UP a Snowy Mitten

"Okay, you see the hand?" We're looking at Michigan.

"Like a mitten, the thumb and the hand."

"That's it. We're driving all the way through that and out the top end."

"What happens when you fall out the top of the mitten?"

"I think you land in Arctica or Iceland or something. They call it the U-P which really just means, well, up."

"So you're going up to UP."

"No we're going further. You see the little pointy thing at the top of UP? That's the North Pole, I'm pretty sure. That's where we're going."

"To the North Pole? But it doesn't point straight up. It's all sideways leany."

"Course not, cuz of the wind. And Santa Claus. You wouldn't stand up straight either if he landed on you once a year."

"The North Pole in January. Why not December?"

"Well the locals don't call it the North Pole. They call it Houghton, Michigan."

"But Houghton in January? Again, why?"

"Little sister's getting married. And not to Santa Claus. Or an elf. And I get to wear a tux."

"Well, la-de-da. You know what I think the pointy thing is? I think it's the pinkie finger sticking out when they tip a bottle of beer."

"Now you're just being silly."

"I'm not the one driving through a mitten and going up to UP."

Blatant Flag Waving

Yeah, I'm proud of my country. What an amazing sight, the peaceful, orderly, respectful transfer of power from one party to the other. Two factions with distinctly different agendas, and one steps aside as the other steps in. Why? The common good.

In some countries, this would involve violence and bloodshed, rioting in the streets. You don't yield to your political opponent peacefully. Yet here we do.

It warms my heart to see people put aside differences to work together for a common goal. Politicians and parties will disagree about the means, but the goal for most of us is the same - a safe and prosperous nation in which to raise our families and conduct our lives.

So here’s what I hope will change. I hope President Obama can hold to his belief that we are a United States of America. I hope he can foster an atmosphere of co-operation in Washington. I hope he can inspire people to look at what they agree on, not just what they disagree about. That would be a welcome change.

Hmm…what if Christ-followers were inspired to work together toward our common goal? Now that would be real change.

Destiny

"Yet who knows

whether you have

come to the kingdom

for such a time as this?"

Camera Therapy

What the eye saw:

That's really all I was taking a picture of.
The fork of a tree piled with snow.
It was cool.

It's like some scenes in my life.
Where I focus on the details.
Thinking it's the core of the matter.

So imagine my surprise
when I looked at the screen
and saw this scene.

What the camera saw:

This is not what I saw out the window of my truck
as I was going out my drive on Friday morning.
This is what my camera saw. Why?

Sometimes all you need is another set of eyes
to look at the scene right in front of you,
and it takes on a whole new meaning.

Take a scene in your life
That seems limiting or difficult
Show it to a friend
Then look at it through their eyes
I'll bet it looks different.

They Call Me Zero

They call me Zero, all the boys in third grade, ever since the incident in Art class last October. Barry thinks it’s funny. Thomas is just being mean. But Ginger still smiles her freckly smile and calls me Philip. Well, we’ll see who’s laughing next week.

It was a simple painting day in Art class that Friday. Not like the day we had to build a house out of lifesavers. It was sunny outside, and two weeks before Halloween. I remember because my Dad wouldn't let me make the jack-o-lantern earlier. So I was all excited to get home and start carving out the pumpkins we bought the night before at Farmer Bob’s.

Miss Korrine, our Art teacher, laid out big sheets of paper that she likes to call our canvas. She passed out the paints and brushes while we put on our painting T-shirts. Then she pushed back her kinky red hair, and using a brush as a pointer, she explained our project.

"I want you to choose something you like, either in the classroom, or outside the window. But I don't want you to paint what you see. I want you to paint what you feel. So your painting won't look like an object, but an emotion."

Now, I was confused. Paint a feeling? But I didn't want to waste time, and I thought maybe if I finished quickly I could leave early. So I looked out the window to see if something out there gave me a feeling.

And then it happened. I saw a tree, with beautiful red and gold and green leaves. I thought of the tree in my front yard, where I would sit to carve my pumpkin. Now I was really feeling something. I was feeling in a hurry to get home. I needed to paint that hurry feeling.

I grabbed the biggest brush we had, and looked at the paint colors in front of me. I had red and green, but no gold. The blue would have to do. I dunked my brush in the red paint and made a wide stroke all the way from one side of my canvas to the other. I wiped the brush on my shirt, then dunked it in the green and made another sweep. I did the same with the blue. Then since I really liked red, I made one final brush stroke with the red, this one catty-corner.

I stood back and looked at it. It didn't look like anything, just like Miss Korrine had said. But it looked like I felt. Like I was in a hurry to get home to my red and green and gold tree and carve a pumpkin. I felt proud. I painted an emotion. And I did it in less than a minute.

I looked around and saw most of the kids just starting. Ginger was carefully painting tiny pink clouds with a tiny little brush. I finished first. I won.

