Year-End Words

Random Thoughts to close the year

or- stuff I've chewed on

from 2011 journals

When you fall, anything 'grabable' will do.

Possibilities abound when you are no longer bound by the possible.

If a picture is worth a thousand words,

how many pictures is the Word worth?

A real man

is humble,

pays attention to loved ones,

provides for and protects loved ones,

gives more than he takes,

learns from his father,

admits mistakes,

forgives.

The Lord provides, and He tends to do it through people.

We enter this life crying and wailing,

we should leave singing and rejoicing.

Our words are a powerful gift,

yet we spend them carelessly, cheaply.

Hebrews 3:15 says-

"Today if you hear His voice..."

As I read those words I 'saw':

Today- always present

if- always possible

you- always personal

True repentance is the ultimate honesty.

An artist lives in two worlds at the same time-

the one inside his head and the other one.

Sometimes art is inconvenient.

Inside every man is a little boy

who longs to hear his father say, "I love you."

All the determination and will power in the universe

cannot force a red-light to become green.

Laundrymat realization-

Underwear is not essential to life, but it is nice.

Checkbook realization-

There is a specific stomach sickness reserved for

the realization of a checkbook error.

Truth does not depend on whether we believe it

(or, agree with it).

and finally, practical wisdom-

A man should not peel a hard-boiled egg while driving on a busy freeway.

That is a task reserved for quiet, country roads.

Reducing Holiday Stress

     The joy of Christmas was lost to me, years ago. I suppose I grew up. Or worse, I grew old. A childlike wonder I vaguely remember was slowly replaced by an ache in my stomach. Shopping. Commercials. Travel. Frenzy. Stress. Debt... all in the name of Christmas. It seemed to me that the standard of a 'good' Christmas must be measured monetarily, either spent or received. My wife called me 'Scrooge' (on more than one occasion), to which I replied, "Bah!" 


     This Christmas, I decided, will be different. This Christmas will be holy. After all, holiday is a good word. And so, I made a list to help my focus (I am a continual list-maker). I offer it to the fellow Scrooges of the world.


     1. Read the Story
          The story of Christmas, found in the 2nd Chapter of Luke, is filled with wonder. Whether you are Christian, Jew, Atheist, or anything in-between, the story is beautiful, the story is the essence of Christmas- the gift of Life.


     2. Make something
          I know, I know... Christmas gifts should be bought, not made. After all, what if they don't like it? This question, it occurred to me, was a major source of my stress. I had to re-think the joy of gift-giving. I don't imagine God stressing out that first Christmas, wondering, "Will they like the gift of My Son?"
          And then, there are those who claim, "I'm not creative." To that I say, "Bah!" Make cookies, write a poem, draw a picture- the handmade gift says, "I took the time to do this for you."


     3. Make a list
          (another one) of things I am grateful for, leaving room for add-ins. Put the list on the refrigerator. Nota bene, include things that money can't buy.


     4. Perform randomly anonymous acts of kindness
          Suggestion- mail someone a gift card, with no return address on the envelope.


     5. Remember simplicity
          Less is more. Christ was born in a stable, placed in a food trough and shared with smelly shepherds.


     This Christmas will be different. I am determined. And, I have a list.
          

Nostalgic Signs

Clarksville Train Station
Clarksville, Tennessee

     Nostalgic moments are weirdly unpredictable. Yesterday, I remembered my first train ride. One minute I was having a conversation and the next I was in the mid 1960's, I was 9, and my Cub Scout Den was taking a field trip to a small town in Kentucky to see one of the banks robbed by the infamous Jesse James. 

     The train car smelled of musty wood. The seating consisted of old park benches, bolted to the floor. In the back of the car was a pot bellied stove. Nine-year-old butts are squirmy, especially with the prospect of banks and bandits looming up the tracks. Maybe Jesse dropped a bullet. I was determined to find one. My Mom was seated beside me, keeping me seated beside her with that 'look' that only Mom's possess.


     Nostalgia is a strange pond. Some days it seems larger, better than you remembered. Other days you feel there should be a 'No Fishing' sign. Funny thing about my first train ride- I don't remember the arrival, only the ride.

A nostalgic moment, a video from one of my former students-

99.9 °F from Harrison Keller on Vimeo.

