Posts Tagged ‘illustration’

Chronicles in Ordinary Time 125: Thank You, Mazza Museum Tour 2017!

June 16, 2017

“…for I am in the way if being an amateur chemist; that is to say, I earn my living with it on the side, my real profession being the writing of poetry, at which I have had considerable success. Only last week I sold a poem to a magazine for $12, and the month before I received checks for $7.50 and $5.00 respectively, for verse…”
Edward Ansley, in Paul Gallico’s “The Glass Door”

The business of the making of Children’s Books is not often like the stories contained in Children’s Books. I have found the business of the making of Children’s Books to be unlike any other business I’ve engaged in…earning a living from making of Children’s Books is a difficult thing to do, and is frequently unrewarding.

Then, as in a Children’s Book, the Unlikely sometimes happens:

A parting shot—one of those photos one wishes they would have taken a better version of, if they had thought about it—of some of the members of this year’s [Year 23] Mazza Museum Tour; a busload of retired teachers and librarians, all of them docents at the Mazza Museum at the University of Findlay, in Findlay, Ohio. “The Mazza Museum is the most diverse collection of original artwork by children’s book illustrators in the world.”
https://www.mazzamuseum.org/

Every Summer [it really is Summer, somewhere in this country], these folks travel across the country to visit the studios of Children’s Book illustrators; purely for the love of Children’s Books.

I’m still not sure why, but I was honored by being invited to join this group for lunch this afternoon, along with Carolyn Conahan, a fellow illustrator located here in Portland. Last year I received a phone call  from Benjamin Sapp, the Director of the Mazza Museum, asking ‘how would I like to have a busload of people come to my studio to watch me work?’ I explained that my ‘studio’ is full when my wife is in here with me, and that I’m not sure a busload of people would fit inside our house…

So, this afternoon I told a busload of Children’s Book lovers about my haphazard journey as a Children’s Book illustrator—the illustrator of Children’s Books that ‘no one has ever read’…Exaggeration for effect. One of the visitors had a copy of “Oregon At Last” with her, so I’m not entirely unread— http://www.amazon.com/dp/B016T82HDY —it merely seems that way.

For the benefit of those who did not have the opportunity to visit my tiny, cluttered ‘studio’, some links—

A very old PowerPoint presentation of my office and my work:

http://mjarts.com/samples/MJ%20Arts%20Illustration%203%20parts.ppt

The computers have changed, the mess remains…

My youtube channel, containing a number of videos, and an interview on Back Page:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GspLTb3Qbq8&index=1&list=PLNGfGb77KAQh4TVIktKvkxCYGNGPXVylU

Some of my more recent images:

Dinosaurs on a Spaceship featuring the 10th Doctor [precursor to the 11th Doctor’s visit]

A BeeGees CD album for a private collector

Thank You, Mazza Museum Tour 2017!

 

Chronicles in Ordinary Time 121: Still, there is hope…

April 17, 2017

Does it bother anyone else that the symbol of America has become a bomb? ‘Don’t like them; don’t like the way they behave? Bomb the crap out of them.’ I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me; after all our national anthem sings, “And the rockets’ red glare, the bombs bursting in air, gave proof through the night that our flag was still there…” There are other countries whose national anthems that remember death and carnage. Maybe P45 was right in his inaugural speech when he spoke of “American Carnage”. He merely got the continent wrong.

The explosion above isn’t even nuclear; it’s one of the largest conventional explosive weapons in the US arsenal: the GBU-43 MOAB/B– Massive Ordnance Air Blast aka “Mother of All Bombs”. 21,600 pounds total weight, nearly 11 tons of TNT; there’s a ‘penetrator’ version that P45 ordered dropped on Afghanistan on April 13, 2017—Maundy Thursday in America. The night that Jesus was betrayed and arrested. How appropriate.

“The U.S. military’s announcement that it dropped the “mother of all bombs,” one of the largest non-nuclear devices, against an ISIS facility in Afghanistan comes despite the U.S. assessment that only about 700 ISIS fighters remain in the country. It’s the first time the bomb has been used on the battlefield.”
https://www.theatlantic.com/international/archive/2017/04/mother-of-all-bombs/522960/

“Each MOAB, or Massive Ordinance Air Blast – nicknamed the “mother of all bombs” – costs $16m out of a total programme cost of $314m which produced about 20 of the bombs.