Excitedly I called to Miss Korrine. "I'm all done! I painted a hurry up feeling. Look!" I pointed to my four brushstrokes proudly.

But a strange thing happened. My teacher did not look happy. She walked over slowly, her lips pinched together like she did when Barry ate all his lifesavers instead of building a house.

"Philip, I'm disappointed. You didn't even try. An artist must put some soul into his work." Miss Korrine pulled out her red Sharpie, and right on my painting, in the top left corner, she put a big red zero. "Now sit down and wait till everyone else is done."

I was crushed. This was all wrong. I did what she asked, and she didn't like it. Worse, I didn't even get to go home early. Even worse, the other kids started snickering. Thomas pointed at the painting, whispered something to Barry, and they looked at me and smirked. Soon all the kids were looking at the painting, and at me, and giggling. Except Ginger, who smiled sweetly. Miss Korrine smacked her paint brush on her desk loudly, and everybody went back to work.

Twenty-five long minutes later, the bell rang and we all ran for the door. Just as we got to the hallway, Thomas stopped me. "Hey Zero, nice painting." Of course, everybody heard it. And everybody thought it was cool, because Thomas said it. From then on, I was Zero at school.

It was a long winter. All my Christmas cards at school were addressed to Zero, and my Valentine’s Day cards. Except for Ginger. She handed me a Valentine’s Day card with Philip written in cursive, and little hand-drawn hearts. She smiled like she had a secret and asked me to open it right away. Inside was the flyer that changed my life.

On bright red paper covered with snowflakes, the headline read:

Igloo Children’s Beautiful Winter (ICBW) Festival,
announces the featured artists for their
February exhibition.

Ginger leaned in excitedly and pointed to the item halfway down the page:

In the Elementary division of Abstract Art
we will feature a piece by Philip Bartholomew.
Philip is a student of Miss Korrine at
Rovenstine Elementary.

His piece entitled Hurry Up
was submitted by his friend

Ginger Peach.

I was speechless. Until Thomas walked past singing, “Zero has a girlfriend.”

I smirked at him, leaned over and kissed Ginger on the cheek. “Thank you for being nice to me.”

“I liked your painting, Philip. The Festival people really liked the bright red sun you put in the corner." She winked at me. "Should we ask Miss Korrine to drive us to the exhibition?”

I nodded, smiled, and said, “You can call me Zero.”


*This is the promised response to this very entertaining post.

Dream an Evil Queen

For your amusement, I present a short dream segment I wrote as part of a collaborative story for our writers group. I had fun writing it, hope you enjoy it.

Gray clouds crept along the ground, bringing with them, I was sure, creeping little orbs wielding deadly knives. A dark shape oozed out of the smoldering haze toward me and I reached frantically for my sword. What I pulled instead from my belt was a jagged mirror. I looked at it in panic, and saw the lined gray face of my brother staring blankly from bloodshot eyes.

I hurled the mirror to the ground where it exploded in a violet tinged fireball. The flames curled up gracefully, curving around the stunningly gorgeous face of Etherea. She smiled a deadly smile, and beckoned with a blood-red tipped finger.

"Come, Valentine, you must bring the Master to us. My husband may be the Boss, but I am Queen. You will not disappoint your Queen."

"Bring the Master, bring the... I will not disappoint... I will not... disappoint the mirror..."

I was suddenly face to face with Etherea, her eyes burning into mine. "Who am I?" The voice was velvety shards of glass.

"My Queen...you are...my Queen." The violet flames of her hair wrapped around my head and squeezed until everything turned black.

Boot the Diva

The diva must go. Here at Village Square coffee bar, we pride ourselves on being tolerant and accepting of all kinds. But we have had quite enough of this one.

I know divas come in all shapes, sizes and genders, and ours is certainly unique. But you will best understand if you think of our diva thus; A blond cutie with a good brain but no idea what to do with it. She had street cred, and the right kind of friends. That was enough until she showed up in our coffee shop. There, much to her shock and surprise, she was expected to work hard, and work efficiently, every hour of every shift she put in.

This was obviously new territory for her. She had never worked a full day in her young life, I'm sure. She didn't have to, she was sleek and stylish, and just plain cool to have around. She had managed to slide by on those scant qualifications so far.

So she did what any good diva would do. She worked only when she wanted to, and only if conditions were absolutely ideally to her liking. If not, she threw fits. She had tantrums. She pouted. She vented so loudly every customer in the dining room stopped and looked and listened. One particularly noisy night the musician even commented on her behavior.

Will Diva For Paycheck. That would have been her sign.

Now you understand why the diva must go. So stand, raise a demitasse of crema-crowned espresso to the departure of our old espresso machine, the mechanical diva with a shiny steel facade, and a heart stained with rust and corrosion.

Sayonara. We miss you not.