Signature Pages for My "It's A New Day Cook Book"

And these are my "sign-in" pages. Hopefully all my wonderful 3rd Act sisters will put there photos here and sign in. So, the only thing left now, is to work on the cover! Who knows??? At least I have the title. :) So much fun!

MAGIC BEANS...

This is what my son has called my "magic beans" page. He's written a song called "Magic Beans" about all the fairy tales we believed to be true as we grew up--and we get to mid-life and discover:

Well nothin' ever sprouted
From the spot where momma threw them on the ground.
No singing harps, no golden eggs,
No giant's feasts could ever be found.
Now the banks foreclosed the farm,
Momma's sick, and Jack ain't ever around.

....Magic Beans don't sprout...

So, perhaps this IS my protest of what I expected out of life at one time. It WAS the model presented to me of "a good life". These "magic beans" haven't sprouted for me, but what I have instead is EVER SO MUCH MORE!

NO MORE COOKIES!

A few days back, I decided to use my 42 year old Better Homes and Garden Cookbook for Third Act's collaborative art journal. Talk about FUN! It's like it let off a whole lot of steam, the intro pages just kept coming! This is the first page. Ask Jim--this Granma doesn't cook much of ANYTHING anymore. Been there, done that!

My New "Who Has Time to Cook Book"

Who cooks much anymore??? Who has time?

My 3rd Act Circle of Crones has decided to do a collaborative art project. There are 12 of us, so we decided to do a "round robin" journal. Each one of us is putting together some kind of journal full of blank pages, then we will pass them off to "the next person on the list", and "woola!", 12 months later, there will be 12 beautiful journals chunked full of original art work by 12 beautiful, talented artists (myself included, of course!).

My first task is to put my journal together. As I was pondering how to start, my eyes fell on this much used very old cookbook, and I decided "who needs this cookbook anymore?" Ask Jim. He'll guarantee it doesn't get much use now-adays...who has time?

I got this cookbook as a wedding present for my first wedding nearly 42 years ago. It's been used a lot, albeit not much during the last 10 years, but there was a time... So the book has a little of my history in it. I'll begin "altering" the cover tomorrow, or this weekend. The name will be changed from Better Homes and Gardens New Cook Book, to "The Who Has Time to Cook Book?" or the "Who Wants to Cook Book?" Not sure exactly what yet, but you get the drift! Clean white 300# watercolor pages are all torn and hole-punched. They'll be removed before I start with the glue, paint, and colored paper. Once the cover is finished, I'll put the pages back in, show you another picture, then neither of us will see it until May of 2011. At that time, the Crones have decided we MUST have a party and celebrate out journals together. The idea is to put all the finished books out so that we can see them together and finished for the first time. What fun that will be!

When it's all said and done, I'll have a treasure of beautiful, personal, fun and whimsical, original artwork from some very lovely sisters.

And this is just the beginning!

Give Me Something To Eat...

You know, I love synchronicity! You may call it "coincidence", but I've experienced it to be the voice of the Holy, and when it happens, I PAY ATTENTION.

For example, having TWO TAEHS groups...as if one isn't enough for most people, I'm blessed to be in two groups. And it's amazing how often they "piggy-back" on each other.

I finished one study Sunday morning with this wonderful, awesome, HEALING quote:

"Often for many of us the best we can do is want to believe. That is, we want to believe but either don't believe or are not sure whether we believe and to what extent we believe and whether we believe some of our story but not all o fit, and we can be utterly confused about all of this. Actually, virtually all of us will find ourselves in such a state at one time or another by our spiritual journey...Be that as it may, the basic, primary, and foundational principle of Christian faith remains the same, namely, that the best we can do is intend to follow God and [intend] to believe in God as we are and as we are able. All the rest is up to God. Were it not so, there would be no grace at all but only human effort and striving."

I am a "head" person, and "believing" has been of UTMOST importance to me all of my Christian journey (which is all of my life), but doubt has entered by force over the last few years...all kinds of doubts about everything. And a head person can spend FOREVER trying to satisfy all the doubts.

Back to TAEHS (The Art of Engaging Holy Scripture), my study this morning (for the OTHER group) was from Luke 24. The risen Jesus shows up in the same room with the disciples who are DOUBTING. And they are fearful and talking about "it". Jesus just shows up and says "Peace". Well, sure!

Then he says, "Why are you doubting again?" He says that to me all the time. :) And he says, "Look, see, touch, see--here's my scars to prove it." And bless be God, he DOESN'T say, "Now worship me." A head person would love that. Instead he says, "Do you have food? I'm hungry. Give me something to eat."

I just sat and listened to that. Now THAT's spoken to a bunch of HEAD people. "Get out of your head and into your body. DO something, instead of 'thinking' and 'questioning' all the time."

