In Praise of Red...

In Praise of Red...Acrylic on Board...colour study

Gift package arrives all wrapped up ribbon red...year swept quick away...thoughts toward celebrated Christmas remind what’s often missed! 

Year flies by without deep thought...

Lives lived in slashing gray...

What’s been missed as on we’ve got?...

Robins certain flight in May...

On one Amazon excursion, companions excitedly pointed up toward feathered squadron skydivers red and though I searched with hard intent, I saw alone but green, or green surmised...this, the joy of being a color blind artist. Having said that, when red stands on stage alone, I sometimes see enough to say, ah...so that’s a joy worth celebration, whereas in any crowd it slinks to gray.

I own a single contact lens, deep blood red, which, when put into one eye, gives a visual 3D dimensional feel to red...somehow I don’t think very accurate, as all the ‘reds’ dance out in front of everything else in fluorescent ‘pink’...but who knows for sure? It also leaves others who, glancing into my eye, horror, feeling a distinct need to call a doctor as all they see is certain corneal rupture!

Early mornings gold green haze in France’s Normandy, forty years past, as apples off a toppled cart created avalanche of rolling red toward teenaged band at rest below. Farmer’s disgust on hill above with red faced sure, turned on heel to tractor red, belching blue exhaust from both mouth and machine. His unexpected and then chosen loss became weeks sweet supply of round red provision. It was not all that long however, until our fearless leader reverted...feeding us bottled tripe, horse meat, red potatoes cold, with a touch of bread, and of course...water...all in the name of ‘spiritual discipline!’ 

Made me think...hmmmm...not all red is fun, and tripe, bread and water have really very little to do with the spiritual disciplines! 

Side note...lost much ruddy weight that summer...while in minds eye I dreamed of ...

Raspberry jam pasted thick, dripping red off buttered toast. Strawberry sauces lacing summer sundaes punctuated with cherry maraschino! Cherries Jubilee bubbling red in brandy sauce as waiters celebrate Caribbean breezes. Dinners of lobster broiled with beef red rare or salmon rich, from far and deep...and then, to wash it down...a light rosé...or burgundy. 

On lighter note, and further south with red hot sauce...the chili made...tomatoes mixed with peppers flame...then watermelons cool and fresh reprieve. 

Hot air balloon floats red cross bluest sky, while birthday balloons below, with ribbons tied, attempt to stretch and join...each with gifts unique bring contentments joy, the other could not give...

Christmas cranberries lay red aside turkey white. Poinsettia’s floral flames and holly berries crimson imitate above fireplace warm. Old Saint Nick’s eastern fine red suit and Rudolph’s blinking nose bring childlike delight. Red glass baubles hang on evergreen while lights daub bright with gaiety.

Christmas Red!

Sally Ann’s swinging kettle rings hope from dark to light...reminds with gratitude to give...to bring another’s day some bright...

Poppies red attach November Canadian collars, remembering sacrifice complete, those whose dripped red blood gave all for freedoms sake.

Scarves red with accent suave...on town with rubies flaunt...gifts of garnet give...jasper’s facets depth reflects, sparkle through from cuts sharp deep.

Life is red full!

Candy valentines and cards of hearts...

Lips of red that curl and smile...

Carnations bloom in summers sun...

Rose unfurls to stretch and sing...

Skies of cadmium red astound...

Glows alizarin in pink delight...

Shepherds morn to come...

Across same skies they wing and whirl...

Tanager’s stage on highest branch...

Cardinal contrasts pure white snow... 

Blackbirds epaulette’s red, first hope of spring to come...

Forest’s haunting knocks as woodpecker pounds red deep to bark...

Ladybug strolls on sun streaked sill...while foxes red our forests grace...

On southern trails...

Macaw’s screech scarlet on sandy walls...

Flycatcher Vermillion way above intercept all those ‘that bug’...

Flamingo and Ibis strut flaming stuff...

Magnificent frigate birds soar high on Galapagos volcanics red as...

Aerial pirates float...great red ballooned out front and...