Crunched down – and in the most cold-blooded terms – that means the US military has expended some 5% of its stockpile of MOABs to kill three dozen ISIS members at a cost of almost $450,000 per individual.”
https://www.theguardian.com/us-news/2017/apr/14/moab-attack-isis-baffling-choice-cold-blooded-terms-cost-afghanistan

This, added to the $60 million worth of cruise missiles P45 ordered launched a few days ago; which apparently did very little actual damage:

“Syrian officials said at least seven people were killed and nine wounded in US missile attack.”
https://www.theguardian.com/world/2017/apr/06/trump-syria-missiles-assad-chemical-weapons

Our President has used $76 million of munitions to kill less than 4 dozen people. And he wants most of the public services in our government to reduce their budgets and become more efficient…

 

History tends to ignore the fact that the US firebombed Tokyo before launching the two nuclear weapons in 1945.

Strategic bombing and urban area bombing began in 1944 after the long-range B-29 Superfortress bomber entered service, first deployed from China and thereafter the Mariana Islands. B-29 raids from those islands began on 17 November 1944, and lasted until 15 August 1945, the day Japan capitulated. The Operation Meetinghouse air raid of 9–10 March 1945, which annihilated 16 square miles and left over 1 million homeless, was later estimated to be the single most destructive bombing raid in human history. Japanese later called this event “Night of the Black Snow”.

With an average of 103,000 inhabitants per square mile and peak levels as high as 135,000 per square mile, the highest density of any industrial city in the world, and with firefighting measures ludicrously inadequate to the task, 15.8 square miles of Tokyo were destroyed on a night when fierce winds whipped the flames and walls of fire blocked tens of thousands fleeing for their lives. An estimated 1.5 million people lived in the burned-out areas.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bombing_of_Tokyo#Casualty_estimates

The Ashes of Hiroshima

Thousands of people burned alive.
There are shadows burned into the walls that remain of original Hiroshima and Nagasaki—the only remains of the people standing next to the walls when the blast of light occurred. Hundreds of thousands of people disintegrated.

For every son, daughter, husband, wife killed by our bombs, another terrorist is born; a family member, a lifelong friend, or simply one who is horrified by our hypocrisy—preaching to the world of our greatness, and killing indiscriminately. The boy above [the children were real, their appearance unknown] didn’t have the opportunity to become a terrorist. In the scene above he is already dead, but his body doesn’t know it yet. He will die, as his sister has died, in a few minutes. Victims of radiation poisoning. The young woman in the picture is a teacher, who had been in the country when the Bomb was dropped. She returned home to search for her missing niece and nephew. When she arrived in Hiroshima, all she found were children wandering around, searching for their dead parents. Every child she encounters that day, dies in her arms. She wrote of her story in a “Hiroshima Diary”. There are many such diaries in Japan.

We are fighting a war of ideology.
There are no winners; all those involved are losers.

We [Westerners] are hated for our cultural display of ‘freedom’. Our freedom to behave however we like; constantly offending those who have a cultural belief system from centuries past. If electronic communication was to cease, perhaps the incidents of terrorism would diminish. Perhaps not; however, it’s only in a dystopian worldview that electronic communication will cease. The concept makes a lot of money for “Hollywood”—further fueling the problem…

How do we solve this problem? One person at a time; teaching those who don’t understand our ways that we aren’t intending to offend them, we are simply living out a freedom that is available to all. We teach each person we encounter to live as friends. A difficult task for me, I prefer the life in my ‘cave’. I struggle in engaging with other people. A struggle I realize is worth the effort; and one I am called by my Creator to engage in.

Ken Burns’ “The National Parks” is playing in the living room behind me. A story of the American rape of the environment; and the visionary people who fought to stop the American Carnage by the creation of the National Park System.

The wilderness can heal humankind, if it is allowed… Sadly, under P45, the rape will continue.

There’s a Service Dog who is a member of our congregation; a golden lab named Cupid. I make an effort to say ‘hi’ to Cupid each Sunday; one of the members that doesn’t require conversation. This morning Cupid gave me a thorough face-licking. Cupid’s friend asked me if I was diabetic—Cupid has an amazing ability to detect blood sugar levels. I said that I’m not; what I didn’t say is that perhaps Cupid was aware of my sadness, and wanted to remind me that I am loved.

