Retreading old ground

Petra released This Means War! in 1987 (the bang is significant, don't leave it off).  The song "I Am Available" has been running through my head lately, mainly the line "I may never be all I want to be" in its relationship to my own self-perception and hopes and dreams.

Contentment is an elusive thing; it is tied so much to proving to ourselves our own worth, a downward spiral of grace-denying self justification.  We can never measure up to those standards.  There are days I wonder if anyone from high school who used to look down their noses at me and my big glasses and dorky smile would be impressed by my resume.  Then I realize that all the most important people in my life never cared about that sort of thing; indeed, their value often came because they saw past my list of accomplishments and skills, through the carefully-constructed veneer, and into the sort of person I really am (which, incidentally, is pretty much just a crapbag).

In the final analysis, what we really crave is the confirmation from God at the end that we have done well, an enthusiastic "Good job."  Our contentment rests in his acceptance of us, and in the work he does in us to make us more like Christ.

It's been difficult for me (a sign of my own thick-headedness) to come to this realization.  I may never be all I imagined I would be; but that's okay if in the end God is pleased.  More and more the prayer I've had for myself and for others is that they would please God.  All things are easier knowing that he is satisfied and happy with us:  and he is.


In other retreads, L and I took a Sunday drive to the old bonsai tree garden where D took us prior to his master's test years ago.  It was as I remembered:  peaceful and quiet, beautifully maintained, and just lovely.  It's a sanctuary of sorts, one of those places where you can feel as though you're treading on holy ground.

Also as I remembered, it was very difficult to take pictures of the place.  While my equipment today is much better than it was back then, I'm afraid I still didn't do it any justice.  But a few shots:

This one is a detail of a tree trunk.  If I'd had a proper tilt-shift lens, I'm pretty confident I could have convinced you this was a full-sized tree, and not a bonsai.  Others:

Just a small sampling of the trees he has here.  Not pictured here (but eventually) is one that includes his grafting in of driftwood.  That's his signature:  to take a piece of dead wood and graft it into the living tree.  A difficult process, to say the least, and very time-consuming.

This is a tree that was formerly 15 feet tall; he sliced through it on an angle and dug out a piece of the heartwood with his chain saw (the wound isn't visible in this picture).  Then it was a matter of trimming and sculpting.  This is an impressive piece.

Somewhat unexpectedly, he invited us into his home, a house built in the 1760s by Moravian Swedes.  (They also built the mill that serves as his studio.)  He painted one of the portraits that hangs in his living room.  One of his students is a carpenter by trade, and he restored much of the house at the bonsai master's direction.  (He has a fine arts degree.)  One of the other portraits in the house was painted in the 1600s.

It was a nice adventure.


I also made a pretty awesome lamb and bean soup:

It was pretty delicious.  I didn't expect it to turn out so well after the abysmal one I made for the Christmas party, but it really did.  I was pretty thrilled.  And full.