A Face, A Book and a friend

The Most Powerful Button in the World

    

 I have 485 friends. I know because I just checked my Facebook. Of course, I've never met some of them. When I was in High School I could count my friends on one hand. On the other hand, well, things were different then. My 'friends' sat with me at the same lunch table. The word 'friend' was more often a noun than a verb. I certainly couldn't 'add' (or remove) a friend with the click of a button. Not long ago I received two friend requests, both from former High School classmates. One request was from the least popular girl in my class, the other was from the most popular (my perspective). I don't remember ever speaking to either. Thanks to Facebook, the great leveler of humanity, I can now be 'friends' with both. 

Carpet Buffet

My first teaching experience involved helping Mrs. Lambert with her four-year-old Sunday School class. Mrs. Lambert was a master teacher. Four-year-olds exude passion without apology and she had a gentle strength that would comfort without compromise. They laugh, they cry, they sing, they dance, they play, shifting from one to the next as swiftly as the turned pages of waiting room magazines.


There was a time when the classroom supply of Play-doh began to decrease. Then, we realized that Johnny (name changed) was eating it. And one Sunday morning it was gone. Johnny had eaten every can of play-doh in the room. He was, however, not finished. From the corner of my eye, during a song, I noticed Johnny had his face to the floor. He had discovered a patch of dried doh and was gnawing it from the carpet. Johnny's doh pica was undaunted by the empty cans. 


I wonder, what appetites take me to the carpet? 

Taste and See

"Nothing exists in the intellect that has not first gone through the senses."

Plutarch

Seeing, hearing, smelling, touching and tasting; my senses are beautiful gifts, with each being proximity relational. My sight allows me to view stars- millions of miles afar. My taste, however, requires closeness.  


Yesterday ended a 21-Day fast from pleasure reading. Yesterday was Yom Kippur. I didn't plan the fast around the High Holy Day, but I am grateful for the timing.


The Children of Israel are known as People of the Book, stewards of the Word of God. After hearing that expression, many years ago, my love for Judaism began.


The Psalmist wrote, "Taste and see that the Lord is good."
In Him, things afar draw near.


So, I will begin again with my reading.

Black and White

The Way Home
Michael Carter

"We never really know enough until we recognize that God alone knows it all."

I Corinthians 8:2,3

The Message

Reading Fast-Day 14. Sunday.

Yesterday I read this note from the margin of my Bible-

'The Baal Shem Tov taught that every person is allotted a given number of words during his life. When he has used up his quota, he dies. Thus, by guarding his tongue, one assures himself of greater longevity.'

The writer of Proverbs put it this way, "Words kill and words give life. You choose." 

We don't fully know the personal importance of anything until we choose to avoid it. For 14 days I have chosen to avoid the reading of books and I am wrestling with my restlessness. Ink on paper; 'agreed upon' vertical and horizontal strokes we call letters shape meanings that direct our thoughts. Is it really that black and white? The gestalt of a book astounds me.


This morning I read:
"The words of wise men are like goads, and masters of these collections are like well-driven nails; they are given by one shepherd. But beyond this, my son, be warned: The writing of many books is endless, and excessive devotion to books is wearying to the body." Eccl. 12:11,12. (italics mine)


In the margin, after this passage, I had written this quote:

"You have made us for Yourself, and our hearts are restless until they rest in You."

Augustine, Confessions

A song from Steve Earle

Whiteboards, Blackboards and Wordscapes

"It is not enough to like good books.

You must be a good book yourself."

Francois de Fenelon

1651-1715

"In the beginning was the Word.."

John 1:1

Today is day seven of my fast and my books are calling to me. I love books. The affair began with Pop's Reader's Digest Condensed collection. They made a good highway for Matchbox cars. The uniform size and large quantity afforded me bridges, tunnels- even skyscrapers to frame my literary landscapes. Everything changed when one day I looked inside them. I discovered wordscapes. My Mom allowed me to join a Book of the Month club, in lieu of allowance. Still, five decades later, books remain my highway.  But it is from books I am fasting.

Sunday, my wife asked, "Why do you read so much?"

My immediate response was, "It interests me." I knew there was more but I couldn't articulate more. So I  pondered that question the rest of the day. Then it occurred to me, the truer reason why I read- first, I continually seek answers to a never ending list of questions and second, I want to know what others think.