I watch episodes of The West Wing most nights; reminding myself of what government could be; a remedy for the reading I do during the day, as P45 demolishes some of the greatest gifts our Constitutional system has given to the world. A remedy for my anger that so few in Washington are incensed by his hypocrisy; the hypocrisy that lives at so many levels of our government.

Last night I watched an episode called “Han”. The story of a North Korean piano prodigy who wants to defect, while performing in concert at the White House. Unbeknownst to almost everyone, secret negotiations are ongoing to reduce North Korea’s nuclear ambitions. The defection will halt the negotiations. President Bartlett gives the young man the Freedom that life in America gives—the young man can choose to defect, and stop the negotiations; or he can choose to return to the oppressive environment in which he has lived for 23 years, in hopes that negotiations will be successful. The young man then explains to President Bartlett the meaning of the word, “han” a word that has no direct translation into English. President Bartlett says of “han”: “There is no literal English translation. It’s a state of mind. Of soul, really. A sadness. A sadness so deep no tears will come. And yet still there’s hope.”

As a man who has grown up in the relative peace and prosperity of the Willamette Valley of Oregon, the use of the word, ‘han,’ to describe myself is probably an insult to the people of North Korea. But I think I have a sense of what that word feels like.

Still, there is hope.

“Doubting Thomas” by Caravaggio

 

Chronicles in Ordinary Time 120_The Night He Was Betrayed…

April 13, 2017

Garden of Gethsemane/Malchus’ Legion

“On the night He was betrayed…” From the Words of Institution of the Eucharist, or Communion, for the more informal Church. Tonight is Maundy Thursday, named for “the ceremony of washing the feet of the poor” [dictionary]; especially commemorating Jesus’ washing of His disciples’ feet on the night before His betrayal. Sometime after Jesus washed the feet of His disciples, He led them to the Garden of Gethsemane; and in the Garden, He was arrested by the Roman soldiers who would later torture Him and crucify Him. In the name of Justice. Jesus threatened the Roman government by His existence; claiming that He was the son of the Creator, and therefore, the High King.

On the Sunday before all of this occurred, Jesus entered Jerusalem on the back of a donkey [not riding a horse, as a Conqueror might do], to the cheering of a crowd, who covered his path with palm branches—Palm Sunday. They expected Jesus to be the promised King who would lead an uprising against the Romans—at least that’s the way they read Scripture. In less than a week, that cheering crowd would be a crowd yelling for Jesus’ Crucifixion. Not unlike modern American sports crowds. One week cheering for a player who does something spectacular, and the next week yelling at him for demonstrating his resolve in protesting the actions of his government. We are a fickle people.

Jesus washed the feet of his disciples—the act of a common slave—to prove that He wasn’t superior to the least of those in Jewish society. Nothing was beneath Jesus; the One through whom all things were made—a concept that people today have trouble believing.

Is it a betrayal, when you know that you are going to be betrayed; or is it the fulfilling of a promise?

While I am a man of Faith; I’m not particularly religious. I’ve attended Maundy Thursday services in the past, rather than staying at home writing about Maundy Thursday—a valuable, symbolic act by the Faithful. Not all churches do the feet washing; many believers feel ashamed of their feet, and won’t ‘display’ them in public. Scripture says that the Creator has known us from our mother’s womb; that there is nowhere we can go that hides us from our Maker. The Creator knows about the condition of our feet; the places our feet have taken us; the real or symbolic lives we have stepped upon. And we are loved by our Creator, without regard to our own self-worth.

Jesus told many parables—stories filled with truth; stories that one had to think about to understand—so that His listeners would have to figure out what He was talking about. He was teaching His listeners to listen—one of the most valuable traits a human can have. The ability to listen, rather than waiting for our turn to speak.

One of His parables tells of a young man who told His father that He wanted his inheritance now [a polite way of saying he wished his father was dead]. His father gave his son half of all he had [yeah, that would be complicated]; the other half remaining, for the elder brother. The younger brother took his newfound wealth and spent it in a far country, reveling in sex, drugs and rock’n’roll… Eventually the money ran out, and this Jewish kid found himself working as a servant, feeding pigs [Scripture doesn’t say if the irony was lost on him]. One day he realizes that the servants on his father’s property were far better off than he was, off in the far country. He decides to admit his stupidity, and to beg his father to allow him to work as a servant. He probably rehearsed his lines for days, as he walked home.

