What it takes to be a fine artist - reflections on my Father by Margie Boynton

Lee Boynton painting in Vermont in below zero weather

My father left an outstanding legacy in the visual arts. He wanted other people to see the light and transform their lives through the pursuit of fine art. He was a Christian man, quietly urging people to look to Christ to find peace and healing. Through compassion and a readiness to laugh, my Dad was a friend and a leader to many in Annapolis and beyond. He was authentically himself from painting in below zero weather in Vermont to always shouting the loudest in church. He stood out unapologetically in his humble pursuit of greatness.

            This is what it takes to be a fine art painter. The world has many misconceptions about the artist, something creative people have been battling for generations. You have to go a lot further than just showing up at work. If your purpose entails revealing the truth about nature and the world through your work, and creating a legacy, you have to run twice as far.

            The practice of art is a kind of meditation or reflection on the infinite complexity of nature and our world. The more masterful the artist is at representing it, the more his or her hand becomes invisible to the viewer. One time I went to the National Gallery of Art to attend a drawing class with a focus on copying Italian drawings of church interiors. Within moments, I was transformed from a nonchalant viewer into a harried student slaving away to understand complex perspectives. Your ability to see something is not like capturing it on paper or canvas; you have to dissect your subject like a scientist, with an intense amount of visual and mental focus. The average person doesn’t comprehend what goes into a successful work of art because when something looks correct, we don’t question it.

            To be a great artist, as my father was, it takes an added dimension — an ability to connect with people’s hearts — to open their eyes and transform their sensibilities. Fine art is like a symphony of color, form and the expression of a heart response to the subject. The creation of fine art is actually the most sincere expression of love and gratitude for life. Believe it or not, there aren’t words for that type of expression. It takes a certain beautiful, finely tuned, combination of qualities and skill to make beautiful art. The making of art, like music, will always have an honored and essential place in the world.

Lee Boynton: Celebrating the Chesapeake

Struggle always seem to precedes breakthrough. It demands a reset — the shedding of the old to embrace the new. One night early in our marriage, Lee and I had to wrestle our way out of a shell that never fit. In his case, shedding the new to make room for the old.

Lee had always had a strong pull in the direction of art. As a young boy, he would spend hours delighting in N.C. Wyeth’s illustrations in a collection of classics on his parents’ book shelves. These dramatic illustrations tickled his vivid imagination and brought the stories to life. He experienced the power of art through the pages of those books, and dreamed of being able to paint like that himself one day.

The power of art

In high school, he studied watercolor painting with Caesar Cigliano, a local professional artist in Southport, CT., his hometown. Caesar recognized Lee’s talent and urged him to pursue art seriously. On his recommendation, Lee applied to Syracuse University, known for its strong art program, and graduated with a degree in art in 1976. While his determination to pursue a career in art was more fully forged at Syracuse, he left believing that commercial art was the only viable way he could make a respectable living as an artist. 

When we were married in1980, he set his sites on taking that practical, responsible road. This meant heading to the big cities in search of jobs as a freelance illustrator — Washington, Baltimore, and New York. Before technology changed the face of commerce, this meant many trips, first to show his portfolio to get the job, then a trip to show the preliminary sketches, and, finally, a trip to deliver the final art. He was under constant pressure, and very soon meeting the demands of a besuited, egotistical art director in a fancy office under an unreasonably tight deadline began to lose its luster.

“You’re an artist in the truest, most beautiful sense of the word!” I said to him that night, “You’ve got to know your heart and paint what you love!” My words said it all: Be true to yourself and to the One who created you! There’s no other way to do this thing called life!

We made a decision that night. From then on, instead of heading west on route 50 to D.C., Lee would go east to small towns on the eastern shore. He would take the road less traveled by, and that was sure to make all the difference. We made a decision that night, and never looked back.

