Christmas Cactus Series – 2013

Christmas Hope

Christmas Faith

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The Legend of the Christmas Cactus

“LEGEND has it the Christmas Cactus dates back many years to the land now known as Bolivia and a Jesuit missionary, Father Jose, who labored endlessly to convert the natives there.  He had come across the Andes Mountains from the city of Lim nearly a year before.  But he felt the people of this village on the edge of the great jungle were still suspicious. He had cared for the sick and shown the natives how to improve their simple dwellings, which leaked dismally in the rainy season.  Most important, he had attempted to teach them the story of the Bible, especially the life of Jesus, though much seemed to be beyond their  comprehension.  He had told them about the beautifully decorated altars in cities during holidays, yet here it was Christmas Eve and he was on his knees alone in front of his rude altar. Then he heard voices singing a familiar hymn he had taught his flock.  He turned to see a procession of the village children carrying armfuls of blooming green branches (which we now know as the Christmas Cactus) that they had gathered in the jungle for the Christ Child. Father Jose joyfully gave thanks for this hopeful budding of Christianity.  Today the Christmas cactus still blooms each winter with its message of faith and hope.” – Santa Lives.com

Reference: Santa Lives

Thank You To All Who Served

Veterans

Just as the flag is tattered and worn

So are many, for an oath was sworn,

To serve a country,

It’s men and women,

Who often forget

The strife

Called life

Of the brave men and women

Who selflessly serve,

Who sacrifice,

Who love,

And lose,

In more ways than one,

Until their job is done,

And freedom has been

Solidified and won,

Not only for themselves

But for you, and for me,

And all who dream.

copyright Robyn Graham

Tattered and Worn

Strife

A Day in Solitary Confinement

From cell block nine

I am released,

For a narrow window of time.

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Cell Block Nine

Narrow Window of Time

With burlap covering my eyes

And my hands cuffed behind my back,

The guard knows I

Cannot attack.

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With confidence he leads the way.

Not a word do I dare say.

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My senses tell me I’m in a long corridor

But we have not yet passed through a door.

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A Long Corridor

Door

When suddenly the guard’s grasp

Upon my arm adjusts

And I hear the rusty sound of metal.

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I recognize the sound,

My memory serves me well

Inside this prison’s hell.

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Prison’s Hell

I feel a hand now press my head,

This is my cue to bend.

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I’m told to take another step

And with that step

I fear the place I may be near.

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But finally the guard decides

For just a minute he’s on my side.

He tells me where I am

And where I shall reside.

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Solitary Exercise Yard

My thirty minutes don’t last long

In the concrete yard

With little reward

But the sun’s deep warmth.

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The sun, it makes me grin

And my mind wonders

Back to the days before

I stole the horse named Gin.

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Four stone walls

And a concrete floor

Are the solitary exercise yard.

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No hoop or ball

Just me and four concrete walls.

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I pace

And make my heart race

While the sun beats down upon my face.

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I smile all the while

Until at last

My name is called,

Metal scrapes,

And once again

To the darkness I dread

I am lead.

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With each blind step I climb

My mind begins to numb.

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Blind Steps

The solitary life that I now live,

Is one I must forgive.

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copyright Robyn Graham

The poem above was inspired by a recent trip to Eastern State Penitentiary in which I did the audio tour and heard testimonies from former prisoners as well as former guards.  If my memory serves me correctly, the first prisoner to experience solitary confinement was a man who stole a horse.  His head was covered so that he could not define his where-a-bouts and so that no one could identify him.  The images accompanying the poem are a few that I felt coordinated well with the story told through the poem.  The quote below by Charles Dickens really summarizes what life in solitary confinement was like.  The quote, too, fell in line with the words of my poem.

“Looking down these dreary passages, the dull repose and quiet that prevails, is awful. Occasionally, there is a drowsy sound from some lone weaver’s shuttle, or shoemaker’s last, but it is stifled by the thick walls and heavy dungeon-door, and only serves to make the general stillness more profound. Over the head and face of every prisoner who comes into this melancholy house, a black hood is drawn; and in this dark shroud, an emblem of the curtain dropped between him and the living world, he is led to the cell from which he never again comes forth, until his whole term of imprisonment has expired….He is a man buried alive; to be dug out in the slow round of years….

