Grief

Sometimes the news comes quick. Sometimes the news comes slow. No matter how or when it comes, grief travels in the wake of the news. Grief is heavy, weighty, a burden, especially when it involves someone deeply loved. Grief is not meant to be carried alone. It’s too heavy and may last a while—and that’s ok. That’s what family and friends are for, to share the load. Jesus stood outside the tomb of his friend and wept but He did not weep alone. It was a deep, human moment. “ Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted ” (Matt 5:4). If anyone knows how we feel in grief, it’s Him. But His grief did not linger long, as at the mention of his name, Lazarus came forth. We are not meant to dwell in grief, but should leave room enough for it. Let it run its course. Like the song says, “ Every Storm Runs Out Of Rain .” Another song says, “ The storm We will dance as it breaks The storm It will give as it takes And all of our pain is washed away Don't cry or be afraid Some things...

Whistler's Mother: A Harmony of Color

It's an icon. An old woman dressed in black. Why has this painting captured our attention? We don't know the woman, but flash an image of it to a stranger on the street and find that just about anyone has a familiarity with her.


Whistler's title for the painting is "Arrangement in Grey and Black: Portrait of the Artist's Mother." While only a portion of the life-size painting is represented here, one can get an inkling of what captures our fascination. The canvas (representing the wall behind her) is rough but her aged features are softened with delicate layers of paint. Had we not been told we would not know she was cold, sick, could not stand for long and withstood the constant pain of bad teeth. The lace of her white bonnet is portrayed with transparent fragility. Her plain black dress is her statement of years of mourning after the death of her husband. Though we do not see them directly, her eyes are wide open with a kind of readiness.

Whistler says of the painting, "To me, it is interesting as a picture of my mother; but what can or ought the public to care about the identity of the portrait?  . . . As music is poetry of sound, so is painting the poetry of sight and subject matter has nothing to do with harmony of sound or color."

It captures our attention because of the care Whistler put into it. A harmony of sound (or lack thereof) and color.

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