tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-82194582024-03-12T20:19:21.624-07:00Life at 3 miles an HourBecoming a character in the story of your placeA Pastoral Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10365312480897293530noreply@blogger.comBlogger359125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8219458.post-13727662360517466522023-10-15T11:14:00.003-07:002023-10-15T11:14:38.802-07:00"Can You Spare a Minute?"How many times do I get asked that question in an average week ... just minding my own business ... heading in to grab some grocery item ... walking through downtown ... on my way for coffee? I'm not a fan of that question on a number of levels. First of all, it implies that the intended interchange is only going to take a minute, when a more honest inquiry might be "Can you spare 10 A Pastoral Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10365312480897293530noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8219458.post-63263743926638630082020-11-13T09:13:00.003-08:002020-11-13T09:13:46.850-08:00TeachableWe all know those people ... some of us are those people... the people who have an answer for everything. There are a few variations of them. There is the version that is already out in front of the game and pursues their path and plants their flag in it no matter the reality. They don't even remotely claim to be interested in the opinion, experience, or outright knowledge of A Pastoral Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10365312480897293530noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8219458.post-35833225323872022592020-11-06T09:54:00.001-08:002020-11-06T09:54:28.637-08:00ReturnI picked a great day to return. Alki point is nearly always the place that the Fall and Winter storms batter the Seattle area shoreline. The winds from the North funnel down the sound for a direct hit on our urban peninsula. From the warmth of my window seat in Starbucks I can feel the waves pounding the promenade. Even from across the street, while sipping on the first of my holiday A Pastoral Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10365312480897293530noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8219458.post-33646333551209182772019-07-17T11:29:00.002-07:002019-07-17T11:29:41.738-07:00Threads
I've always been a proponent of cause and effect. Very simply defined, doing this leads to that … very simple and uncomplicated. Even though culture and an industry of ambulance chasers resists and seeks to eradicate undesirable effects (insert responsibility here), cause and effect still rule the day... unless you're trying to carry a cup of coffee between your legs while driving.&A Pastoral Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10365312480897293530noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8219458.post-32611512504517906852019-06-17T15:14:00.002-07:002019-06-17T15:24:42.540-07:00Speaking in tongues
"If I speak in the tongues[a] of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal." For most of the past 6 years my existence has centered around what is arguably the most intense urban renewal project anywhere in the country. For more than 10 years now this 10 block by 10 square block section of the city has been in a constant build mode thatA Pastoral Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10365312480897293530noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8219458.post-16788060359540423822019-01-11T10:37:00.003-08:002019-01-11T10:37:28.393-08:00defining lost
It's been well over 2 years since my last post here. It's not that I've not been writing at all … I do have other outlets that are a bit more specific to my current role. I just haven't been able to write here … in my own personal space, unloading and examining my own personal wrestling with faith and function. It's not that I haven't tried. Not a week goes by where I A Pastoral Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10365312480897293530noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8219458.post-25317582001876364182016-09-30T10:16:00.002-07:002019-06-17T15:21:57.356-07:00Living in the "in-between"For most of my life I would have been considered anything but urban. I've lived in the cornfields of the Midwest. I've lived among the rural farms of Upstate New York. Some of my fondest memories are still the many days of my life spent in the solitude and wild of the Adirondack mountains. In many ways I am convinced that those were the days that formed my inner places. I am an A Pastoral Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10365312480897293530noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8219458.post-30253081835016509082016-08-04T09:05:00.000-07:002016-08-04T09:05:57.273-07:00It's personal
As I have so many times in the life of this blog, I find myself writing in the midst of another life change. This time, despite a year ago swearing it would not happen again, we are once again moving ... changing residences ... new address, new neighborhood, even a new zipcode this time. In reality it is only about a dozen blocks away, but I'm also a dozen months older than the lastA Pastoral Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10365312480897293530noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8219458.post-48702334150296067262016-05-27T10:23:00.003-07:002016-05-27T10:33:36.418-07:00confessional In recent weeks I've been blessed with a challenging personal question, followed a few weeks later by an opportunity for some rest and reflection, where the question kept struggling to the surface. The question in this instance was what I considered to be my greatest weakness as a practitioner of the pastoral arts. The way it usually works is that a burning personal question A Pastoral Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10365312480897293530noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8219458.post-86818253418888024422016-05-13T09:57:00.000-07:002016-05-13T10:04:56.040-07:00heroic following
In my earliest years I never gave it much thought. I guess that I kind of had a "the world is flat" opinion that never really prompted a consideration for what lie to the West, beyond "the Great river" that split our country. Sure I read the text books, saw the movies, studied American geography, played "Oregon Trail". It wasn't until we made our cross country drive 16 years A Pastoral Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10365312480897293530noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8219458.post-13245754328274649012016-04-29T10:39:00.002-07:002016-04-29T11:01:48.628-07:00As it is in Amazon ...