Scarlet peacock butterflies in rain forest green...flit on orchids rouge...while,

Ant columns red, they march to war...and blood is spilt...reminding of that rift of yore...

Cathedrals windows, cut red stained glass...sparkling quiet wonders light...and just outside red buses rush, and not too far, troops in scarlet regalia guard those wrapped crimson royal, while simple folk use vertical rectangles red that ring and cling to time, long since memory.

Scarlet Lake, Quinacridone magenta...the painters palette dips...attempts to replicate autumn leaves and sumac’s bright, and then at night in search of heavens deep, views Mars or super novas far beyond.

Another year is quickly gone, sights so few of red recall, and why we think as year dissolves would scarlet scriptures thread of hope which, just as stop sign insists response, we run directly through, and often crash or nearly so, and miss the news so brightly sent and replace Him yes, with but an ‘X.’

In quest for wisdom’s knowledge deep with human choice communion broke, we bit and swallowed hard and choked, and caused red flow to cover shame, the pain and brokenness to grow. 

So then began redemptions plan entwined through centuries long. 

Abel’s sacrifice of ancient times got the nod and murders red results were spent. Street walker Rahab, through faith and grace redeemed, her life once ‘used,’ now in service higher saves and linked with DNA to absolute redemption.

The plan it seems, turns interminable brokenness on its head and redeems who ever wants to come. 

In Israel’s history, firstborn redemption was received because of sacrificial lamb’s blood being brushed on household doorposts, and to this day Passover celebrates. The Day of Atonement, Yom Kippur the Hebrew word "kaphar" translated "atonement" means literally "to cover." 

Now in testament and covenant new, God covers by Christ’s interception, because I’ve missed the mark.


The scarlet thread continued by the forerunner, John the Baptist who pointed to Jesus and said, "Behold the Lamb of God, which takes away the sin of the world" (John 1:29). 

At Christmas time, the color red reminds of Herod’s slaughtered innocents, in tragic ruse to circumvent eternities plan. It points short years ahead to Roman soldiers stripping Jesus naked of simple clothes, placing cheap scarlet drapery as ‘robe’ upon His shoulders and thorny needles long, a crown that dug red deep and spear that pierced through side, to mock this one who with solo volition, lay down His life a ransom for all whose aim is even slightly off!

So, with red tear stained eyes, reflecting on life’s constant loss, invited again to bring...props all gone, to Christ’s red cross and burdens lay and sorrows freely stow with knowledge firm that He waits to pick and carry them and me.

Christmas is about intentional sacrifice, joy of hope beyond...and although being ‘X’ed out by most is He worth true investigation?

What if His claims are just maybe true? 

So what to do, to give him due?

In gratitude receive His gift of Christmas red, and then give thanks for other red reminders throughout the year which wait aside for moments brief that point to things beyond the slashing grey!

In Praise of Red...Acrylic on board...colour study 2

Soli Deo Gloria

J. Douglas Thompson...SDG

Copyright 2011

Risk Taking and the Wonders of Angel Falls

Angel Falls...a wonder less travelled

I see risk and am drawn as moth to flame. I choose often to live edge close! Not to risk offers temporary comfort but leads to stilted blandness, few if any memories, let alone any personal growth. 


While on vacation in Venezuela, I remembered that the world’s highest waterfall was located deep in its Amazonian wild. Immediately it seemed the logical move was putting another checkmark on my bucket list. I really don’t have a bucket list per se, but as I reflect over a lifetime of worldwide adventure in sixty-five plus countries, I have often leapt before logic had opportunity to lasso!

Logic had nothing to do with this decision!

Adventure put caution in a headlock as I began to pursue the idea of visiting this lost wonder of the world.

We left the hotel, grabbed a cab and found a pilot at a small local airport. With my limited modicum of Spanish I asked him if he could fly us there. 

The implications of the kind of aircraft he was willing to take us on in this illogical journey, were quickly dismissed as adventure’s adrenaline rush pushed all that to one side. A small single engine piper was to be our mode of transport. Not knowing the length of the trip, I passed over my five hundred bucks and we boarded.

