Original Artwork

 10/24/2025

Friday.

Artwork:  

Sitting here at my sisters dining room table looking at one of the 3D paintings my dad painted for her.  It's an African scene,overlooking the Great Rift Valley in Kenya, with Mount Longonot in the background.  This was the view from my childhood, looking out of our living room window in Kijabe, Kenya.  In the background was the mountain, complete with the distinctive peak and volcanic crater.  In the foreground, an African hut, is a Kenyan wife either serving, or just talking to her husband.  Critters are hidden in the roots of the trees, some animals are high atop the craggy cliffs.  Tiny details abound.  This picture reminds me so much of the Africa I grew up loving.  On the wall just inside her front door is a smaller 3D painting. It is of "cave falls" from Kenya, E. Africa.  Hidden in the stormy "waters" at the bottom of the falls are imbedded 2 of my father's gallstones!  😊

So many rich memories from my childhood are wrapped up in those pictures.  Dad has done other 3D Art as well.  I have one hanging in my house of the Pennsylvania Dutch countryside where my dad grew up.  The main feature in the foreground is a red covered bridge, with the words "God is Love" painted on the side in white.  A horse and buggy is galloping along, about to go into the bridge.  A little boy is fishing in the creek below it.  Two geese are squawking at each other on the other side of the road.  A wheat field, with people harvesting is on the left, behind a tree.  A tiny rabbit peeks out of it's hole, unseen by anyone except the artist (and the audience).  In the far background is a house.  It's the exact replica of the house my mother grew up in, on a farm in Sherman Pennsylvania, complete with outhouse and clothesline.  A stone stairway leads up to the house.  My mother used to tell me that she wanted to teach her horse how to climb up those stairs on her hind legs.  Mom taught that horse to do a lot of things.  I'm not sure she ever accomplished that feat.    Dad told me when he gave me that picture that the little boy fishing, is my son, John.  The two geese are my daughters, Abby and Monica, and the tiny, quiet rabbit was my oldest, and quietest daughter, Katy.  He had each of their personalities pegged.  

My brother Phil has two of Dad's 3D paintings.   A big one with an African Fish Eagle bringing home a fish for his eaglets, and a smaller one of the Ephrata Cloisters, a historic village in Ephrata, PA where my dad grew up, founded by Conrad Beissel.  It was a strict religious order which espoused celebacy and hard work whilst waiting for the imminent second coming of Jesus Christ!  I visited the Cloisters while I was visiting PA this time, and learned so much that I didn't know before, even though I had lived in this area during my high school years, and off and on, when we were "home" on furlough, during my parent's years as missionaries in Kenya.  The Cloisters were there before the Revolutionary War, and during the war it was used as a hospital for injured soldiers.  Very interesting history.  They had a choral (still have one today) and wrote and arranged beautiful hymns, mostly written in German then translated into English.

Each of these paintings of my dads are completely original, and there is no telling how many hours he put into making them.  If they were to be sold... they would be worth thousands of. dollars, but to us, they are priceless.  The imagination, creativity and work put into these pieces of art by loving and talented hands can not have a price put on them.

Dad learned this craft from an Amish man named Abner Zook. (1/21/1921-3/22/2010). His identical twin brother was named Amos who also did this type of artwork.   (1/21/1921-9/20/2003)  Some of Abner's work sells for over $20,000.   Abner and Aaron's work is mostly of Amish country and life.  (I feel my dad's are even better... and I'd say that even if he weren't my dad!)   :-)

That's all for now.

 10/07/2025

"Back to Blogging!"  

Well looky there.  I don't have to start from scratch.  I had forgotten that I started this blog years ago.  I'm glad I did.  I recorded some thoughts and some feelings that I don't want to forget.  Even though they are sometimes painful...they were a part of my life...a part of my experience...a part of who God is molding me to be... through all the good and bad times, happy and sad times of my life..  

What a life it's been.

I'm in Pennsylvania now.  Staying at my sisters house, caring for my poppa.  He's ninety one years old.  Mom died 2 years ago, the day before his birthday.  Why then, I wonder?  I don't think Dad ever expected to outlive my mother.... He'd had numerous health issues, especially with his heart.  Mom had always been pretty darn healthy.  No major health issues.  Ok.  She did have hepatitis pretty bad while she was in Africa when I was a brand new baby (1961).  And she had several bouts of malaria.  I think Dad did too...  par for the course for living in Africa where we did.  There was medicine to take, and they recovered.  But they could never give blood again, because their blood was tainted.  

