Just want to say goodbye to a friend.
This is for you.
Hope you C it.
Keep your hands up.
I am just a poor boy, though my story's seldom told.
I have squandered my resistance,
For a pocketful of mumbles, such are promises.
All lies and jest.
Still a man hears what he wants to hear and disregards the rest.
When I left my home and my family I was no more than a boy,
In the company of strangers,
In the quiet of a railway station, runnin' scared.
Laying low, seeking out the poorer quarters,
Where the ragged people go.
Lookin' for the places, only they would know.
Asking only workman's wages I come lookin' for a job,
But I get no offers,
Just a come-on from the whores on Seventh Avenue.
I do declare there were times when I was so lonesome,
I took some comfort there.
Oooh la, la, la ...
Li la li...
Now the years are rollin' by me, they are rockin' evenly
And I'm older than I once was, younger than I'll be, that's not unusual
Though it isn't strange, after changes upon changes
We are more or less the same, after changes we are more or less the same
Li la li ...
And I’m laying out my winter clothes, wishing I was gone, goin’ home
Where the new york city winters aren’t bleedin’ me, leadin’ me to goin' home
In the clearing stands a boxer and a fighter by his trade,
And he carries the reminders of every glove that laid him down,
Or cut him 'til he cried out in his anger and his shame,
"I am leaving, I am leaving."
But the fighter still remains.
by Paul Simon
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
Les disciples Pierre et Jean courant au sepulcre le matin de la Resurrection
Well, I made it back from Paris safe and sound. The trip was INCREDIBLE! But right now I am suffering from too much jet lag to blog much, so I will leave you with this post of my favorite painting that I saw while on my trip. The small scale does not enable one to see the emotion the artist captured in the eyes of Peter and John.
Saturday, April 15, 2006
Well, the Angevoix is off to Paris for a week. I have wanted to go to Paris since I was old enough to understand what Paris is. If I do this post correctly, you should be able to go to the link and scroll around a breathtaking view of Paris at night!
Thursday, April 06, 2006
Carl Larsson is one of my favorite artist. He was a Swedish artist who lived in the late 19th and early 20th century. His father was alcoholic and as a result his upbringing was harsh and impoverished. It was his goal as an adult to create the warmth of the happy home that he had longed for as a child. If his art work is any example of the reality of the homelife he created for himself and his family, he certainly succeeded. The subject of most of his beautiful water colors is domestic tranquility at its joyful best.
Monday, April 03, 2006
"Then Peter got down out of the boat, walked on the water and came toward Jesus. 30But when he saw the wind, he was afraid and, beginning to sink, cried out, "Lord, save me!"
How far do you have to sink?
Let me explain. I have been in church forever . . . well at least it seems that way sometimes. And I have heard many many preachers expound on the story of Peter stepping out of the boat to walk on the water towards Jesus. I have heard it used as an allegory on keeping our eyes focused on Christ in the midst of a trial rather than looking at our circumstances. I have heard it used to talk about faith, having it and the lack thereof. I have heard preachers use it to talk about fear versus faith. But there is one thing that Peter got very right that I have never heard anyone talk about. When Peter began to sink, he cried out to Jesus. He didn't cry out to the other people in the boat. He didn't try to swim back to the boat. He didn't try to save himself, work it out on his own, think it out, cry it out, or sulk it out . He didn't wait until salt water stung his eyes and water filled his nose and mouth. Peter saw Jesus as a first response rather than a last resort.
So let me ask you the question again. How far do you have to sink?
Saturday, April 01, 2006
Dr.Maya Angelou came to our church and spoke last night. Yes, I am bragging.
She was incredible.
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.
Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.
Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history's shame
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.