Climbing high over the Orinoco River delta we followed that river toward the Amazon jungle and ultimately to where south east Venezuela, western British Guiana and north west Brazil intersect. I now know that our destination was eight hundred desolate miles away.

This shot I took on another Amazon adventure...a future blog...
gives the idea

The further we winged, the greater the risk as all we saw was yellow brown soup-like crocodile and piranha infested river waters snaking distant. Disconcerted anxiety rose when the ‘pilot’ hammered away with his fist in an attempt to maintain intermittent radio contact with his girlfriend. Sleet pelted us through a window lodged open, as we rocked and rolled through weather's thrashing.

Ninety minutes in...Amazonian quilt stitched unending green..two hours beyond, a dirt grey scar appeared on the back of the green giant...we began our descent.

Angel Falls, meaning waterfall of the deepest place is the world's highest. Sixteen times that of Niagara, it plunges into the mysterious ‘lost world’ of Canaima. Dominant tabletop mountains guard vast impenetrable jungle, lost Savannah’s and lagoons of incredible Eden-like beauty. The height of the Falls is so great that, before arriving anywhere in proximity to the jungle floor below, much of the water has already evaporated or has been carried away as fine mists. 

Historically, this remote area was part of Sir Walter Raleigh’s search for the lost ‘El Dorado’ or ‘City of Gold’ in the late fifteen hundreds. Today we live in an incredible era where on a whim, for a few hundred bucks, we can embrace experience which cost many an explorer their entire lives...and easily could have ours!

At falls foundation water rushes to the Churun River which in turn streaks toward the glorious Yuri Falls. Half orb beach, pearl white, flour like sand encircles palm tree lined lagoon...then...never ending jungle.

Local tribes people took us across the lagoon in dugout canoes. Confronted with the power of magnificent horseshoe-like Yuri Falls, gleaming white with thunderous cataract spray reminded me of a mini version found on the Canadian side of Niagara. Smaller, but powerful enough that one misstep would instantly drag us over the precipice. 

Ignoring that possibility, we climbed behind the falls. 

Niagara provides a cement walkway to stroll behind the falls in perfect safety, experiencing the mists but without danger. Here, a rugged rocky uneven natural water soaked rocky ledge is the path. The falls edge, no more than two feet to our left, pulled with magnetic force attempting to draw us over. Our only support was a three-inch slimy wet rope, strung loosely on our right. Struggling against panic, faces blinded...water lashing...oxygen muzzled, we climbed. Arriving at the river above we emerged drenched but content in our survival...then...we had to traverse part of the river above the falls, plunging only a few yards to our left. Carefully extricating ourselves from those raging waters, we arrived back to the trail and terra-firma! 

Whew! 

Re-boarding our piper wings, we took off, wending up the valley toward Angel Falls. Skimming rainforest feather tops, banking hard right, enormity stepped up to face us down. Climbing rapidly almost vertical toward the magnificent tabletop, it’s sheer massive chest seemed to rise in tandem with our flight. Breathless we cleared the giants shoulder mere fifteen feet from granite skin. Climbing a touch more, circling hard left, our left wing tip skimming inches above the rushing torrent, we flew directly from the river center down and directly out over the falls. Chasm’s mist and green grandeur opened, extending endless, as arms before embrace.

There are many metaphorical tacks that I could follow regarding this adventure, but let me circle around a little, touching down to talk about life’s misty brevity and what are we going to make of it.

To be sure when taking off on life’s journey, options galore are presented. We are usually given advice about ‘playing it safe’ and ‘not rocking the boat.’ We are advised to get a ‘real job’ staying safe within boundaries to ensure bright futures. Depending on upbringing, there are abundant excuses why risk isn’t an option for us. We do this in our daily routines, so why would it be any different when it comes to our faith journey? We often curl up in our petrified gated communities of ‘faith,’ pacified by the notion that we’ve made it in. Through our lack of risk on behalf of kingdom purpose we say in essence, to hell with the rest of the world. 

