Blue

Wonder why they say ‘feeling blue’
Like it’s something sad or bad
When blue is the color of this wondrous winter sky,
and that magnificent ocean
stretching to the horizon and dreams beyond;
and the summer lake which laps against the sand
and my sockless feet,
and the color of your eyes, child,
which I drown in daily.



copyright Jane Grant-Abban Dec 2009

Crying on the Outside

This day I’m crying on the outside.
There are days where
sadness swells and gently washes on to my
happy beach but
retreats quickly without
knocking over my sandcastle structures
adorned with shells and fancy flags.
On such days
crying on the inside is enough.

But there are other days
where sorrow tsunamis its ways in
obliterating my sandy fort and
leaving nothing but indefinable mounds of wetness
and not a victory flag in sight.
On such days
crying on the inside is simply not enough.


copyright Jane Grant-Abban Dec 2009

Don't Look Back

Don’t look back, friend.
Don’t look back.
The past must not leave you standing in the road
either in longing or dread.
If good lies behind
bundle it up to carry with you- then
turn and walk on in to your tomorrow.
If pain haunts the road behind
stand not still in terror
nor let it travel with you to
chill you in the sunshine ahead.
Stop .
Dig.
Bury
those things
that threaten to kill your hope or
prod and push you
away from brighter places.
Claw the earth.
Tear at it.
Do what must be done to lay them to rest.
Then move forward.
Run.
Walk.
Crawl if needs be
But move forward....... and whatever you do....
Don’t look back, friend.
Don’t look back!

copyright Jane Grant-Abban 2009

Blue Jay

Blue Jay winked at me today
from the bird table-
At least, I think he did.
In fact, I know he did.
He's probably keeping me sweet.
After all, it's me who puts the seeds out



copyright: Jane Grant-Abban 2009

Garden Favorites

Conkers

Take One:

‘Guess what I found on the path!’

You say with a grin whilst holding up two conkers.

‘Ah! ‘ I reply. ‘Conkers’

Take Two:

Those same conkers now sit on damp kitchen paper

In two glasses right in the middle of the window sill.

‘Ugh!’ the tidy-freak me sputters. ‘Conkers!’

Take Three:

I’m struck with the thought that in just a few years

This house will be perfect . . .but you and your conkers will be gone.

‘Oh!’ I declare. ‘What marvelous conkers!’

Copyright Jane Grant-Abban 2009

Friends

Spongebob Squarepants

For two weeks now
Spongebob Squarepants
Has been grinning inanely at me from the mantelpiece.
Grave Digger, dog in a party hat,
The cartoon cucumbers and Herbie
All line up together.
“Happy Birthday”.
The mantle needs dusting.
I should clear away the cards.
But you will never be eleven in this home again.


copyright Jane Grant-Abban2009

Dusty Road

Sunday Afternoon

Book Announcement

For those of you who have been asking me will I put my paintings and writing in a book....the answer is yes! I have been working hard this summer to produce it in time for the September show.A limited number of my books will be available at the 'Pauses with Pen and Paint' show and the Artsist's Reception. If you would like to reserve a copy to collect at the show, please email me at jane@abbanart.com. Let me know your details plus number of copies required. I will be happy to add a personal message on request. Preview the book and see the price on blurb.com There will be no shipping cost on books purchased directly from me.If you live elsewhere and will not be at the show, you can order the book directly from blurb.com

10% of the profit on each book will go to Keith Smith's charity Acacia Partnership Trust working in Burkino Faso, Africa.

Pauses With Pe...

By Jane M. Grant-Abban

Book Preview

Grandpa's Little Helper

This painting was from a photo I took in India back (way back!!) when I was 19. I spent the summer living and working at a leper colony in a remote part of India. The elderly man had worked with Mother Teresa in Calcutta, and had seen there was a need for people in the Bihar region. He was a man of compassion. Compassion is different than sympathy. Compassion has hands and feet and involves action. Compassion moves beyond mere sympathy and acts to make a difference. It is something worth thinking about and challenging ourselves with. When we feel sympathy for someone's plight, however small, will we just stay in the realm of feeling sorry for them, or will we do something, and act, and experience the blessing it is to walk in compassion.

Solo Exhibition Announcement!