Lee loved to paint the watermen at work on their boats. He celebrated this facet of life on the Bay with his paint brush. For 15 years Lee sought out the watermen and embraced their way of life. He would get up at 3:00am many a winter morning to drive from Annapolis to Thilgman Island to meet a Skipjack leaving the dock at 4:00. He would come home and tell me all about his day: the banter on the boat as they were getting underway, the comforting smell of coffee rising from the cabin mingling with the bracing winter air, who was on the crew and how they worked together to bring in the catch. He would often come in the door with a triumphant air, bearing a half bushel of oysters — a gift from the captain.

A Light Has Dawned, oil painting by Lee Boynton

Lee was driven by an ache in his heart, the solemn awareness that he was capturing the twilight of a passing era. He wanted to taste it all: the oyster tongers working alongside the skipjacks in the winter, the trap pound fishing out of Reedville, Virginia in the spring when the menhaden were running, and the crabbing season — “the first run of soft shells getting underway when the locust trees were blooming,” as the watermen would say, and crabbing for hard shells through the early fall.  Lee saw a beautiful oneness with God’s creation in the watermen as they worked, a sweet balance and respect for the natural world, of which they were a part, passed down through the generations.  

The show at the Chesapeake Yacht Club in September, Lee Boynton: Celebrating the Chesapeake will introduce a series of prints of Lee’s paintings of the watermen, and will  include some of his originals as well. Lee believed in art having a purpose. The sales of the prints and 50% of the sales of the originals will go toward the restoration of the land and gardens on Lilac Hill, a six acre family property in Annapolis. Lilac Hill has been in our family for 101 years as of March, 2021. Under a strict conservation easement, this property can never be developed. We hope to demonstrate how property owners can create beautiful natural habitats and join a growing movement to restore the biodiversity needed to reverse the alarming rate of decline of birds, bees, and butterflies in the natural world. To learn more about Lilac Hill and how we are stewarding generational family legacies with a connection to the land, visit our website: www.takemebacktothegarden.com (Take Me Back To the Garden). 

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How Grief Turned Into Success - A Second Commission and Special Memorial Art Show

I had grown up painting with my father, artist Lee Boynton. Art was one of the special bonds he and I shared. When he passed away in April 2016, I was thrown into an arduous. multi-faceted struggle in myself around my art and finding meaning in it. The thought of painting triggered an overwhelming sense of loss. I questioned my ability to paint. I found myself comparing my work to my father’s, and, feeling like I was falling short, questioned “Why Paint?”

I was in the midst of dealing with the loss of my father, when Steve Urbanczyk called to offer me a commission of a 24 x 36” oil painting for him and his wife Judy. This was the start of pushing me through and overcoming these personal shadows in my heart that had been hanging over me for many months. I was able to complete that painting, and when they received it with such warmth and appreciation, I felt on top of the world! I had wrestled the dragon of grief and won! But this journey wasn’t over yet. Mr. Urbanczyk offered me a second commission, a 40x36” oil painting for the Chesapeake Yacht Club. He had the idea of giving this painting as a retirement gift to the manager of the club, Cordell Vitkun, in honor of his 33 years of service.

The first painting gave me the opportunity to re-examine my relationship with art. Somewhere in the scrutiny of line and color, I could see the value of positive self-critique. Instead of unproductive questions like “why is this looking so bad?” I began to ask myself, “what can I do to make this better?” Instead of focusing on the loss of my Dad and feeling crushed with grief, I could focus on finding my own path and artistic style.

The opportunity to learn these lessons twice really struck home with me. This larger painting would be the ultimate challenge. My Dad was right there with me. As Mr. Urbanczyk drove me to the yacht Club, on the way there a road sign caught my eye Lee Blvd. I loved seeing my Dad’s name at a really important moment such as this!

Mr. Urbanczyk parked in front of the club and gave me a tour. This was another world. I had left behind the hustle bustle of Annapolis and enter an idillic haven in Shady Side. The sparkling water leading out to the West River with undeveloped views of trees and rural vistas in the distance, was a perfect spot for boaters and artists alike. As I was introduced to the different members of the staff, it was clear to me that everyone there was very supportive and kind. Without their awareness, they were all very naturally contributing towards creating a vibrant and sincere sense of family. I imaged the love and respect they showed one another would translate into a wonderful sense of community among the members.