Just as in my adventure into Amazonian wilds, where indelible marks of visual satisfaction still inhabit memory, so it is with risking in surrendered obedience to His service call. Whether risk large or small, rewards have eternal consequence bringing deep, often unseen, meaningful return on investment...and for the record, sometimes deep residual pain...but...

No pain...no gain...and it’s usually residual pain which is the impetus for true ongoing ministry.

When lifetimes final risk appraisal from our eternal master is presented, will I receive a ‘well done’ or will the dust of inaction swirl nearby? 

It’s never too late!

I have but the next twenty-four hours to fill the canvas of my life with either a legacy of a bright inviting composition of a portrait well lived jumping off the wall or the drab under-painting of what might have been a masterpiece. For those of you who know me well, you will likely concur that my natural bent seems to go toward the underpainting. For me it takes risk to step into sunny side up!

Sometimes paintings call to the artist saying, ‘I’m ready, use me, do whatever it takes.’ 

Am I ready to consider intentionally committing to readiness instead of sitting on the shelf?  Am I willing to be usable by the master artist himself? 


He wants to pick me up and use the unique gifts He first has given! He reminds with quiet, winsome pursuit, as the consummate gentleman, that He will wait indefinitely, saying...it takes two to tango!

For the love of God…take a risk today!

“When this is done, I will go to the King, even though it is against the law. And if I perish, I perish.”  Esther 4:16 NIV

P.S. Speaking of risk...any movie making endeavor involves huge risk...check out my producer friend, Karen Pascal’s latest documentary...this time on Christmas. Check out the trailer at...

http://www.journeytochristmas.com

Soli Deo Gloria

J. Douglas Thompson...SDG

Copyright 2011

Yuri Falls...not your average run of the mill, tourist attraction!

On Gifts...cohesion’s golden glaze!

'Laurentian Evening Crescendo' Acrylic on Canvas 48"X 60"

Auditory symphonic landscapes intersected my age nine life when a small cardboard blue turntable box with sound quality to match, arrived at our rural prairie Alberta dwelling. 

Undulating rotating grooves of warping vinyl platters black...

Circular pre-digital vibrations...brought thinly to life...

Beethoven, Tchaikovsky and Stravinsky.

Harmonic wonder...melodies sown...

Strains of scherzo’s scented significance...

Counter melodies wafted, inhaled...

Prairie skies...trumpets towering crescendo...

Viola’s vast grasslands shimmer pacific green...

Woodwinds to percussion crash...wandering brook to waterfall.

Cello’s earthy full throated mist ascends...waters edge to virgin pine...

Home of haunting northern loon.

Imaginations refrain...journey’s modulating shift begins...

Short years later...a teenager, sits high, alone, enraptured...last row...Toronto’s Massey Hall balcony. 

Concert follows magic concert!

Seiji Ozawa, long haired famed Japanese maestro fences oxygen with saber like baton...auditory eruptions...volcanic reds and crash...then...softly repairs to trickled timbre...turquoise whispering...quiet cobalt streams...tantalizing adagio to worlds afar...counterpoints divergent diversity clarified to single voice...Toronto Symphony Orchestra. 

Sounds reverberating potency!

It was here I recognized the value of the original versus the replicated. Layered passionate deep versus skins epidermal shallow. To run ones finger over a textured painting versus the slippery surface of an offset print. To know the hand of the artist danced leaving DNA across that exact surface rather than a metal mastodon spitting hundreds of duplicate images an hour. To be present, touching deep vibration, textured strains showering senses made the ‘trade’ worthwhile. 

The ‘trade’...endless grocery weeks of teenaged shelf stocking...continuously created end-aisled tin thin canned castles...all exchanged for ninety moments thick with awe. 

Forty-five years later, part of my daily diet of soul cleansing sound emits through tiny ear buds as classical music engulfs mornings caffeine reality.