And though he lives to be in the same cell ten weary years, he has no means of knowing, down to the very last hour, in what part of the building it is situated; what kind of men there are about him; whether in the long winter night there are living people near, or he is in some lonely corner of the great jail, with walls, and passages, and iron doors between him and the nearest sharer in its solitary horrors.” – Charles Dickens in 1842 after he visited the Eastern State Penitentiary

 

“Anyone who claims to be in the light but hates his brother is still in the darkness.  Whoever loves his brother lives in the light and there is nothing in him to make him stumble.”  1 John 2:9-10

Discarded

“When peace, like a river, attendeth my way, when sorrows like sea billows roll; whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say, it is well, it is well with my soul.”

– Horatio Spafford

 

Discarded

I have to wonder if the prisoner(s) who sat in this cell laid his head upon this pillow and thought to himself the very lines of this quote.  Perhaps if he believed in forgiveness he did.

Upon a Stool

Once upon a time

I sat alone

With nothing more than cold, damp stone.

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Upon a stool

I sat and sat

And thought about

The fool

I’d been.

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At times I’d shout

But no one came

Much to my chagrin.

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I wasn’t meant

To be let out.

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There was no doubt

That I’d been bad,

And caused others

To be very sad.

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Those with clout

Set my punishment,

And so I sat

Amongst the stone.

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All alone.

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Yes,

There were times

I thought that

I’d go mad.

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But then the light

Would shine bright

And hope restored

my inner lad.

copyright Robyn Graham

Upon a Stool

“Do not let your heart envy sinners, but always be zealous for the fear of the Lord.  There is surely a future hope for you, and your hope will not be cut off.” Proverbs 23:17-18

The Right Place at the Right Time

This morning the boys in our family (bed-heads and all) decided we should go out for breakfast to a little breakfast club we belong to.  Fred’s is an establishment of it’s own kind.  We love it and enjoy every breakfast we eat there.  The environment is the best by some distance as there truly is no stranger.  Today as we waited for stools along the counter and sipped our coffee I caught an older couple watching my children from their stools.  The gentleman smiled a rather large smile at me and tapped his chest.  I wasn’t sure what he meant exactly, but simply smiled back in return.  He seemed like a very nice person with a lovely, gentle smile and joyful eyes.  As our name was called and we went to take the 5 stools next to their two he said to me “I thought they (meaning my boys) looked like angels but now I know why.”  And he pointed to his chest again as to say the logo on their shirts gave it away.  He then said, “we belong to that parish too”.  Once we established that we belonged to the same church the conversation didn’t end until it was time for them to give up their stools to the next couple waiting to be served.  It was truly one of those mornings where we were in the right place at the right time.

As the gentleman introduced himself  as Gonzolo Ponce-De-Leon my 11 year old asked, “like the explorer?”  Mr. Ponce-De-Leon proceeded to tell us how he is of the same lineage, in fact is the 13th generation, of the family of Juan Ponce-De-Leon.  Talk about perfect timing.  My son is studying the expedition of Juan Ponce-De-Leon to find the fountain of youth, which led to the discovery of Florida, in social studies class.  Once this fact was established, Mr. Ponce-De-Leon gave my son a quick history lesson on a napkin.  He told my son that he should now be guaranteed an A+ on his project.  As always, I had my camera with me and asked Mr. Ponce-De-Leon if he would mind if I took a picture of him with my son to show his teacher and classmates.  Mr. Ponce-De-Leon very graciously obliged my request, thus the photos you see below.

We always meet fabulous and interesting people when we visit Fred’s for breakfast, but today was the best yet!  And we look forward to seeing Mr. and Mrs. Ponce-De-Leon at church now that we know them and will recognize them.

