Wings in the Wind

My son David, who lives in Kennewick, Washington, came to see us today. He flew himself from Richland, Washington, near where he works, to Camas, Washington, a few miles due east of where we live.

Recently David bought a half partnership in a tidy little Cessna 150. He shares the ownership with a man who is as careful about maintenance and piloting as is David. It is a neat little airplane in splendid condition. An airplane of this sort typically cruises about 100 mph in calm conditions which is what he hoped for today as all indicators suggested clear skies and good weather. It was clear, but for some reason, however, the high pressure system which was supposed to stay off the coast may have crept inland a ways, because fairly brisk winds worked up in the western Columbia Gorge and he had a tailwind westbound and a little bumpiness in the last few minutes. However, the trip was quicker than expected and David arrived in time for us to make it to church before 9:00 AM.

After the services, we met the whole Slack family at Baja Fresh for a leisurely lunch followed by a time of visiting at our house. A few gifts and goodies were swapped, family news was shared, Uncle David was loved on by the nieces, and possible future visits were discussed. Unfortunately, one of the plans for the afternoon had to be cancelled until a future date, as the pesky winds continued and made the prospect of "giving rides" impossible. It just would have been too rough for anyone not accustomed to bouncing around in the sky in choppy air. (Besides, there might not have been enough "barf" bags available.) Maybe next time.

After topping off his tanks at a good price, away David went, eastbound for home, and this time directly into those gusty winds. The return flight took more than an hour longer, the average "over-the-ground" speed was much lower, fighting the headwinds used up a lot more av-gas, and was a much more tiring trip.

We were all glad to see the intrepid flyer during his turn-around on this special cross-country flight. I was especially proud to see my pilot son flying his own pretty aircraft, and deeply regret the diabetes which keeps me from flying too.

Thanks for coming, Son, and thanks to your family for letting you make the trip. It was a real treat to see you, get in a little visiting, and a few hugs all around. I'll pick you up at Grove Field anytime.

Seder for Gentiles?: Meeting Our Jewish Heritage.

How wonderful it is to have friends who are able and gracious to enrich life in special ways. Among our friends are an older Christian couple who share a touching story. When they married and blended their family, Norman was a practicing Jew. One of the sons, Philip, as a young man became a Christian and led his mother to Jesus, but Norman was not able to leave his roots. - until a couple of years ago, when he understood he did not have to abandon all things Jewish to accept Jesus as Messiah.

We first met Philip years ago when he held for us a holiday season concert , playing beautifully his classical guitar. Our living room was full, and he entranced us. His CDs have been a joy over the years and we have often shared those with others. Since Philip lives in New Jersey, we don't see him often, but he was here last night, and our living room was full again, and we were blessed again more than ever. Finding him available, we jumped at the chance for Philip to explain Seder to our Wednesday Bible study group.

As it happened, last night was actually Passover Evening. It may seem strange for Christians to observe a Seder, and perhaps experience the Seder would be more accurate. The memorial meal, of course, originated at the time of the Hebrew Exodus from Egyptian slavery, and has been held annually ever since to recall what miraculous things God did for His people in redeeming them from oppression. Philip, as a completed Jew, believes as do all Christians that Jesus is Lord, the Son of God, Messiah/Savior. And having grown up a Jew, he practiced all his youth the Jewish National Sacrements. Now he is able to present the Seder as a way of enriching Christian understanding and appreciation of that Festival by bringing to it explainations and insights and context to deepen the Christian's understanding of the Lord's Supper we practive weekly as Communion.

Fifteen of us were enthralled as Philip led us through a point by point participation, hearing again the Exodus story of Moses, the ten plagues, the amazing works of God as He rescued His people. Philip gently worked through the meaning of the foods of the passover -the lamb, bitter herbs, unleavened bread, the salt water, the sweet mixture of apples and dried fruits called haroset - connecting each to the dramatic events as he retold the story or read portions from scripture. And the food was wonderful too.

It was touching evening for me. I find it deeply meaningful to recall the continuity of God's dealings with us over the ages, even in the transition from the ancient Hebrew Covenent to the New Covenent under which we enjoy such greater blessings than they did before Christ completed His work of Passion in our behalf. I am better in spirit and mind for recalling my own place in the continuing story by reviewing through the Seder meal the heritage of this "oldest celebration". I am encouraged to look forward to the fulfillment of the rest of the promises until that time when all of God's people will share in a feast , not just of lamb, but in a banquet hosted by the Lamb Himself.

Thank you, Philip, my brother, for sharing Christ with me and for making the Jewish origins of my faith clearer and more precious.

Crossing a Major Threshhold (with a Grin)

Well, after a lengthy season of dreaming, and most of a decade of gradually accumulating supplies and equipment from a host of sources, I took the plunge today. I began painting in oils.

The die was cast a few weeks ago when a call to the local college mature learning department resulted in my enrollment in a painting class. Encouragement from some plein air folk at recent meetings of the Northwest Oil Painter's Guild and the assurance of a member who said he was in the class and would help me along did the trick. The hardest part was waiting for the day to arrive. (I even went a week early to my considerable embarrassment.)

Hours had been spent sorting through all the paints and brushes and other paraphanalia which seems to be required and in preparing the kit for mobility. Not only must the gear be portable, but consideration must be made for transport of liquid solvents, easel, wet palates, and eventually, one hopes, wet canvas with the picture "under construction". I resurrected an old, folding airport luggage cart, adapted a pilot's case to carry wet canvas and other miscellaneous supplies and tools, and added the consumables - paper towels, rags, and such - to the pile. With a quartet of bungie cords, it all became a managable package.

It finally all fit into a neat and compact unit, and I felt at least partly prepared as I entered the classroom. Although I was twenty minutes early, several fellows students were already in place and preparing for the session. Gordon led me through a few introductions, presented me to the teacher, explained the protocol of setting up for work, and suddenly the fateful instant arrived.

The kindly instructor, a gent my age, softly smiled me through the critical first decision: What to paint? I laid out half a dozen pictures from a folder of possibilities, and to my delight he pounced upon my favorite, a piece by Sydney Laurence titled "Silent Pond". He seemed pleased that I had this picture (he has the book in which it was published) and even more so to hear that Laurence is a long-time Alaskan favorite of mine.

A quick sketch in charcoal to block out the essentials, a brief demonstration on picking and mixing colors with hints on how to control the value, advice to start on the parts that are fartherest from the eye, i.e. at the greatest distance (this meant sky in this picture), and I lifted paint on the brush and... [Ta Dah!!] ... laid it on the canvas.

I'm not quite sure I actually heard a chorus of "halelujah chorus" or a few bars of the "1812 Overture", but I'm certain the earth moved just a little bit. It was a little like, like, ... - well never-mind that... maybe more like my first solo flight in a small aircraft. It was a moment to remember.

I only painted in the sky and some of the distant hazy ridges, and underpainted a portion where several really dark trees will be added when this first layer dries. But it is a start. No more excuses. Now I've got to go for it.

Key thought is: I Have Begun!!

And I am looking forward to the next steps.