Meanwhile, the father searches the horizon every day, hoping for a sign that his son was returning. One day he spots a familiar shape walking along the road. The father starts running toward his returning son, robe flapping around his age-bent legs [it was incredibly crude for Jewish men to be seen running]. Before his son can finish the first rehearsed sentence, is father is grabbing him and shouting that the son he thought he had lost had returned! When they get home, the father tells all the servants to prepare for a party! The son he thought he’d lost had returned home! Bring out the best robe, and put a ring on the younger son’s finger…meanwhile the elder brother sulks in the corner; once again ticked off because his upstart little brother is the center of attention. I’m told brothers can be that way; I’m an only…

Later the father reassures his older son that he could have had parties anytime he wished; all he needed to do is ask. The elder son continues to sulk.

 

Half of the people in our country who were eligible to vote decided it wasn’t worth the effort. They didn’t see the value in any candidate running in the last election. A couple months into the rule of P45, lots of people are seeing that the election of this particular President was a huge mistake. As our fleet sails toward the Koreas, P45 is preparing to take on an overaged toddler running around North Korea with nuclear weapons. P45 has dropped “The Mother Of All Bombs” [not my title] on the mountains of Syria; having launched about $60 million worth of cruise missiles last week, that did very little damage to the Syrian government [not ISIS]. Apparently, the launching of bombs makes one Presidential. A House and Senate that refused to allow President Obama to target Syria, after chemical weapons were used against its people by the Syrian government in 2013, is now cheering P45 for his Presidential behavior.

Two thousand years and we’re still pulling the same, stupid…stuff. We never learn. Somehow, the Creator, who knew from the moment of Creation, all of the holocausts that humans would rain upon each other over the centuries, knew that we are worth the effort. He found us so worth the effort that rather than coming to Earth as a conquering King, Jesus came as a single cell in a teenage girls’ womb. Jesus came to live among us; to share in the *stuff* that humans do to each other; to be arrested, tortured and hung on a cross as punishment for being ‘the King of the Jews’. Had it ended there, it would be an awful story; and probably lost in history.

On Sunday, churches around the world will celebrate Easter; the day of Jesus’ return from the dead, alive, and still living today; living in the hearts and minds of people who simply ‘walk through a door’ into Faith. We are accepted; not by the pained lives we bring to the Creator; not by our stupid decisions; accepted simply because we are loved by our Eternal Father; who tolerates—somehow—the awfulness we sometimes bring to the world. We are accepted; not by a Conquering King [still a popular concept], but by the One who knows all of the *stuff* we have to live through. The Creator knows, because the Creator became one of us. Jesus shows us that the end isn’t really the End. In the End, we are loved.

Irreverent; I know. However, theologically profound, if one gives it some thought.
The idea isn’t original; I ‘borrowed’ it from Facebook…

 

Chronicles in Ordinary Time 119: Today I met a most remarkable man

March 23, 2017

Cover Illustration, The Declaration of Independence by Melinda Lilly

Very few comments about politics this week… although I could write more. Please read this article by Thomas L. Friedman: Calling On a Few Good Men

Doctor Watson’s Thyroid

The only thing the image above has in common with my thoughts is the first word in the title…

Today I met a most remarkable man; a doctor who listens.

He asked if I ever to medical illustrations…

My current medical journey began 9 years ago. Mine is mostly a journey of inconvenience; I don’t have anything that appears to be life-threatening. While I consider myself ‘partially disabled’, it’s mostly a description of circumstances…

I had a GP of 30 or so years; he retired about 11 years ago. He wasn’t a great listener, but we had a shared history. Gene helped birth my two sons; he was the first long-term doc for our daughter.

I’ve lost track of the number of docs I’ve seen since Gene retired. I could look up the number, but it isn’t worth my time. I have a neurological problem; at this point it has no name, only a description: Idiopathic Polyneuropathy, In layman’s terms: ‘your nerves are screwed-up, and we are clueless as to why.’ Life has been getting more uncomfortable lately; more pain, less control of my limbs. So, my latest Primary and I decided it was time to see another Neurologist.

I started describing the course of my Neuropathy: how 8 years ago, two numb spots on my feet traveled upwards to my lower jaw over the course of a few days.
“That’s not Neuropathy”

How almost exactly two years later, the Neuropathy took over the rest of my head, wiped out most of my taste buds, and altered the way my gut functions. It also dropped my blood pressure dramatically.
“That’s not Neuropathy”

I started explaining some of the other changes over the last 4 years, and he stopped me, saying: “Look, they’ve sent you to the wrong doctor. I do Neuropathy; what you’re describing isn’t Neuropathy.”