'Pauses With Pen And Paint'
1-30 September
River Room, Art Guild Gallery
402 North Main Street
Stillwater
Mn 55082

Artist's Reception: 11th September , 6-9pm

Shelter

Shelter

Come now, new friend,
And let me share my shelter
As together we wait for the storm to pass.
New friend, I know you well
Better than those with whom you’ve
Shared your years
For in your eyes and in your story
I see we share the same harsh season
And were passing through alone- until now
Relentless rain beats down-
But it will pass
Cold wind blows-
But it will cease
Then in brighter, calmer times
Old friends will happily return
And no longer hide from your hardship
But for now I offer you
The shelter of my understanding
A blanket of compassion
And rest with brotherly kindness.

copyright :Jane Grant-Abban 2009

Share

Soap and Water

Award of Merit, Artists of Minnesota Show 2009

(Also received Award of Merit for Around the Next Bend painting- see earlier in Blog)

Many years ago, I worked at a leprosy village in India for the summer. It was an impacting time- one not quickly forgotten. Last year whilst clearing out the basement, I found my old slides, and with them the strong recollection of sights, sounds, smells and people......and the person I was myself back then. Looking through those slides, I knew that I would revisit that time and place, but now with paint. It's interesting what we can turn up when we have a good sort out. Some things are worth reviving and revisiting when they have been packed away and dusty for a while. Things in our hearts need good sort out too, at times. Some of us have packed away and set aside our dreams and desires for practical reasons, but they call to us to get them out and revisit them again. We can go back to them and pick up where we left off, only this time, we will bring the person we are now to them. Why not pause this summer and recall the things you dreamed and aspired to when you were young, and see if they can ,once again, find a place in your life

Breathe

Dedicated to my dear friend Kami, who is more mindful than ever that life is precious.

Today, as every day,I was given a gift,

But barely noticed as I 

thoughtlessly, pauselessly snatched it

and took it as something  common

instead of the miracle it was.

I did not recognize it- familiarity had bred contempt.

This gift, wrapped in the beauty of the new day,

got overlooked and was unattended by thanks

As I filled those waking moments with thoughts of things to do-

the hustle and bustle, the hurry and flurry that would surely come,

So that I did not savor that first conscious breath.

Yet breathe I did.

Why does my gift-giver remain faithful when I am so ungrateful?

Why so generous when daily His gift is slighted?

But I see now and regret the thankless, breath-filled days

Breathing in and breathing out

Breathing in and breathing out

Breathing in and breathing out

And I resolve that I will, at least for those dewy waking moments ,

Offer with my first breath a prayer of thanks.

copyright Jane Grant-Abban May 2009

Dignity

Dignity hides in unexpected places.
Search amongst kings and princes,
Those applauded and famed,
But likely you will not find it there.
Rather-
Look deeper and further.
Watch faces and hands
Revealing the heart of those overlooked,
For dignity resides where you least expect it.
Look among the poor-
See not the whole but the part.
Look for one life and study it.
There she is now. Dignity moves.
Amongst the dust and dirt,
At home with the simple and content.
Head held high. Gaze fixed.
No jewels or finery wears she,
But adorned with true treasures found.
No look of condescension has she;
No thought to impress, thought that she does,
As she rises above circumstance and calamity
With such grace and composure.
No strain for beauty shows on her face;
No sign of struggle to do more
Than those tasks she does each day, every day,
And every day of every year.
At peace with who and where she is
She becomes Dignity herself,
As she carries the weight of her world on the shoulders
So gracefully.

Glow

The glow that happened on and around this commonplace barn caused me to literally stop in my tracks and pull the car over to gaze. If the light had been different I may well have driven on. Like the barn, we can spend many days feeling functional and ordinary. But now and again we get hit by Light, and that changes everything. The Light causes us to literally glow, and in turn, that glow causes others to stop in their tracks and look at us differently. They see a beauty they did not see before. Have we changed ? No. We're still the same old barn on the outside we ever were, but the Light touching us and glowing around us, changes us. And in that moment, the ordinary becomes extraordinary and has the chance to warm another's soul.

Jesus said "I am the Light of the World.'

The Question

Out of the blue, whilst playing cards and being frivolous,
You surprise with me with your question-
Am I different, Mummy?
Such a serious question
Tossed in the middle of a light-hearted moment-
Like stepping on a land-mine
During a carefree walk across a field.
Huge. That’s what it is.
And complicated too.
I stop maneuvering my cards
And realize I have stopped breathing too.
Four words. Four ordinary words in that question of yours, child.
And yet I, articulate adult that I am, cannot find even one word
With which to furnish you an answer.
Yes- breath and game have paused whilst I think hard about how to answer
The question that presses down on my chest, stealing my voice and humor.
Where did it come from, that question? Why now?
Then I notice you are still playing the game; you are still breathing
And you have lost none of the good humor you had when the game began.
And then it hits me. You are ok with yourself.
You accept yourself. You even like yourself
(How many of us can say that?)
You are just trying to make sense of it all
And need to know, as a matter of fact,
Am I different?
And in that moment, the answer flows joyously, freely from my heart
Yes son- you are different…….thank God.
(copyright Jane Grant-Abban2009)