View of the Chesapeake Yacht Club I used as a reference

The painting was to capture the many elements important to the Clubs storyline - a monumental challenge, I thought when I was first presented with the job. I was told that my preliminary sketches and studies would be presented to the board for their approval. I made many trips to the Club, and when I turned on Lee Blvd, I felt my Dad’s love pushing me forward.

Sharon Vitkun, Cordell’s wife, joined me on a walk around the property. I listened closely to what she told me were the most important elements of the club property as the painting was going to be a surprise gift for her husband. He had no idea it was coming! She told me the flag pole was especially significant because each flag represented a different person who was serving on the board and their role in the community. It was important to Sharon that the adirondack chairs and the cherry tree near the flag pole be included. She explained that the cherry tree was planted in memory of the young daughter of one of the board members who had passed away suddenly, and how the whole club was impacted by the loss. I could relate. I took all these stories, sketches and mental memories back with me to my studio to process them.

The finished painting

I worked very carefully on the flags because they had the most meaning. I felt a lot of pressure as I was the newcomer here — new to the Club, new to the symbolism of the flags, and the roles they were to convey, and even new to how the direction of the wind and light would play upon them. I was well aware that the painting would be presented to a room full of people who knew everything about those things. I felt at peace remembering the heartfelt stories about the club and as I became consumed by the sparkling view. The kind guidance of those around me helped me see clear steps to follow. With all these elements working together, as well as the sense of my Dad being there with me, the painting came together easily.

The Club held a beautiful ceremony on honor of Cordel’s many years of service on November 9th, 2019. Mr. Urbanczyk and I hugged Cordell as we presented the painting to him and the three of us were moved to tears. Everything seemed to culminate in my mind at that moment — THIS is why I paint.

A month following the ceremony, I decided to present Mr. Urbanczyk with the idea of having a show of my father’s paintings at the Club. He loved the idea. My Mom and I are working with the club to put the show together - Lee Boynton: Celebrating the Chesapeake, now sscheduled for September 2021.

Sharon and Cordell after receiving the painting

Lynne Mulston, current commodore at Chesapeake Yacht Club and Drew, the Club manager, standing next to a print of the painting that Lynne gifted to CYC. Prints are now available to order in two sizes.

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A Special Commission - Margie Boynton on working through personal struggle

Last spring I received an opportunity that challenged me to the core! Steve and Judy Urbanczyk called to inquire about commissioning me to paint a 24 x 30 oil painting of their view of the West River to go over their mantel in their living room. They were telling me this painting would become a family heirloom, passed down through generations and treasured forever . I gulped. I had never painted that size before, and I had actually painted very little since my father, Lee Boynton, passed away in 2016.

I was surprised to hear from the Urbanczyks for this request. They had commissioned me to do a simple drawing of their view for their son’s wedding invitation 7 years before. It was a joy to work for them, but once I had delivered that job we had lost touch.

I felt the pressure rising within me when I was speaking with Mr. Urbanczyk. I had been going through an inner struggle around my art for sometime. Painting seemed to remind me I didn’t have my Dad anymore to ask for advice about my work. This request brought the loss home because my Dad had been very involved in helping me with the drawing for their wedding invitation. But letting grief overcome me was out of the question! I couldn’t say “No!” I had to accept this job for these wonderful people and do the very best I could.

I worked on this painting for 7 long weeks last summer. During that time, my Mom closed down the storage unit where we’d been storing the content of my Dad’s studio — everything to do with his art career — his art books, paintings, still life objects and the finest art supplies. My Dad only used the very finest art supplies and they were begging to be used!

I had a place in my house for the art books and oil paints, so they came home with me at the perfect time. Looking through my Dad’s books was a great comfort to me as they gave me a glimpse into my Dad’s artistic mind, creating a visual passageway between Monet’s waterlilies and Child Hassam’s shimmering ocean views. I felt a certain guidance through inspiration as I looked through the books, but little instruction on how to get there. I had no easy solutions, and knew my only option was to roll up my sleeves and dive right in.