The Right Place at the Right Time

A History Lesson over Breakfast

 

 

To learn more about the life of Juan Ponce-De-Leon you can visit the link below:

http://www.biography.com/people/juan-ponce-de-león-9444105

The Side of an Old Buck’s County Barn

The sight of an old barn moves me.  Why?  I am not completely sure, but it must have something to do with the Sunday afternoons I spent on my great grandfather’s farm as a child.  The sight, the smell, the size, the history, all move me.  I want to take in every inch of the structure.  Today’s post includes two images of the same side of an old Buck’s County barn.  The sun was setting and gave such warmth to the barn.  It reflects the  heritage of the barn, the families who worked in it, the animals who lived in, the labor of love that went into maintaining it.

I typically convert images of old structures to black and white. I didn’t do the conversion for this image because the setting sun on the white barn gave the glow of warmth and history.

Despite the warm glow of the setting sun, I did convert this image to black and white. It speaks of the age of the barn and reminds us not only of the warmth, and love associated with it, but also the labor and distressing moments that went into making the farm the barn supports successful all those years ago.

Art for History

The Gratz Gallery and Conservation Studio in the heart of Doylestown recently hosted an art show and award ceremony to commemorate the bi-centennial of Doylestown being the county seat.  I photographed the event for The Buck’s County Herald and felt so blessed to get to meet so many wonderful, and very talented people.  The owners of the Gallery are kind, knowledgeable and a pleasure to get to know.  For information about the Gratz Gallery and Conservation Studio visit: http://www.gratzgallery.com/.  To view additional images from the special event, or to learn more about the sponsors of the event, the winners and see their work, visit http://www.buckscountyherald.com/.  This link will take you to the Buck’s County Herald, a weekly newspaper reporting on the happenings in and around Buck’s County.

Paul and Harriet Gratz, owners of The Gratz Gallery and Conservation Studio

Attendees visiting and taking in the beautiful artwork.

The music.

 

The Legend of the Dogwood

All my life I have loved the Dogwood Tree.  As a child growing up in Southern Illinois, we would see them amongst the Redbud, Oak, Maple, and other trees along Interstate 64 and marvel at their beauty.  My parents told my sisters and I the legend of the tree when we were young.  Since that time, the trees have had even more meaning to me.  My husband and I have had them at both of our homes and enjoy the blooms every spring.  Below is the legend as well as some links that you can visit to learn more details about it.  Over the next few days, I’ll post images of the Dogwood tree in our front yard.  You’ll understand why it gives us such pleasure when you see the pretty flowers it bares each spring.

The Beautiful Legend of the Dogwood Tree

Legend has it that at the time of Christ’s crucifixion, the dogwood was comparable in size to the oak tree and other monarchs of the forest. Because of its firmness and strength it was selected as the wood for the cross. To be put to such a cruel use greatly distressed and saddened the tree. Sensing this, the crucified Christ, in his gentle pity for the sorrow and suffering of all, said to the tree – “Because of your sorrow and pity for My suffering, never again will the dogwood tree grow large enough to be used as a gibbet. Henceforth it will be slender, bent and twisted and its blossoms will be in the form of a cross — two long and two short petals. In the center of the outer edge of each petal there will be nail prints, brown with rust and stained with red, and in the center of the flower will be a crown of thorns, and all who see this will remember.”

http://www.promiseofgod.com/dogwood/

http://www.angelfire.com/ga/sweetgeorgiapeach/dogwood.html

In Honor of Those Who Have Served

Thank you to all of the men and women who have served this country and fought for our freedom.  The freedom so often taken for granted.

John, the kids and I attended the Memorial Day parade this morning.  It is such a fabulous event every year and the sense of community is almost overwhelming.  We were moved by the number of veterans who participated in the parade, and the response from the crowd.   The applause, the smiles, and the looks between veterans marching and those in the crowd were so moving.  Below is one of my favorite shots of the day.  I love the lighting on the flag in the background.  The truck in the foreground, was one of several vehicles transporting veterans in the parade.