We are both spirit and flesh. But I'll confess I've been so spiritual most of my life that I've made some people sick. And I can spiritualize anything. Being spiritual is second nature to me. I could have fit in that room those disciples spiritualizing and doubting all night. But Jesus knows that doubters, head people, MUST make contact with their bodies. They must be grounded, pulled back to earth, into the physical realm. They must become flesh, too.

So, how do I, Sheila Conner, feed the risen Christ?

First, I have to wake up and realize I'm in my head again usually running over the same familar ground, digging through those ever-deepening nuropaths in my brain. STOP!

Then I have to stay awake and observe my doubts and my fears.

And it's important for me to participate fully in my own transformation. So, I must get back to being physical, back to being FLESH. It is very grounding for me to go into my studio and paint. And it grounds me to take care of my mother; to go downstairs and help her with a meal or even just to visit with her puts me back into the present moment, into TODAY--I can look at her and touch her, hear her voice and know my feet are on the ground again. It grounds me to meet with my 3rd Act buds. It grounds me to stay connected to my St. Tim's community. It grounds me to write poetry and to work in my yard. Blessed be, it even grounds me to clean house, albeit that's the last thing I want to do. :)

I am so glad the risen Christ told them to fix him a meal. He gave them exactly what they needed--something physical to do to get them back into the present moment and out of their fears and out of their heads.

It's interesting for me to ponder my feeding Christ. Somehow I'm not sure the risen Christ was hungry as much as he was compassionate. He knew the disciples had been in their heads long enough. Feeding him was grace for them.

Energy Made Visible #2, The Golden Purifier

I've been working with images as Pat Allen suggests in her book, Art As A Spiritual Path. I've never wanted to just paint pretty pictures with my art--I truly want it to be from deep inside me, but I've had to work at it. My imagination wasn't particularly blessed earlier in my life (the playground of the devil, you know), so my imagination, as well as my mind and my heart and the rest of me has had to repent (wake up!). Mandalas and soul collage have been my tools of choice for the last 7 years or so, but for now Pat's methods intrigue me. Anyway, long story even longer...

During Lent, I had "close encounters of another kind" with two different birds, a couple of weeks apart. The first was with hawks--almost landing on my car, and actually making eye contact with me, swooping down and showing me their feathers...it was kind of quirky, but I've taken a strong liking to quirky things on, especially on my spiritual journey. I've learned not to shrug off those quirky things, but to ask questions, to pause, to listen. So, I talked to a friend of mine who's just about as quirky, and she said, "Pay attention. The hawk is a message bird--he's got something to tell you, so listen." So I did--hawks everywhere around me for about 10 days, then BUZZARDS!

My first encounter with the buzzards was on Psalm Sunday no less--at church. We were outside, when I looked up and saw these beautiful birds flying around and I exclaimed, "Just look at the hawks; aren't they wonderful!" A friend said, "That's BUZZARDS!"

Now you have to know I've never been a buzzard lover. Back in my "prophetic" days, the buzzard was unclean, a scavenger, and not a good sign. But one of my primary archetypal symbols is the alchemist. I love to rediscover and reclaim "profane"...all things were created good. So, again, I began to watch and listen. And I talked to my friend, who really didn't have much to say except what I already knew...they embraced death and weren't afraid of it. And it was possible something was dying in my life--or needed to. I knew already what that was, so I embraced that, then went home and googled the Vulture and found that the turkey vulture's name means GOLDEN PURIFIER.

Now, if that doesn't get my attention, nothing will.

So, this morning I do a scribble drawing and this big beautiful vulture emerges, in the middle of all my chaos and gives me beauty. As I drew and colored and listened, I knew that embracing death always brings new life. I knew this image was my GOLDEN PURIFIER. Later I sat and dialogued with it...I'm not crazy, Pat Allen is! :) Actually, I've done that with some of my other images, so I know it works. The image has something to say. As I listened, I was impressed that this bird reminds me so much of Christ...despised, rejected, embracing death as a pathway to new life and new creation. From the seeds of death a new way comes.

So I am blessed to have the Golden Purifier, my Christ bird, in my life. I'll never look at a vulture the same. They do no harm. They never kill, but wait patiently for death to come, then they embrace it fully, cleaning up all the remains, allowing life to return. Just like the Cross has done for me.

LONG & WINDING ROAD

The long and winding road
That leads to your door
Will never disappear
I've seen that road before
It always leads me here
Lead me to your door.

The wild and windy night
That the rain washed away
Has left a pool of tears
Crying for the day.
Why leave me standing here?
Let me know the way.


Many times I've been alone
And many times I've cried,
Anyway you've always known
The many ways I've tried.


And still they lead me back
To the long, winding road
You left me standing here
A long, long time ago
Don't leave me standing here
Lead me to your door.