I picked up my brush and started over many times. As I did, I found the best way through the painting process was to take small steps to reach obtainable goals, and to give myself room to make mistakes and work through them with grace and patience. Our inner monologues can either be helpful or hurtful during the painting process. I thought about how every artist in my father’s books must have gone through a similar struggle on their path to achieve greatness. I could see the steps I needed to take, while other steps remained unclear. I worked from photographs primarily, as well as small studies I did on the Urbanczyk’s property examining the view from different vantage points.

View of the Urbanczyk’s property. I started by simply looking. Looking as an artist requires seeing things from all vantage points, taking many photographs and combining the best elements of each one to tell a story.

The most challenging part was the sky, which dominated 70% of the composition. I needed to make up the sky, the sky could be what ever I wanted it to be. I would paint clouds in and sweep them away with my brush. Everyday the sky in my painting took on a different appearance, going from too cluttered to too still and quiet. I think painters have a tendency to oversee clouds, to paint them with too much outline, when clouds are soft nebulous things. I didn’t know what shapes my clouds were to take. When I felt stuck on this, I turned to my aunt Margaret for help.

My aunt, Margaret McWethy, is a very accomplished artist herself. She looked at my painting and pointed out a few simple things to make it work. I needed the clouds to move the eye into the painting and down through the trees into the foreground. I needed the foreground trees to be less of a contrast against the light sky to create a sense of balance with the boat house and the other foreground shapes. I needed to grab a ruler and make the horizon line exactly straight and consistent. I needed “air” in my shadows. I found that when she spoke, I knew exactly what she meant, and so did my painting. When I did the things she suggested, it seemed to really speak further to me about what it needed; the elements were falling into place as I put the finishing touches in the sky, the trees and the osprey nest.

I felt deeply gratified when I delivered the painting to my clients. They received it so well! Thank you Steve and Judy Urbanczyk for all your kindness and trust. Upon delivery Steve presented me the opportunity for a second commissioned painting! To be continued…

At this point I had all the elements in place - the sky, the trees, the boathouse, the boats in the distance - but I lacked cohesion between them all. I turned to my Aunt Margaret for help to bring the painting together.

The sky took on many different versions…

This is the finished painting. It felt good to complete this painting!

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• Family 2
• Painting the Light 1

Ballards and Brushes

June 8, 2019

6-10pm

Herrington Harbor North, 389 Deale Road, Tracy’s Landing, MD 20179

The folks at Herrington Harbor North have a very special event planned for lovers of art and music. Cathy Ditro is a member of several major headlining acts. She will be there for their first Music on the Lawn, opening the summer boating season. She will be playing a mix of top 40 hits from the 80s and other modern gems, starting at 8:00pm on the Gedunk Lawn.

Mary Bowen’s Pop-up Art Gallery will be opening at 6.00pm in the Training Room, adjacent to the Gedunk Lawn. Art prints as well as original paintings will be available for purchase and will feature scenes from the Chesapeake Bay. Lee Boynton and Mary Bowen will be the featured artists.

The Sense of Wonder - Lee Boynton and Rachel Carson

The Sense of Wonder: Lee Boynton and Rachel Carson

Southport Memorial Library, Southport Maine

July-August, 2018

Lee painting on Southport Island, Maine

In this show quotes from Rachel Carson’s book The Sense of Wonder are interspersed with Lee’s artwork. Rachel Carson, scientist and writer, and Lee Boynton, artist and teacher, touched the world in mighty ways through the overflow of their hearts and the works of their hands. They had eyes to see the wonder in the world around them and articulated that wonder with beautiful, heart-felt language — Rachel Carson with her pen and Lee Boynton with his paint brush.

In her book The Sense of Wonder, Rachel Carson demonstrates from her own life that the sense of wonder is passed to those around us, and particularly the next generation, through love and relationship. She tells of how one stormy autumn night she wrapped her baby nephew Roger in a warm blanket and took him down to the rocky shore below her cottage on Southport. Holding him close to her heart, she introduced him to the wonder and majesty of the turbulent sea and the vast night sky. He is safe in her arms as she imparts to him that sense of awe and wonder she knew so well. She believed this heart connection with nature and one another was the key to saving our fragile, breathtaking world.