Generally I prefer relaxed in a coffee shop environment. All I need is a good blend of coffee drawn by competent hands, a comfortable place to sit, some table space and free wifi, and I'm a happy boy. Usually, it goes without saying, the relaxed part comes with the territory. It's an unwritten social norm that such an environment is for casual connections or introverted joyousA Pastoral Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10365312480897293530noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8219458.post-17540715600055174552016-02-19T10:10:00.001-08:002016-02-19T10:12:35.901-08:00blank pages and the spiritual discipline of writing
I wrote a letter the other day. When I say that "I wrote a letter", I mean I actually wrote it ... with a pen and actual paper. I'll have to admit that it was a unique experience. It wasn't a post it or a memo, it was an actual letter with a beginning, middle, and ending ... on paper ... in ink ... with questionable penmanship. It was void of all the usual A Pastoral Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10365312480897293530noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8219458.post-16523221580799898972016-02-02T10:27:00.000-08:002016-02-02T10:27:36.771-08:00The fight for optimism
I've never been known for my optimism. People might even be quick to label me a pessimist, but I would have to disagree. I consider myself a realist. In my definition of these terms, and since I'm writing, I get to define them, a pessimist is someone who often or always thinks the worst based on nothing in particular. A realist is someone who thinks the worst based on A Pastoral Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10365312480897293530noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8219458.post-91907831569177649982015-10-19T10:33:00.001-07:002015-10-19T10:33:56.523-07:00Building
As someone who has been given a certain mechanical aptitude along with the accompanying joy of building things, living in this neighborhood can sometimes be a virtual playground for my imagination. In the midst of the expected annoyance of noise, dust, and traffic diversions rises a sense of wonder and amazement of watching buildings from 7 to 40 stories high rise on A Pastoral Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10365312480897293530noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8219458.post-81426676048424904792015-10-05T11:24:00.001-07:002015-10-05T11:24:29.025-07:00Thoughts on MondaysSo it's Monday, and as easy as it might be to stand here as if in a hole looking up at at some insurmountable summit, I'd like to see this day instead as the beginning of a new journey. Even as these words appear on my screen, I cannot believe that they have originated from my fingers ... Or better yet, from my mind to my fingers. I've been programmed to curse Monday ... to see it as A Pastoral Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10365312480897293530noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8219458.post-31566617612676147452015-08-20T11:31:00.001-07:002015-08-20T11:32:04.678-07:00HomeWe are moving again this week. It was only a year ago that I said "not again". It was only a year before that that I said "not again". We haven't even moved our boxes yet and I am once again saying "not again". And yet I know this is probably not true. We did go 11 years in the same house a few years back before our nomadic tendencies have kicked back in. It A Pastoral Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10365312480897293530noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8219458.post-30843527496689383752015-07-29T10:09:00.001-07:002015-07-29T10:09:41.523-07:00worth itThis past weekend I had the privilege of being present for a memorial service honoring a fine lady who passed away recently. She lived into her 90's and I have had the joy of knowing her these past 15. Hers wasn't a traumatic death, it wasn't unexpected, and if anyone knew what promise lay before her in the afterlife, she certainly did. Let's just say that I wasn't attending herA Pastoral Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10365312480897293530noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8219458.post-768731297606908342015-06-23T04:36:00.001-07:002015-06-23T04:36:56.796-07:00Stability
If you haven't gained this from any previous posts, you should know that I live in an area of constant transition. Literally nothing has stayed the same for more than a month at a time on any block in my neighborhood. It's a constant state of flowing into or out of existence. I can guarantee you that Google earth will be of little value here. Less than a year ago we wereA Pastoral Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10365312480897293530noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8219458.post-17224914990264266062015-06-10T02:27:00.002-07:002015-06-10T02:27:43.632-07:00Further
So a month ago I mused about life that was coming up and decisions on the how's and when's of navigating the path. A month in, I find myself in the midst of it. Most of us understand that life can be planned to a degree and then ultimately it has a way of just happening regardless of plans. When you give over control, it can get even more interesting.