Him and Me

Fragile and tough, smooth and rough, whisper and shout, tender and gruff,
Chalk and cheese, hot and cold, noisy and quiet, timid and bold,
Night and day, circle and square, this and that, here and there,
Short and long, tame and wild, trust and doubt, adult and child,
Hit and miss, cry and laugh, cash and check, shower and bath
Dusk and dawn, second and hour, peace and war, sweet and sour,
Big and small, fire and water, soft and hard, son and daughter,
Angry and calm, lost and found, leg and arm, sky and ground
Then and now, high and low, stop and go, fast and slow
Different…so different……so very different
But- together?
More……....much more……….So much more …………than apart.
(Copyright Jane Grant-Abban2009)

Tears In A Bottle

Dedicated to my painter-friend Sandie Swenson
(Psalm 56:8)


You said
“I’ll catch your tears in a bottle
And number each one.”
I reply-

Is there room for such a flood?
Will each tear be understood?
Will each one explain the pain,
Or will it just return again?
Will I walk and will I stand
If I reach out and take Your hand?
Will my giving tears to you
Restore the joy that I once knew?
Do you know and understand
The tear-filled bottle in Your hand?
You surely do, for you see all,
And understand my wordless call.

Copyright Jane Grant-Abban, Jan 09

Light On Long Lake

This is Long Lake at the back of our home. We share it with many others, yet it is 'our lake.' The frozen expanse covered with snow is stunning. Somehow it becomes even more 'ours' when we can walk on it! In doing so, we get to see it from different perspectives, and explore it more fully. Life's like that. A change of season can seem harsh, and we may not always embrace it at first. But when we yield to the season of life we are in, we find ourselves 'walking on water' - doing and seeing things in new and different ways.

Around The Next Bend

This Burden Is Light

We all carry things, but some of them are heavy burdens. For some people it is the burden of a past they would rather not have had; for others it may the burden of failures and defeats, or bad choices and the shame they carry; for yet others it may be the burden of painful loss and grief. These can be heavy burdens indeed, and for some , can weigh heavy in the present. These burdens must be rolled onto someone big enough to carry, strong enough to heal, and powerful enough to fill with hope. Unless we get to a place of letting go of such burdens, we fail to move foward, or if we do, we limp, and know we are not really free.

However- there are other 'burdens' some of us are asked to carry, that were never meant to be 'cast off', for they are ours to carry as precious cargo. For me, it is having a child with special needs. These are our burdens that no one else can truly help us carry, although the One who gives us the priviledge to, is there to help us when we are tired and afraid and weary. And these burdens, although heavy, are also strangely light. Ask us would we want to trade our precious burden, and we would not hesitiate to answer no! No, we would not trade for another, easier one. Our burden becomes a thing of joy and delight to us. Rather than hold us back, it propels us forward- to a softer, bigger, more compassionate heart. Rather than cause us to stand still or hold back, our burden causes us to shake off pretense and the need for perfection. Our burden teaches us to be real and honest and accepting of people with all their failings and foibles. Our burden bend us, even break us at times, but in doing so, makes us useful to touch the hearts of others because we are just that- broken. No, this burden is heavy- but not too heavy- with God's help This Burden is Light.

She Carried Me

The story of "She Carried Me."

I was asked to paint for a friend who had 3 boys, but who had also gone through the pain of loosing babies. So, I prayed. “Father, what do you want me to paint? What will have the kiss of heaven on it? What will be more than a picture and say things so deep that words cannot? What will give a lifetime of pleasure and significance when looked at? What will represent this mother’s journey through all the years, not just right now?’ I knew right away that I was to paint a mother holding a child tenderly, closely. This was to be symbolic of all us mothers carrying our children- those we get to carry for a long time….and those we only carry for a very short time within us, but who do not know us carrying them in the world. If you have lost a child, this painting is to be for you, too. It is to be for all those children you have carried- those you carry with you through this life now, and those you only got to carry for a little while, but will forever carry in your heart.

Those children were carried.

Their testimony in heaven is “She carried me."