Lee kept his inborn sense of wonder alive through his relationship with our living God. His love for God and God’s Word fueled his life as an artist. “I’m a co-creator with God when I paint,” he would say. His art was an expression of his awe and wonder. As for Rachel, his summers on the coast of Maine were a creative well-spring.

Lee yearned to ignite that heart response in his students. I often heard from his students that Lee was the best teacher they ever had in any subject. He gave himself fully to the glory of the moment and to sharing the joy of discovery with color and paint. “You can do it!” he would say. “Tap into the wonder of God and that gift He has given you.. Don’t over think it. Be free to paint and sing!” His enthusiasm was infectious.

That sense of wonder was the one underlying gift Lee desired to pass on to our children. They grew up seeing him paint wherever we went. Our daughter Margie painted alongside her father throughout her life. Thanks to him, she understands the true value of her artistic gift, and is finding her own beautiful voice.

Find Rest and Refreshment For Your Souls

Plein air watercolor by Lee Boynton

Jesus said, "Are you weary, carrying a heavy burden? Then come to Me. I will refresh your life, for I am your oasis. Simply join your life with mine. Learn My ways and you'll discover that I'm gentle, humble and easy to please. You will find refreshment and rest in Me. For all that I require of you will be pleasant and easy to bear. (Matthew 11:28-30 Passion Translation)

Humility and Faith

If you bow in God's awesome presence, He will eventually exalt you as you leave the timing in His good hands. Pour out all your worries and stress upon Him and leave them there, for He always tenderly cares for you. (1 Peter 5:6-7)

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The Final Salute

The Final Salute, Photos by Margaret McWethy

For this is how much God loved the world -- He gave his one and only, unique Son as a gift. So now everyone who believes in Him will never perish but experience everlasting life. God did not send His Son into the world to judge and condemn the world, but to be its Savior and rescue it!  John 3:16-17

The Final Salute

“He might not make it till Saturday,” Kristina, the hospice nurse, whispered, tiptoeing into the kitchen. Dad had developed a sudden onset of congestion that Monday. A deep, full-bodied cough had kept him awake for two nights. He was delirious with fatigue, but still pushing to adhere to his hourly routine, his life-line. “I don’t know how he made it across the room from the hospital bed to his recliner this morning,” Kristina said with a hushed, sardonic laugh.

We knew things had taken a turn for our father. My sister Melissa had called Kristina Wednesday afternoon and asked her to come. My sister Margaret hopped on a plane from Boston the next day. Melissa picked her up at the airport, and the four of us arrived at my father’s house around 2:00pm, within ten minutes of each other. God’s timing. He was present to us in the details from that moment on.

My sisters and I felt an odd sense of comfort as we convened around the kitchen table, awaiting Kristina’s assessment. All of us were there, we marveled — Dad’s three daughters — the three “M”s — And Kristina, the hospice nurse handpicked by our Heavenly Father to walk our earthly father through the process of dying. Kristina felt like a sister to us. She had the naval connection and many uncanny parallels in her life. Her father was an alumni of the Naval Academy. She was one of six kids, three girls and three boys, just like us, and she had married a graduate of the Naval Academy. She and Dad bonded instantly when she first came, and we all looked forward to the Honor Salute he would be receiving through Hospice of the Chesapeake on Saturday, January 27. 

Dad would listen to a professional. Kristina gave him permission to go to bed and stay there. She gently explained to him that this was it, and what to expect. He received it from her like a child, and went to bed. Once he was tucked in with his head on the pillow, we heard him give a deep sigh of relief. No more pushing, no more clinging to his routine

    Kristina and Darlena, the caregiver on duty that day, gave him half of a Larazapan pill, the tranquilizer from the comfort box in the refrigerator. Dad had never taken sleep aids or tranquilizers. When he couldn’t sleep or was anxious, he prayed, casting his cares on the Lord who cared for him. But on this day he did as he was told.