These titles patiently await my return:

Visio Divina

edited by Mel Ahlborn and Ken Arnold

Universe of Stone

by Philip Ball

Bright Earth

by Philip Ball

The Artist's Rule

by Christine Valters Paintner

The War of Art

by Steven Pressfield

Rumors of Water

by L.L. Barkat

and

A Long Obedience in the Same Direction

by Eugene Peterson

I haven't placed all reading on hold, just 'informational pleasure' reading. For twenty one days I have chosen to read Scripture, work-related emails and student work only (I teach a creative writing class... I can't ignore their words for three weeks. If you'd like to read some of their words, click here).  I have noticed that, while I am not reading more scripture, I am 'chewing' on the text longer. After all, one of the purposes of fasting is re-focusing, restoring clarity to our time-perspectives through reflection, or as they say in the South, "Chewin' on somethin' different for a spell." As an aside, I've noticed notes and drawings that have worked themselves into my Bible. Here are a couple of them, transcribed to my Moleskine pocket journal:

Theatrum Dei
Calvin Seerveld

Four Stages of Mastery
Lance Wallnau

As I reflected on the sketches, I thought about the lectures associated with them. Both, Dr. Seerveld and Mr. Wallnau, used Whiteboards for visual aid. I like chalk. It's earthy. I like the residue of words on my fingertips. Sometimes I let it remain. But, this is the 21st Century. This is the age of the Whiteboard.


Fourteen days of "chewin' on somethin' different" remain.


Here is a photo from one of my lectures for you to chew on- 

The Hands and Feet of Art
Michael Carter

Photo by
Samuel Carter

sacro speco

There is a wet chill on the deck this morning so I grab a jacket from the hall closet. I am in sweat pants, a t-shirt and a tweed jacket. A spectacle for none to see. In the near distance a woodpecker is searching for breakfast. This is my 'alone-time' with God, my sacro speco. Him, me, coffee and Harry. Harriet is her name but we call her Harry.


Harry came to us, or as my wife says, "was brought to us". It happened in Memphis, Tennessee. One day there were two cats on our deck. One was small, the other 'looked rough', battle weary. Memphis can be hard on a cat. "He looks like an Ozzie," my wife said (alluding to a rock star of that name). "How about Ozzie and Harriet?" Perfect. Ozzie stayed for a day or two. My wife said that Ozzie was making sure Harry had a good home. 

Pine Cones in a Sycamore Tree

Sixteen Candles

Photo by

Teresa West Carter

My youngest child is sixteen. Sixteen years of yesterdays.

Where did they go?

Hanging over our deck are the branches of a Sycamore tree. Zaccheus would have difficulty climbing this one. A Muscadine vine has taken residence in the branches, dropping grapes onto the deck for Harry the cat's entertainment. There is something else in the branches, something odd; pine cones. I first noticed them a few months ago. Pine cones in a Sycamore tree. As I pondered this anomaly, I looked higher and discovered that a Pine tree towers above the Sycamore. So I wonder, am I the Sycamore, the pine cones or the muscadine?

Sometimes I have odd thoughts. 

I suppose. And yet, into this life some pine cones must fall.

Happy Birthday, Emma.

Watch out for the pine cones.

Machines for Selling | Comment Magazine | Cardus

Machines for Selling | Comment Magazine | Cardus

I grew up in a town with the 'family market'- Lee's grocery. Our family had an account (a small notepad behind the counter, on which the clerk would write the date and amount). In the back was the meat counter where you could order a bologna sandwich. Everyone in the store knew our family, by name. I miss Lee's.

Joy In The Journey

"The nature of God is a circle

of which the center is everywhere

and the circumference is nowhere."

Empedocles, 490-430 BC


The smell of coffee brewing and bacon sizzling reminds me that the journey can be as wonder-filled as the destination. Fellow artists- enjoy the journey! And remember, with art we are all students.

My love for math ended in the Third grade. Standing at the blackboard with chalk in hand, I stared at the problem before me while my teacher and peers looked on. Before that moment, math was my favorite subject, but with the introduction of long division, there occasionally came something previously unseen in my mathematical career- a remainder. Heretofore, problems worked out neatly. Two plus two equaled four. Seven minus one equaled six. There was closure that, for me, was satisfying. With division, there was the possibility of leftover numbers. I didn't like that. So my division always worked out even. No remainders. Ever. To correct this, my teacher called me to the board one day. I began the problem and as I neared the end I realized it wasn't going to work out even. So I drew a line under the last number and wrote 'zero'. A few people laughed while the teacher sighed. She explained the problem. I understood the problem. But, I didn't like it.