But still they lead me back
To the long winding road
You left me standing here
A long, long time ago (ohhh)
Don't keep me waiting here (don't keep me waiting)
Lead me to your door.

I've been making art with three of my grandkids for a couple of months now, most every Thursday. Yesterday was our last scheduled class; they're moving to Houston next week, and it's a little too far to commute back and forth. I've so enjoyed this time with them, and I wanted to do something to mark their time here in this small town and their move now to the big city, so we walked the labyrinth together. It was a very special time for me. Memorable. It is amazing how long and winding our roads can be, even as children. All of us are looking for the Door. I pray we find our way.

The Grandmothers

Remember the black canvas with a history (see post below). This is what's happening. I'm having so much fun honoring my grandmothers and my mother--but meantime, other things are happening, too.

This canvas has a huge history--LOTS of energy! My brother rescued it from a burned out studio in Austin (he's in renovation construction, redoing burned out homes and buildings). There was a fire in a group of art studio several years ago, and he got this canvas and a couple of others for me. This one in particular has a story, has suffered death, and is now being reborn--I really DO believe in resurrection. I love the whole history of this thing, and I love watching to see what comes up. Too much personal stuff to share here, but every time I work on this piece of art, something happens--prayer.

This morning, I'll show you the whole thing, which is in process. Tomorrow I'll show you a little piece of it, and share the story.

For today, suffice to say, the labyrinth has a story of it's on. Maybe later I'll have time to share some of it, but for now, I'm off to TAEHS and my last art afternoon with my grandkids! Life is so short, and there's so much to do!

CHRIST'S FEET

Andy preached a sermon during Lent about Mary anointing Jesus' feet. That's always been one of my favorite Bible stories, but for some reason that morning, the story stayed with me and I knew I wanted to paint the story.

A couple of weeks later, Andy preached again, this time about Jesus washing the disciples' feet. He reminded us that those two incidents were only days apart, and that there's a huge possiblity that Mary inspired Jesus--that his washing their feet was a direct result of her washing his feet. I had never thought of that, but I knew there was a painting in there somewhere.

I felt a painting forming in my gut. I had been so moved by both sermons, and I felt the painting forming on my insides, so I simply asked, stated my intention, then waited.

Also during Lent, we had a priest from the Episcopal Diocese of Texas in Houston come and talk to us about Social Justice and EDOT's ministry to the homeless.

And the photo--this photo of aching, injured feet that inspired this painting--I must confess, it came from a National Geographic Magazine. I pulled it a couple of years ago, and kept it. It's haunted me and it's been "in my face" since our Social Justice evening.

I started the painting Easter Sunday afternoon, and today I've been thinking of it this poem that St. Theresa of Avila wrote; I first heard it at the Cenacle in 2003:

Christ has no body but yours,
No hands, no feet on earth but yours,
Yours are the eyes with which he looks
Compassion on this world,
Yours are the feet with which he walks to do good,
Yours are the hands, with which he blesses all the world.
Yours are the hands, yours are the feet,
Yours are the eyes, you are his body.

I've loved that poem since the first day I heard it, but over the last few days, I've seen these feet as Christ's feet...are they the feet of the homeless? or the feet of someone in a third-world country? an illegal immigrant who's found his way across our borders? I don't know who's feet they are, but I believe they are Christ's Feet, and he waits to see if we'll wash them, if we'll anoint them.

It scares me, this tug I feel on my heart. I kind of like watching someone else from the sidelines care for the poor. But something's moving; albeit slowly.

When I joined the Catholic Church, I had just lost my job, and the position of the Director of St. Thomas Center in Angleton was open. It is a ministry to the poor. "Shoot," I thought..."I can do that!" But first I had to take a Parish Social Ministries class in order to qualify. So I did--3 months of classes a couple of days a week, driving to Houston. For the most part, it undid me. I discovered all my prejudices toward the poor--all my thoughts and concepts that had been formed over my lifetime. I never even knew I had them. But I learned how mis-informed I was and how UNready I was to work with the poor. At the end of the class, the teacher asked how we planned to use what we had learned. I confessed that first I had to digest it. It was part of the "Great Reveal" for me. I knew nothing.

The last few years have simply been a growing awareness of God's love for the poor, and God's heart for justice, a simple growing awareness of how unfair life is. I am lucky to have been born this side of the border. I'm lucky to have been born white. I'm lucky to have been born middle class. I'm lucky to be married to an engineer who's had a job for at the same place for these 30 years. Flat lucky. I deserve nothing more than they have, and they don't deserve what they have.

So, I still don't know anything, but awareness is growing. And my heart of stone is being softened and "Love one another as Christ has loved you" is being written on it. Don't have a clue what the next move is. For the last couple of days, it's simply been to paint and think and ponder and listen to wonderful music and to say once again, "Here I am Lord..."