Lest you think I am moved only by high symphonic skies, John, Paul, Ringo and George, the famous Fab four, at Gardens emblazoned with Canada’s blue motif, or Antonio Benedetto the painter crooner, wailed and strummed eclectic chords into my early sixties heart. Imagination wandered its winding path towards diversity. 

Syncopated jazz, big band, blues and funk, rock n roll’s metal wild wail, Latin rhythms steamy cadence, French cafes’ accordion tears or Gregorian chants echoing cathedrals ancient abutments find various place settings at my soul’s full table. 

Sitting mid back, silently in Paris’ Notre Dame Cathedral under towering grand organ’s growl, shook me to the core. Today, a contemporary worship band, ancient hymn, or soft interpretation of some fresh folk or love song, each pour individual rivulets of healing, springs deep laden aquifer toward a souls dry and crusty recess. 

What however of todays blog on gifts united and cohesions golden glaze?

Whether philharmonic grand, jazz combo three, heavy metal or Caribbean Reggae, all have similar challenges. Each member comes to music making with a disparate paradigm...standing artistically alone. Yet, combined as a pack of collaborators, they meld, bending into others play...from solo’s ego flight to conjoined harmony, humbling toward the other.

Orchestra’s concertmaster ensures tonal continuity. No matter the genre this simple profound standard must be adhered to. The philharmonic benchmark is note ‘A’ played by the Oboe as foundational truth for each member...

Things must be in tune! 

Jazz brings capriccio improvisation far outside any fenced restriction. In this most difficult of musical genres, we enter the world of genius. Here, musicians innately sense the next players direction, fusing on the fly. Despite freedoms range, leaders still set a vision to meld toward.

Islands we are not! 

Some lead, each plays, all should listen...integral integration to works final culmination. 

Gifts standing brilliant purple need dashes aside of yellow’s compliment to enhance its cause. Mixed with complimentary’s twin, myriads of neutral color graduations impart cohesive magic.

We can decide our note is the most important thing to constantly blow, whether written into score or not. We may think being the only one out of tune is just fine as long as it is loud and incessant. A single player off beat sets our collective teeth on edge...around the bend! When players insist playing their part always as the solo or off a different score, the critics write their sad reviews and end arrives chaotically inglorious. Instead of ushering in heaven, we leave with discordant disappointment!

Unity and beauty require listening closely to the other, melding diversity into humility’s cohesive auditory or visual glow to cover jarring dissonance. 

Playing our part, using supernaturally assigned gifts, paying close attention to rests, cadence and interpretation results in unity that brings masterful peace. 

Adherence to conductors authoritative interpretive vision is key to beautiful unified results. When unity occurs, the audience exults in joyous response...sinews are strengthened and new adherents desire to return with ongoing active participation.

Embrace deeply your furnished supernatural gifts, given to play, not locked away in dust of waste. Standards each set very high.

Engage all full...

Bow to string...

Fingers flash to ivory’s touch...

Sticks to drum skins...tattoo tempos flourish...

Run with riffs, guitars neck in deep massage...

Whatever gift received to play, join the genre that wears you well...made to measure, just for you and kingdom benefit! You may fit philharmonic grand and conversely into metal wild. Enjoy your part and genre, serve there well, but please, don’t insist that your particular styles predisposition is the only that brings value to kingdom purposes.

Take a peak outside the box! Stop and consider the natural world that speaks voluminously of the Creators character as consummate diversity. Whatever gifting you are called to play, engage fully with unique excellence, but please, don’t insist on being a tuba in a string quartette...it never works!

“How good and pleasant it is when God’s people live together in unity!” 

Psalm 133:1 (NIV)

“Now there are different kinds of spiritual gifts, but it is the same Holy Spirit who is the source of them all. There are different kinds of service in the church, but it is the same Lord we are serving. There are different ways God works in our lives, but it is the same God who does the work through all of us. A spiritual gift is given to each of us as a means of helping the entire church.” 

1 Corinthians 12: 4-7 (NLT)

Soli Deo Gloria

J. Douglas Thompson...SDG

Copyright 2011