My journey of pastoral A Pastoral Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10365312480897293530noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8219458.post-57077597995423392592015-04-14T10:45:00.001-07:002015-04-14T10:45:20.036-07:00JumpSo my last post probably indicated a level of exasperation when it comes to wrestling with God through the medium of prayer. For the weak of heart it may have seemed a bit jaded ... And I'm sure to some degree that it was, and in fact continues to be. However, I choose to view it as real and honest, raw and certainly uncomfortable. It mirrors my journey to a degree. You'll neverA Pastoral Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10365312480897293530noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8219458.post-64442993384720346512015-03-25T14:26:00.000-07:002015-03-25T14:26:02.601-07:00on ghosts, geese, and grasping at the windThis post will someday make its way into a book if I ever can begin the book writing process. For
now, since I seem to have enough of a challenge just getting a post done here or there, I will settle on a few hundred words to unload something out of my soul. I have a dilemma. Its a fairly serious one, far more serious than the decision for or against skinny jeans. My A Pastoral Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10365312480897293530noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8219458.post-85926304735970124992015-03-25T13:41:00.001-07:002015-03-25T13:41:47.971-07:00Imago DeiSitting at the Starbucks in my neighborhood would be considered quite challenging for anyone who might have sensory challenges. On a typical day it can resemble a between classes campus hangout. The people are predominantly Amazon in origin with a random smattering of Microsoft and bio-tech thrown in for variety. I am, by my own observation, one of the few here who hasn't merelyA Pastoral Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10365312480897293530noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8219458.post-88783461874595573062015-01-09T11:16:00.000-08:002015-01-09T11:16:01.160-08:00"Not all who wander are lost" ... but some are dangerously close
I've returned to an old friend today. We've been apart for a good number of months now... a longer stretch than ever in our 10+ year relationship. It is probably not a friend that many would recognize and certainly not one that many would understand. In fact, its quite possible that some who had suspected that I had lost all sense will have all doubt removed. The A Pastoral Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10365312480897293530noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8219458.post-45472106122765286062014-09-29T12:10:00.001-07:002014-09-29T12:10:17.790-07:00Miserable joy and glorious pain
"I don't know where you're leading, unless you've led me here" is a line from a Rich Mullins song, penned near the end of his life. I think about that line often. Every once in awhile I slow down and look back over the years to the afternoon spent lying on my back on this rock, in a clearing in the Rockies at 10,000 feet. I've just passed the 10 year anniversary of this 4 A Pastoral Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10365312480897293530noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8219458.post-82092141415236523632014-08-27T17:55:00.002-07:002014-08-27T17:55:28.166-07:00Day 27 "30 years in 30 days"
I'm going to post this today because I'm pretty sure that I won't have any time to get it in by the 31st of this month. The 31st is the day after our "30 years in 30 days" celebration. If you've joined this show late, then you should know that the 30 years is the number of years that we've been married and the 30 days represents 30 different pictorial visions of moments in time A Pastoral Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10365312480897293530noreply@blogger.com0