    We were all surprised to receive his morning email the next day at 6:40: “34 degrees and a great doped sleep… now what?” He was still with us, on schedule with his morning email, letting all six of his children know he had made it through the night. 

    Sleep is always restorative. When I arrived that morning, Margaret was sitting at his bedside. She was reading letters he had written to Mom when he was away at sea in 1965. I sat down on the settee and listened. These letters were a glimpse into his life as commanding officer of the Vermillion, a 489 foot attack cargo ship assigned to operations along the eastern seaboard. He was managing a crew made up of 38 officers and 387 enlisted personnel. Mom and Dad had kept each others letters, so we could read them alternately: life at sea, life at home — a delightful repartee between them, laced with humor. Memories flooded into our minds. I had a renewed respect for my father. Little did I know what he bore on his shoulders when I was 12 years old.

    Dad had kept in close touch with extended family and old friends through email in his latter years. His iPad was his link to the outside world once he relinquished his drivers license. As the storm was gaining force, he sent one last email to his “subscribers,” letting them know all was not well with him.

    On Friday, January 26, emails began to arrive, one after the other, on Dad’s iPad from nieces, nephews, cousins, grandchildren, and old friends, expressing their appreciation for how he had touched their lives. The words “humble” and “generous” came up over and over again. Margaret, Melissa and I were at his bedside. The grandchildren in town came to pay their last respects. Many in far away places called to have one last conversation and to say goodbye. We were in close touch with our three brothers on the west coast through Skype and phone calls.

    Margaret composed the morning email for him on Saturday, January 27. He was letting us know he made it through the night once again.

    I opened his front door cautiously when I came at 9:00a.m., an hour before the Honor Salute ceremony was to take place. I didn’t know what to expect. Would he still be able to connect? He was sitting up and alert to my arrival. He smiled. “There you are!” he said as I approached his bed.

    “Margaret sent the email this morning. Did you respond?” I was the email miscreant in the family. I just never seemed to respond on time, and he let me know.

 “I’m here in person,” I said, taking his warm hand in mine, and kissing it. He’s up for the ceremony I thought to myself. Dying is as much of an adventure as any of his tours at sea.

    I knew my friends at the Glen Burnie House of Prayer were praying for us — a core of very dedicated intercessors, responding to their call. We felt their prayers. A palpable sense of peace filled the house. The rhythmic pumping of the oxygen machine seemed to resonate with the very heartbeat of God, our Eternal Father, and the soothing sound of the water flowing through it like a cool mountain stream. Everything flowed with the very harmony of heaven, the atmosphere saturated with sunlight, sweetness and love.

    Bill Lovelace, the master of ceremonies, arrived at 10:00, precisely on time, along with two young air force officers in full dress uniform. Everything about Mr. Lovelace was in sharp contrast to his military escorts. He was dressed casually in a white, long-sleeved knit sports shirt with a red and yellow stripe at the chest. White-haired and trim, he looked to be in his early to mid eighties. A prominent wooden cross hung at his neck.  Dad beamed. He was more than present; he was fully engaged, the wide smile on his face drawing them in to his bedside. 

To open the ceremony, Mr. Lovelace invited Dad to speak a few words about his naval career. With this invitation, Dad came alive like a bright canary bursting into song. With utmost clarity, he spoke of graduating from the Naval Academy on December 19, 1941, and about his first tour of duty in Pearl Harbor as a newly commissioned officer, soon after the Japanese invasion. He had just turned 22.

    Dad had a remarkable memory for details at the age of 98. He was in his glory, speaking with all the passion and joy of one who had found their purpose and walked in God’s will for their life. He had dreamed of going to sea since he was ten years old. He would have taken us through his entire 34 year career, year by year, but after about 15 minutes, Mr. Lovelace interrupted him to read a quote about Dad he liked. Rear Admiral Marmaduke Bain had remarked in an interview with the Naval Historical Foundation that “Bob McWethy was probably the best ship handler I have ever known. He was one with the ship.” I thought of Lee, and how I always said he was “one with his paint brush.”