I was able to go down to Florida and help care for mom the last couple of years of her life.  She had dementia, and was needing more care than they could give at Media.  I thoroughly enjoyed it.  Loving her, caring for her, sitting with her, singing with her, listening to her, watching Lawrence Welk with her (and dad, and Uncle Tom and Aunt Chris, and whoever else wanted to join us.). Boy did she love music of all kinds. It was in her bones.  She could harmonize with anyone anywhere.  How did she do that?  She never learned to read music...  but she had the most beautiful voice, and it was a gift God gave to her, and she gave it right back to him, and He used it to encourage and lift up many people, and especially lift up His name.  It gave him glory, and I'm sure it brought Him joy.  

Anyway.  Dad did outlive mom.  I'm glad.... because I feel its a way for us to all learn to love him for him.  He used to always hide behind mom.  Mom was the outgoing one, the social one, the relational one, the listener, the counselor, the pray-er.   Dad was there in the background.  He didn't often speak... but when he did, he usually had some very profound things to say.  Once when I was crying about wishing I could go back to the way things "used to be", either my carefree childhood, or my life when my husband was still alive... He said, "You never step in the same river twice..."  Ouch.  I remembered that.  I've mused on it many times since then.  

Today after breakfast as he was transitioning to his red chair where he will sit for a couple of hours till its time for his morning nap, I asked him what I was like as a little child.  He said, "you were always cute.  Never naughty..."  I don't know about that...  It seems like I did get more spankings than the other 3 kids put together.  Anyway.  I'm glad he remembers me as that.  I know I was a little "nixy" as my grandma would say....  Maybe that's why I got so many spankings...  I know that in spite of those spankings, I knew I was loved.  I felt secure in my parents love.  That is a wonderful gift.

Rachael has been caring for dad in her home since mom died.  He is probably in better health than he ever has been, because she cares for him so well.  Yes, he is getting older and weaker.  He's 91 for heavens sake.  But he is on a good schedule of rest, eating nutritious food, taking his meds, sitting upright for a couple of hours at a time, and then repeating the process.  His mind is still pretty sharp considering.  He's quieter than he used to be.  He doesn't have as much confidence in his speech as he used to have.  He doesn't like being left alone with people he doesn't know well.  He feels more secure when others are there to carry the conversation.  But he is not a recluse, and for that I am grateful.  He and Rachael go to a sweet little church close to their home, and the people love him there.  It's perfect.  They are so kind and helpful, and they do love Jesus.  What a gift, to have that kind of fellowship with the body of Christ.  There is nothing like it.  

Well, I shall sign off for now.  Going to go sit with Dad now.  Maybe watch an episode of "Call the Midwife" before he heads off for his nap!

Back to Blogging! The last time I wrote anything was October, 2009.  It is now January, 2014.  How time has gone by.  What has happened in the meantime?  Much.  and not so much.

Oh yes.  Too much.  Heartache, pain, hurt.  Joy, tears.  Life.  An uphill climb.  A son on drugs, a stint in Military school, a suicide attempt and drug rehab.  Then more drugs, Juvie, Drug Court. Drug tests, lack of trust,  Anger.    His towards me.  Mine towards him.

The good news is, that after all of that, my dear son is alive.  He graduated from High School with honors, got a very good scholarship to UAB.

The sad news is, I lost my son.  I lost a close relationship with him. He will still say he loves me, but I don't feel loved by him.  All I feel is his anger towards me.  I love him so much it hurts, and it hurts so badly that I don't have that sweet, close relationship I crave.  I lost it when he was young, as he was only in 4th grade when his dad was diagnosed with cancer.  Multiple Myeloma, along with TTP, short for Thrombotic Thrombosytopenic Purpura.  A life threatening blood disorder. From that time on, my time was split between being with my husband while in the hospital with tubes hanging out of his carotid artery, to be used for exchanging his unhealthy plasma with donor plasma.  Each exchange took hours, and he had to have sometimes 2/day.

Between that and going to Arkansas for treatment for sometimes weeks or more at a time for Charlie's treatment for the Multiple Myeloma, which included 2 bone marrow transplants, using his own stem cells.   I missed much of the dear, sweet time of raising John.  Raising my son.   Being there for him when he came home from school, did homework, played.  My daughter Abby took over that role as best as she could.