It was years before I understood why.


As I consider the notion of teaching art, a thought continues to surface- from caves to chapels, art is about choices.

As Dorothy Sayers eloquently says, art begins in the mind of the maker. And then, let the choices begin. Color, size, material...

I have been working (trudging slowly) through the process of illustrating a children's book. Every artist's process is personal. Mine involves trial-and-error. A lot of error. I begin with thumbnails. Like these:

Eventually, an image evolves.

Final Version

For this series, I arrived at producing pieces on a variety of materials, from papyrus to wood. This piece is on cardboard from a Zao water box-

Exodus 17:6


A matter of choice brings me back to my third grade blackboard. Standing there, staring at the problem (gently corrected by my teacher), this thought began to form-


Why is there only one correct answer?

I understand, and take comfort in the fact that, in this life, there are singular absolutes. I also revel in the wonder of this thing we call art, because with art we have as many correct answers as we have artists. And, as Michael Card says, "there is a joy in the journey."

A new video from my son, Samuel:

A Poem From Estonia

 Yesterday I ran out of coffee. Not a single bean in the house. Those of you who know me recognize the gravity of the situation. This morning I drank hot tea. There is a place in the Kingdom for a steaming cup of black tea, but it will never replace a cup of of well-roasted Sumatra. But sometimes it's good to change routine. 

 Last week a few friends came for fish tacos- Andrew, Janell, Spencer, Libby and Hanna. Good food, good conversation, laughter. Hanna, a ministry school student, made two significant contributions to the evening:

1. a cake

2. a poem

in Estonian

Both were amazing.

Here is Hanna's poem, in English and Estonian-

The Marks of Shadows

Hanna-Liisa Reinpuu

When you are walking on the road

you can't see behind yourself.

When you turn around

you roll up the past

Afraid to knock, afraid to open,

afraid to share your dreams.

Why don't you continue the road

that you started when you were born?

Why are you shaken by somebody

who doesn't care about your dreams?

His flattery tangles you in the trap

you don't know how to let go from his firm grip.

..and by slow degrees all beauty will fade to oblivion.

You are running on fire

feet in the air.

You think you can leave without leaving a mark.

Estonian Version

Varjude jäljed

Hanna-Liisa Reinpuu

Kui mööda teed Sa kõnnid

ci näe Sa enda taha

Ümber pöõrates Sa rullid

lahti mineviku paha.

Kardad koputada, kardad avada,

kardad oma unistusi jagada.

Miks ei jãtka sa teckonda,

mida alustasid sündides?

Miks kõigutab sind keegi,

kes su unistustest ei hooli?

Ta meelitavad sõnad mässivad sind püùnisesse,

ei oska sa lahti öelda ta hoardest.

...ja vaikselt kòik ilus vajub unustusse.

Sa jooksed kui tulel

jalgu maha panemata

Arvad, et vòid laukuda jälgi jätmata.

 Hanna's Cake


For more Estonian poetry, Hanna suggests reading the work of Juhan Liiv, one of Estonia's favorite poets.

Re-Purposing and Kingdom Ethics

Camp Stephen Mural Backdrop

Acrylic on canvas

12' x 5'

Teresa Carter

"The passing years and the artistic life have taught me that past, present and future are realities only so long as I dwell on this globe that whirls around a star."

Vinita Hampton Wright

"There are two things you should know: first, what you are; second, that you are not what you are by your own power."

Bernard of Clairvaux

1090-1153 

Youth camp ended Friday, at noon. Samuel and Emma experienced the week as campers, Teresa as a teacher, leading a group in art projects, and me as a kitchen volunteer. There is much time for reflection while chopping and cooking and mopping and dish-washing (my hi-lite was learning, thanks to Aaron Hershberger, to toss a pizza!). My respect for all who serve in the kitchen is now one of admiration.

While trimming the fat from a case of chicken, I meditated on the notion of creativity, specifically, where and how ideas occur for these creatures known as 'artists'. I am grateful for a memorial designer named Eugene H. Faehnle. He led a design workshop I attended in Elberton, Ga., almost twenty five years ago. On day one, he said, "It occurred to me one day that many of the designs in my industry have not changed in more than half a century. The traditional 20th Century memorial is, what I call, a P2 SerpBurp with corner clutter and band aids (see below for 'tombstone terminology'). I began to take note of contemporary design, as it relates to other fields. I realized something. Companies spend millions on good design. So, I drove to the local drug store and walked the aisles, noting product shapes and dimensions." 

