Essay at a rock

It felt like the end of Prince Caspian. I had had a wonderful time in Europe with my brothers, whom I hadn't seen in ages, and with the family I lived with in France for a year as a teenager.

Now I was alone at the Zurich airport, with many hours to go before my flight, and unwieldy pink suitcase to lug around.

After much debate on whether it was worth it to lug the suitcase back into Zurich to more exploring on my own, I spotted what looked like a path leading up to a bench on the hill. The path was paved and accesible. I set out.

The first time I was there, I jumped over some nettles, into a little green natural chapel, where I spent some time in prayer and reflection. I also asked for and found some alpine strawberries.

Eventually I meandered back down. Later, at supper time, I wandered up again, wanting to have a picnic supper at the top. This time I took the left fork of the trail. I was delighted to find some large boulders clustered around, and spent several minutes jumping from one to another in delight, before settling down to a picnic of gluten free bread and cheese.

Finished, I attempted to sketch my favourite rock from above, in memory of these small delights that day.

friendship

 

What can I write about this picture?

It is in honour of late nights playing Ligretto; laughing and talking until the early morning.

It is in honour of sitting together to read the Bible and pray.

It is in honour of sleeping under the Christmas tree to surprise my siblings in the morning.

It is in honour of "Good Night" "Kisher Pari" and "Sweet Dreams"

Of adventure, laughter, tears, and bear hugs.

Anda, eflin.

Writing and Sketching

I have moved more times than I care to count in my life, changing continents every two years while I still lived in the single digits. After that it slowed down, but I still moved a fair bit.

One day, tired of being uprooted constantly, and wanting  a reminder that God is in control, I painted a picture of a sad little girl being gently uprooted.

Over the summer, I was struggling once more with this grief. Within the struggle came a reminder of God's love and care, and a desire to repaint the picture with changes.

Now the girl is no longer passively being uprooted. Instead, she has been resisting -- holding onto the side of the pot. But now the Gardener has called her. In looking at Him, though her face is streaked with tears, she is letting go and reaching for Him.

Disclaimer: The main reason for this post is to let my students see how writing and sketches can work together in planning sometimes. However, I like to share the story behind things, hence the whole post.

A second attempt at returning.

The poinsetta branch above had been knocked off one of my mother's cherised plants. She tenderly placed it in a spice jar with some water, hoping that it would sprout roots.

Last year when I attempted to return, my camera developed a lens problem a week later. Saddened, and slightly stressed by work, I struggled to return to the blog immediately to post the failure. I think part of me hoped to fix it. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, for which I apologize.

Last week, I got a new camera. So once more, I am attempting to explore wonder, joy, and art. Hopefully, this time it will sprout roots.