“Then why in the Hell have the 15 docs I’ve seen over the last 9 years called it ‘Idiopathic Polyneuropathy’?”
“Because it’s easy.”

So, we’re back to more tests, more scans. But I’ve found a guy that listens.
And, here’s another illustration, if you are reading this…

People don’t listen today. Mostly people wait for their turn to talk.

Over half of the White Evangelicals in the country voted for P45; I think it’s because they weren’t listening.

One can’t be empathetic to the plight of those who lack, while talking garbage. One can’t talk garbage about a person while having the ‘other’s’ best interests in their minds. One can’t be concerned about injustice toward women while insulting women at the same time. One can’t be concerned about injustice toward minorities while being afraid of them at the same time.

P45 expressed concerns shared by a large segment of White America; his solutions were based in fear, not in faith toward ‘our fellow Man’ [that gender-neutral term].

The Night Watch, Rembrandt van Rijn, 1642

From Facebook. Someone commented that the students were using their smart phones to learn about Rembrandt’s painting.

When one is standing before a Rembrandt, one can’t learn about the painting by looking at a device. One learns about Rembrandt by looking at the painting.

Chronicles in Ordinary Time 22: Recent Images

November 9, 2012

 

Photoshop Humor

Images inspired by the Grand Staircase in the movie, ‘Titanic’

cropped version:

 

Illustration from a ‘work in progress’ children’s book:

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chronicles in Ordinary Time 10: Advent

December 16, 2011

[“Adoration of the Magi” acrylic, inspired by a Norman Rockwell painting: http://www.mjarts.com/port_1a.htm ] Chris Tomlin: Amazing Grace (My Chains Are Gone)

Did you know that Jesus wasn’t a Christian?
He was a Jew. All of His followers were either Jews or were seeking something More for their lives. These believers were later called “Christians,” but they referred to themselves as “followers of the Way.”
He probably wasn’t born in the Winter.
The “Wise Men from the East” didn’t arrive at the stable and the manger. Jesus was probably around 2 years old, when the Wise Men arrived. After the Wise Men left Herod the King, having told him about the birth of the promised Messiah/King, Herod ordered the deaths of all of the male babies 2 years old and younger.
But it makes for a good story.
For today’s times, I prefer this Advent Allegory by Jonathan Gray:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XOlVheWcfhA

The Emperor Constantine legalized/”officialized” Christianity in the 4th Century. The Church has been messed up, ever since, confusing the Way of Faith with the ways of commerce and politics.

When the Holy Roman Empire moved into northern Europe, the priests re-purposed  the ‘pagan’ religious winter festivals into Christian feast days, so that Christianity would be more palatable to the folk they found there. This is human nature. Parents do it with their children all the time.

My Christmases, when I was a child:

This was taken in the mid-1950′s. I’m the kid looking at my cousin, Carol [Sunny]. Not sure why I wasn’t looking at the camera. Sort of symbolic, in a way, I’ve always looked in directions the rest of the world doesn’t. I still have the bear on the floor in front of me. These days, with my messed-up peripheral sensory nerves, I miss flannel-lined jeans [my cousin Jim, on the right, is wearing a pair]. My cousins, Bruce and Wendy are between Jim and I.

My first Advent was in 1973. That’s the year that I learned that the Eternal and Infinite Master of the Universe had, at a point in history, entered Time and Space. Seemingly impossible, unless one is Omnipotent. In 1973 I realized that this event was sort of  similar to my lifting up a rock, and deciding to become one of those crawly things scurrying around, under the rock. Only on a Much Larger Scale…
For 30 or so years, the incarnate Eternal apparently didn’t do much that one might expect from the Creator of the Universe. Jesus did the same sort of stuff that we do. Our Creator knows what it feels like to be human. Our Creator knows our struggles. At the same time, our Creator knows that our time here on earth is like an eyeblink in the span of Eternity–the existence for which we are created.
For three or so years, Jesus did the sort of things that the Creator of the Universe might be expected to do, and as a result, the religious leaders of the day arranged for His crucifixion. They wanted Him gone; only He came back, and told His followers that death wasn’t The End, it was simply The New Beginning…

I try to live with the message of the incarnation in my life, every day, as much as I can. It’s a little harder at this time of year. So many people are madly involved in celebrating Something Else. When our children were small, we got more involved in “Christmas”–there is something magical about the expression on a child’s face, their belief in the ‘magic’ of the lights, the presents, the wonder of the whole thing. A shadow of what the shepherds might have felt when they were in the presence of angels.

