfulness, O God my Father. There is no shadow of turning with Thee. All I have needed Thy hand has provided, Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord unto me.

In the Twilight

There is a twilight between sleep and wakefulness, a grey dawn where the lingering remains of dreams reside. If you catch hold of the thoughts that begin to stir and flit about like the early rising sparrow that flicks its wings and skips about, the first movement on a crisp fall morning, if, when you find yourself in this twilight world, you manage to coax the thoughts that rise like wisps of fog that are slowly rising and melting away to come to rest in your hand, you are sometimes privileged to catch a glimpse of the deepest part of your mind. The ideas that you manage to catch hold of are some of the most real, sincere and profound ideas that you will ever encounter.

As an artist it does no good to live in a stupor, crashing into the realm of sleep when exhaustion overcomes, then blundering out of it when the night is over, too muddied and disgruntled at daylight to live well in this brief moment of life. It is for the artist to live one the edge, living completely and abundantly, even in the twilight between the black and the light of a new morning.