Eugene H. Faehnle revolutionized American memorial design by re-purposing good design. He passed away several years ago but his memory is honored by the American Institute of Commemorative Art's Annual Design Contest. 

 P2 SerpBurp w/Corner Clutter & Band Aids

I owe Eugene Faehnle a great debt. He stands in line with those who have helped shape the way I see. He reminds me that we, along with our 'ideas', are not our own; we are a part of a collaborative collective, stewards of creative moments meant to enhance, encourage and educate others. I have a list of concepts I keep tucked away, a group of pieces I plan to realize one day. While trimming chicken fat in a church kitchen, I had this thought- what if God, in His infinite generosity, gives me more ideas than I can generate so that I might give them to other artists/students? What if I posted a project concept on an international bulletin board and an artist in Tokyo had the means and time to realize it in a way I never imagined? After all, we who claim the name of Christ, are not owners but stewards, even over 'intellectual property rights'. It's Kingdom Ethics fleshed out. 

I have compiled a list of a few concepts I have tucked away and I am making them available to anyone interested. You can click here for a PDF link, or, if you email, I will send a hand-written list from one of my yellow legal pads- old fashioned, USPS snail mail. Everybody loves mail. If you see something you decide to produce you don't have to tell anyone you got the concept from a guy in South Carolina (tho' I would be thrilled to hear from an artist in Tokyo). My email address is- shekhinah@juno.com.   

Tombstone Terminology

P2- Polished two sides 

Serp- Serpentine Top

Burp (BRP)- Balance rock pitched

Breath of Life

Arundo donax is listed as a noxious weed in Texas, an exotic plant pest in California, an invasive weed in Hawaii, and as an invasive, exotic pest in Tennessee. Arundo donax, a.k.a., Giant Reed, is also the primary source of clarinet reeds.

My friend Martin Powell is a virtuoso clarinetist and I have been blessed to hear him perform twice in the past week. Both times he played the Adagio Movement from Mozart's Clarinet Concerto. The first time was evening in the Grand Cafe of Heritage International, the second time was morning on Prayer Mountain in Moravian Falls, NC. Whether morning or evening, large group or small, Martin was one with the instrument- the picture of discipline and devotion; public evidence of years spent in solitude. The sound produced by Martin's breath passing over a reed defies my intellect and inspires my imagination. To watch an instrument submit to a musician, as the clarinet does to Martin, confirms for me the power attainable when the created works with the creator. Teresa of Avila puts it thus, "...Martha and Mary walking together." 


 

 

View from Prayer Mountain

Genesis 2:7 reads, 'Then the LORD God formed man of dust from the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living being.' The word translated 'being' is, in the Hebrew, neh-fesh; literally- 'one who breathes'.

When Martin Powell plays Mozart's Clarinet Concerto all of creation hears the breath of life.

Martin Powell

can you hear me now?

shema

Strong's #8085

to hear, to listen, to understand, to obey

Last night, I asked my wife, "If your life was a movie, what channel would it be on?" She thought for a moment and said, "The Discovery Channel."

I like that.

So I am reading through the Old Testament in a different translation than I usually read and I come across this-

God asked Solomon,

"What do you want? Ask, and I will give it to you."

Solomon said,

"Give me an understanding heart so that I can govern Your people well and know the difference between right and wrong."

An understanding heart. God liked that. In the Hebrew, the word translated understanding is

shema,

a word that is, according to my Lexical Aids to the Old Testament,

...one of the most important verbs in the Hebrew Old Testament. It appears 1,160 times. The main idea is perceiving a message or sensing a sound.'

What we all want, ultimately, is security. We want assurance that our needs are secured. The need for food, shelter, money... hope must become fact. Security must become an indelible stain on our hearts and minds because the threat of insecurity is dibilitating to the soul. Perhaps Solomon knew that to hear God is security.

"Hear (shema), O Israel! The LORD is our God, the LORD is one!"

Hearing From God in Walmart

"Give us this day our daily bread."