I told our children about Saint Nicholas, the real bishop, whose story somehow got transformed into Santa Claus. One year, to my complete incomprehension, there really were parallel lines on our driveway, and little round spots mingled among the lines…I still can’t come up with a more plausible explanation than the impossible presence of a sleigh and reindeer.

Advent. The time that marks the coming of our Creator into the world, with a message of forgiveness. We don’t have to continually beat up on ourselves, or beat up on other people in order to make our lives work better. We are accepted, the way we are; all we need to do is live in that state of acceptance. We can also become better than we are, because our Creator’s Grace can live inside us. Not so that we can experience magic, but to create wonder.

And, like Malchus, in the Garden of Gethsemane, we can be healed.

A blessed winter time of celebration, to you all.

Peace, and good will toward you all. May the coming year be filled with Hope.

Marty

 

 

Chronicles in Ordinary Time 7: Vision

October 22, 2011

    I am fascinated by perception. What I see is not what you see. What you see is probably similar to what I see; but not exactly the same. On top of that, what we see isn’t really seeing, at all.

     Light reflects off of the candle; the image is reversed by the lens of our eye; and the light hits the rods and cones–light receptors–of our retina. The electrical impulses caused by the the light image reacting on the rods and cones, travel to our brain via the optic nerve. Our brain then translates the electrical impulses into a ‘virtual image’ that ‘appears’ in our brain. That ‘image’ seems to be similar to what we see on a TV or LCD screen; however we don’t have a screen in our brain.

    A particular shade of red may not be the same to me as it is to you. People with red/green color blindness have that which “…is the inability or decreased ability to see color, or perceive color differences, under lighting conditions when color vision is not normally impaired. “Color blind” is a term of art; there is no actual blindness but there is a fault in the development of either or both sets of retinal cones that perceive color in light and transmit that information to the optic nerve.”[wikipedia]

    People with Irlen’s Syndrome can only see the ordinary printed page properly through colored light or when colored paper is used. Black letters on a white page send scrambled signals to the brain. With my astigmatism, I can’t see lines clearly unless the lenses of my eyes are corrected by glass lenses worn over my eyes.

    Animals seen in an entirely different manner, both structurally–in the nature of their eye construction; and in the wavelengths of light that they see. Many animals see in the ultraviolet and infrared ranges of the color spectrum. [see list] They see things we cannot see without the use of technology–night vision goggles, etc.

     To take this a step further– our brains, our eyes are composed of millions of atoms. If one were to enlarge an atom to the size of a football stadium, the nucleus of the atom would be the size of a grain of sand. The electrons orbiting around the stadium would also be the size of a grain of sand. All the rest of the atom would be empty space filled with electromagnetic energy.

    Our brains, like the rest of our body, are really composed mostly of empty space [yes, those people actually were correct]. That which we know about our bodies is mostly comprised of electromagnetic energy found in the visible range of the spectrum. The visible portion of the electromagnetic spectrum is only a small portion of the entire range, which extends from low frequencies used for modern radio communication to gamma radiation at the short-wavelength (high-frequency) end, thereby covering wavelengths from thousands of kilometres down to a fraction of the size of an atom. In principle the spectrum is infinite and continuous. In principle, we are infinite and continuous.

     Isn’t this what faith leads us to?

forward to:
www.mjarts.com

Storytelling…

September 5, 2011

To me, this is the heart of illustration– to tell a story; to make a story more clear and understandable by the use of images.

My fear, and my frustration, is always that I haven’t served the story well enough with my illustrations. This sometimes happens when I have to rush to meet a very short deadline.

Jesus told parables- stories- so that those who chose to listen to his stories would ask, “…why is He saying that? what does it mean?”

The ultimate answer to all of our questions is I AM– the story the Eternal told Moses. “You shall know this day and place it in your heart that the Eternal is God in heaven above and on earth below; ain od.” [Deuteronomy 4:39]

“ain od- a Hebrew expression in this verse meaning there is nothing else.” [Dr. Gerald Schroeder, The Hidden Face of God]

I believe that one of our purposes here on earth is to share our stories with others; to build stories with others; to pass on our stories to those that follow us.

Blessings, Marty


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