    Mr. Lovelace presented Dad with a beautiful handmade quilt and a plaque, then the two officers stood at attention and gave Dad his final salute. To wind up the ceremony, Dad thanked Kristina for “saving him from himself,” then Mr. Lovelace and the two officers left.

    Mr. Lovelace — the master of ceremonies. Only God! Like Kristina, he was handpicked for that role. I looked upon him as a high ranking officer in God’s army, called to lace up Dad’s life and purpose with love. During the ceremony, Dad was passing his baton, the patriarch of the family was turning the command of his ship over to the next generation. I saw my father’s military influence in my life with fresh eyes. His dedication to God and country were a precious gift fitting me for a life in the service — in that heavenly branch where the commander-in-chief is God and the aim is to bring heaven to earth.

     January 27 was an appointed time. This was the last day Dad was fully present to us on this side of the veil. He crossed the river and made landfall on the shores of Sweet Beulah Land at 1:15pm on January 29. I imagined a grand reunion with Mom, Lee, and his many friends and loved ones who had made that crossing before him.

The Navy Hymn

Eternal Father, strong to save

Whose arm hath bound the restless wave

Who baddest the mighty ocean deep

It’s own appointed limits keep;

Oh, hear us when we cry to Thee

For those in peril on the sea!

O Christ! Whose voice the waters heard

And hushed their raging at Thy Word

Who walked on the foaming deep

And calm amidst it’s rage didst sleep;

Oh, hear us when we cry to thee

For those in peril on the sea!

Most Holy Spirit! Who didst brood

Upon the chaos dark and rude

And bid it’s angry tumult cease

And give, for wild confusion, peace;

Oh hear us when we cry to Thee

For those in peril on the sea!

O Trinity of love and power!

Our family shield in danger’s hour;

From rock and tempest, fire and foe

Protect us wheresoever we go;

Thus evermore shall rise to Thee

Glad hymns of praise from land and sea.

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Growing in Grace

They will still thrive, bear fruit and prosper in old age (Psalm 92:14)

Olive trees in southern Italy, photo by Catherine Libeert

My friend Catherine took this photo of these olive trees on her travels in Southern Italy over the holidays. She was amazed to hear that the trees in this grove are all between 1000 - 2000 years old and are still bearing abundant fruit. Did it cross her mind that some were planted when Jesus walked this earth? She didn't say.

We celebrated my father's 98th birthday on January 5. Catherine sent this photo the next day, not knowing it was the day after my father's birthday. The moment I saw Catherine's photos of these trees, I thought of my father. He is like these ancient, gnarled trees -- still thriving, bearing fruit and prospering in his old age.

Dad, Grampa Bob

Psalm 92:12-15 (Amplified Bible)

The righteous [good people] will flourish like the date palm [long-lived, upright and useful];

They will grow like a cedar of Lebanon (or like one of these olive trees) [majestic and stable].

Planted in the house of the Lord,

They will flourish in the courts of our God.

[Growing in grace] they will still thrive

and bear fruit and prosper in old age;

They will flourish and be vital and fresh

[rich in trust and love and contentment];

[They are living memorials] to declare

that the Lord is upright and faithful [to His promises].

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Open My Eyes, That I May See

Glimpses of truth Thou hast for me

Watersong, Bedford, VA, Pleinair oil painting by Lee Boynton

You are God's work of art, His poem

Ephesians 2:10 (Passion Translation)

We have become His poetry, a recreated people that will fulfill the destiny He has given each of us, for we are joined to Jesus, the Anointed One. Even before we were born, God planned in advance our destiny and the good works we would do to fulfill it.

My mother was a poet. She wrote this poem about me when I was in my late teens or early twenties.

In Praise of a Quiet Daughter

a mother of six blesses 

the child who 

accepts the world

the way things are.

The child of quiet contemplation

The stargazer

the serene

The True Believer

who is the waterlily

that becomes the brook

filling and refilling

replenishing her faith.

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