And you will always know that you carried them …..and it mattered. It is recorded in heaven that you carried them. This painting speaks to all of us mothers who know the closeness and intimacy of carrying a child. The cloth that covers both mother and child makes them appear as one….and isn’t that how it feels.? It’s hard to let go, however soon the parting comes between us and a child….but the blessing of motherhood is that we get to carry them forever- in our hearts.
May this painting bring you joy, hope and healing.

A Grandmother's Love

Minnesota State Fair Fine Art Show, 2008.

I painted this from a photo of my missionary friend, Keith Smith, who has spent many years in Burkina Faso. I think we have so much to learn from those who have so little- they are rich in ways we cannot fathom, and yet , in the western world, we have so much materially and are impoverished spiritually. I 've painted from a few of Keith's photographs in the hope that I, and anyone who sees the paintings, will pause and reflect a while.

Keith's blog

http://www.voiceinthedesert.org.uk/keith/

He Walks Alone

This is my son, Alex, walking at William O'Brien State Park, New Year's Day. Somehow, as I looked back at him in that moment as he walked steadfastly on, alone, it summed up so much of how things are for him. Alex has special needs and he has to work so much harder than most. In this picture, as he has his head down, looking at his feet, just plodding on, it is a picture of how most days are for him. He just has to get his head down, and plod on one step at a time. He is an amazing child- though few get the priviledge to see. It is not his doing- it is theirs. He is not like 'the others'. He does not 'fit the mold'....and so many days he must simply walk alone. How sad that often people cannot see beyond the conventional, because it is they who are missing out on walking beside a unique individual who has so much to teach them of the world. He sees things we miss. He notices things we don't. He brings joy and laughter ,and it saddens me that he should so often walk alone.

Remember Me

These hands that shake to hold this cup
Once baked and sewed and stroked and played
And taught you all that you now do.
Remember me then? Remember me now

These aged, weak arms once young and strong
Would sweep you up and hold you high
To make you laugh and help you fly.
Remember me then? Remember me now

These grey, old eyes once danced with light
And looked on you with pure delight
And you looked back and not away.
Remember me then? Remember me now

These frail, slow legs once strong and swift
Would run with you through fields of green
And kick a ball, and make me seem so tall to you.
Remember me then? Remember me now

These hands, these arms, theses eyes, these legs
are still mine, though changed and old.
I am still here.
I am not gone……….not quite..…...not yet……………
So please-
Touch me with your hands
Hold me with your arms
Love me with your eyes
Walk me to your home
And remember me then, but remember me now.

(Dec 2008)

Wet Paint, Dry Flower

Just finished this morning! At the end of the summer I saved some flowers from my garden and dried them. I love them even when they are crunchy! As I laid the flower down, some petals fell and looked so pretty against the cloth. And I ask myself " Is this flower less beautiful because it is old and dried? " It is very fragile now, but somehow that makes me appreciate it and care for it all the more. It requires me to be gentle. It gets me thinking about life again.- will I be less 'beautiful' when I am old and dried? Or will I be more cherished, and will those I love treat me gently? Selah!

A Well-Trod Path

New Year's day, William O'Brien State Park- one of our
favorite places to walk, camp and canoe as a family. In the
summer when we camped there, my boys woke me up just
as the sun was coming up, to rush me down to the river to
see how awesome it looked. I loved the fact that they were excited about nature and were enjoying the simplicity of just being there. Winter holds different treaures, and it is
inspiring in other ways. The colours look more intense to me when set off against the white snow.

New Year's Resolutions

This was painted just a few days into 2009 after walking here, at Marine on St Croix ,just a few miles up the road from where we live. It was so refreshing to walk and talk and plan our goals for the year ahead. Maybe it's not so much New Year 'resolutions' we need, as New Year 'revolutions'?

It Took My Fancy

I saw this jug quite without looking- it took my fancy to buy, and it took my fancy to paint!

(painted Jan13, 2009)

My Chair

It waits for me, my special place
by the fire
In the chair that wraps around just perfectly.
As my eyes open, still heavy with sleep,
I hear the call
Quiet and persistent
“Come, sit a while.”
And so I say I will
And choose to think on all the times
I’ve gone early to my chair by the fire
Tea in hand
Bible on knee
Pen and journal ready.

And I recall the peace and wisdom gained there.

Then-

I hear that all-too-familiar
Grating, grinding voice
Demanding me to “do!” “go!” “rush!” “hurry!”
There is no time for tea or bible or journal today, it says.
There is much to do
And I must start early for it to be accomplished.