Matthew 6:11

When praying for 'daily bread' becomes a personal reality you learn to be a good listener. Several years ago my family and I were involved in a 'faith-based' ministry (another way of saying the pay comes from God's hand). Many days our son would ask, "What's for dinner?" My wife would say, "Whatever God provides." We never missed a meal. One day my wife made a grocery list. She placed it on the kitchen counter and said, out loud, "Lord, this is what we need. I'm asking You for it." Later that day, we returned home to find 14 grocery bags on our front porch. Everything from my wife's list was there, and, items not on the list like cookies and ice cream (it hadn't melted). I guess God cares about dessert.

On grocery expeditions I try to be Spirit-led, praying while walking between aisles of food. Today I was in Walmart and I asked, "Lord, what can I get today?" My current funds were limited, so I knew His response would be short. I heard 'milk and sugar.' Now, I know some of you reading this will be rolling your eyes at this point. "Come on, Mike. The voice of God in Walmart?! Maybe in the Middle East or a burning building!" As I said, praying for daily bread is a personal reality for my family. Interesting thing about 'daily bread'- it's daily. We Americans prefer 'monthly', stockpiled, pantry-filled bread. The 'what I want when I want it' bread. When the cupboard is bare we worry. The issue for me is one of trust. Do I trust (believe) that God loves me? 

I love hearing music performed live. My son and I have been to a few amazing performances in the past few months and every time there is a moment I look for- the look of knowing. It is a look exchanged across the stage between musicians, followed with a brief smile. The look of knowing says, "That's it! Well done." I believe God has a look of knowing when we pray, from the heart, "Give us this day our daily bread."

Psalm 19
Roz Dimon
Click here for a beautiful interaction with Psalm 19

Moments of Beauty

"Artists of the world, may your different paths all lead to that infinite Ocean of beauty where wonder becomes awe, exhilaration, unspeakable joy."
Pope John Paul II
Letter To Artists
1999

There was in the Art Room today
a moment of complete and total silence. It happened during fifth period. I looked up from my work to see a classroom of high school students working, silently immersed in the process of picture making. It was a moment of beauty.

Google Results for beauty


Moments of beauty abound. I understand what it means 'to teach'. Well, at least most of the time. I feel right, true in design, when I am teaching. For me, teaching is a series of beautiful moments, and the most beautiful is the 'aha' moment. Every true teacher lives for the 'aha', the exclamatory-  εὕρηκα (I have discovered it)! Good teachers know that the 'aha' is reciprocal. Here are a few personal 'aha' moments I was recently blessed by:

The Lion, The Sheep and The Fire

Acrylic on paper

My wife was visiting a friend and one of the children, a five-year-old, was painting. When the friend's daughter finished, she presented the painting to my wife. It is amazing.  With economy of stroke the child rendered a lion leading sheep though a fire. Picasso said, "Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once we grow up." I am looking at the painting now, it hangs in our kitchen, and the words of Jesus speak to my Soul, "Truly I say to you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God like a child will not enter it at all."

Backwards Logic

Cyanotype Proof

Christopher Shreve

One of my students has been working/ruminating on an art project for months. He will tell you, as he has me on numerous occasions, "I can't do art." He and I have shared hours of conversation, on a variety of topics, and I know that his mind yearns for logical order. One day I asked, "Do you know of the unsolved proofs?" This question began a new series of conversations, culminating in a printmaking project appropriately titled- Backwards Logic. I watched him today as he carefully arranged layers of formulas, screen printed on vellum, in a precise pattern. It was a moment of beauty. It was art.

Jamie Morgan - Enamored from Shutter Down on Vimeo.


Another moment of beauty occurred this morning before school. Teresa and I attended the Twenty Fourth Annual YMCA Community Prayer Breakfast. The speaker was James Morgan, President and CEO of Krispy Kreme Doughnuts. He shared his heart, the heart of a father, with 2.200 people in the Grand Ballroom of the NASCAR Hall of Fame. His sincerity and humility ministered to me. Then he introduced his son, Jamie, to the crowd. It was a beautiful moment. Jamie spoke and sang with an honesty that is refreshing, and again, it was a moment of beauty.


To hear more of Jamie Morgan's music click here.


I think, however, today's top 'aha' award goes to a colleague- Amy McNelis. Today is recognized as the National Day of Prayer and she led some of the students in a group prayer.
Thank you, Amy, for that moment of beauty.