So now I must choose.
Which voice will have its way today?
How the day proceeds
The significance of my deeds
Depends on the answer.
And I know by now
(Oh, how long it has taken
And how easily I forget!)
That the quiet voice calling me
To my chair by the fire must prevail,
And that I should go there early , lest the deeds of the day
Swallow up that sacred time.
My heart tells me “Arise! There is work to be done!”
The work of rest.
The work of stillness.
The work of silence.
And as I sit in my chair by the fire
Tea in hand
Bible on lap
Pen and journal ready
I know it is going to be a GoOD day!

Empty

(Painted from a photograph by Keith Smith)

Keith's blog

http://www.voiceinthedesert.org.uk/keith/

The Time Keeper

There's nothing like starting a new year to focus your mind on time...and the passing of it! This piece came out of my reflections on time.

01/-5/09
The time keeper paused and glanced at His watch. It was gleaming gold and intricate beyond imagining. Although it was millennia old, it looked as new as the day He made it. He smiled and felt satisfied at the perfection of the watch. He had made it purposefully and carefully, for order, not chaos, were always part of His creations.
The people had watches, of course, and believed they held time in their own hands. But their watches were not like His. The Time Keeper’s watch was the watch of all watches. It never stopped. It never missed a beat. It neither sped up, nor slowed down. The rhythm had been set long before the people even were. It always had and always would keep perfect time…for this was the Time Keeper’s watch.
Even as He held Time in His hand, the Time Keeper could hear on this day, as on every day, the cries of people drifting up to His ears. He closed His eyes and listened very carefully. Yes, people were indeed crying again. These cries all sounded different, but His ear was sensitive and He could pick out every one. Some cries were a great lament for time and opportunities lost that could never be re-gained. Some were for the loss of loved ones and the time they had to face without them. Some were cries of desperation as time passed and answers seemed to fail to come. The Time Keeper heard other cries from the poor and persecuted- “How long must we wait before deliverance comes?” And then the Time Keeper winced as He heard cries of anger and accusation ,“How can you let such bad things happen?” And altogether they cried with one voice for Him to change the time, or let them hold the watch so they could bear what had to be born.
But the cries that pierced Him most of all, were from those who did not even know there was a Time Keeper at all; who believed they were lost and alone, and the time they spent living was meaningless.
And the Time Keeper listened …..and the Time Keeper heard…...and the Time Keeper wept.
He closed His ageless fingers around His watch held tightly in His hands. He was stirred by the cries, but He could not loose His grip on the watch. He could not change the time for the people; if He did, all hell and confusion would break loose. Silent tears dropped down the Time Keeper’s face as He knew they would never understand what He understood, see what He saw or know what He knew. For He held all time in His hands, and they did not see beyond their small world. He saw all that had been and all that would ever be; He knew the end from the beginning…..and He knew that one day He would wipe away every tear.
But not yet…..
And although the Time-Keeper knew all would be well in the end, He cared for those who cried in this little while. So keeping the watch firmly in His hand, He breathed on them. He breathed on them the wisdom of the eternal to put hope in their hearts and let them know that this was not the end. Those who were mourning felt His breath and the reassurance that the ones they loved would be with them again one day. Others who wept so bitterly over lost time felt the Time Keeper’s breath on them, and heard Him say “I am a restorer of the years the locusts have eaten.” The Time Keeper breathed, too, on the ones who were faint from crying out for answers that never seemed to come…and in a moment, as His breath touched them, rest settled on them. Some saw they had already received an answer, but had never noticed it because they had been expecting something different. Some found their clenched hands opening and releasing things they had held on to so tightly As they let go of anger, fear, resentment or regret, the Time Keeper released their answer. He had been waiting on them all along…but they had not wanted to let go until that moment in time. To the poor and persecuted He breathed endurance and grace to live through the pain, and He fed them with the hope that one day they would receive a reward, and what had seemed like an eternity of suffering would become but the blink of an eye. To all the Time Keeper masterfully and mysteriously stepped into their moment of time and need, and brought help and hope and healing….and along with it the promise whispered in their ears that though for now, they only understand in part, one day they would know fully; though now they only saw in part, one day He would show them fully.
And as they turned their faces and hearts to the Time Keeper, He opened up His huge and loving arms that had ached for them all along, and welcomed them in. The more they yielded to the Time Keeper and drew near, the more His eternal embrace enveloped them and gave them rest.
And the Time keeper watched….and the Time Keeper saw….and the Time Keeper smiled.
As His children rested their head on the Time Keepers shoulder, He spoke over them eternal words of destiny and purpose that caused them to catch just a tiny glimpse of the watch the Time Keeper held firmly in His hands.